During the semester break, Alaric drove Anya to Riverside to visit her mother. The journey was longer than the trip to Westbridge, and as the cityscape gave way to quieter roads and smaller neighborhoods, Anya grew more silent than usual. She looked out the window as the scenery changed, her thoughts drifting back to her childhood and her memories of her mother.
Riverside was calmer than Central City and far quieter than Westbridge. The streets were less crowded, lined with old trees and modest houses that sat comfortably apart from one another. There was less rush here, not many towering buildings or busy nightlife as compared to Central City. Everything moved at a gentler pace.
Following the address Margaret had sent her, Alaric eventually turned into a quieter residential lane near the outskirts of the town. The houses there were simple but well-kept, each separated by small gardens and fences. When they finally stopped in front of one of them, Anya felt her chest tighten slightly.
The house was modest, a single-story home with pale walls and a small front porch decorated with potted plants. Wind chimes hung near the doorway, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. It was far from luxurious, but it felt peaceful in a way that immediately reminded Anya of her mother.
"It suits her," Anya said softly as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
Alaric glanced at the house before looking at her. "It feels safe here," he replied quietly.
Anya nodded faintly before stepping out of the car with him beside her.
As they approached the front door, she suddenly felt nervous. It had been some time since she last saw her mother in person, and although they spoke often through calls and messages, standing here now made everything feel more emotional than she expected.
She pressed the doorbell.
Footsteps sounded from inside.
Then the door opened.
"Anya."
Margaret's eyes widened immediately the moment she saw her daughter standing there. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her.
"Mum," Anya whispered, hugging her back just as tightly.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Margaret held her daughter as if reassuring herself that she was truly there, while Anya closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the familiar comfort she had missed.
When they finally pulled apart, Margaret smiled warmly, though her eyes were slightly moist. "You've gotten thinner," she said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from Anya's face.
"I'm fine," Anya replied softly with a laugh. "College has just been busy."
That was when Margaret's gaze shifted slightly behind her.
And noticed Alaric.
Her expression softened immediately. "Alaric," she said warmly. "It's good to see you."
Alaric gave her a respectful nod. "It's been a while, Aunt Margaret."
"Come inside," she said quickly. "Both of you."
The house felt warm and lived-in, carrying the scent of tea and freshly cooked food. The interior was simple but cozy, filled with soft colors and small decorations that clearly reflected Margaret's personality.
But the moment they stepped further inside, another presence caught their attention.
A man was standing near the dining area.
He looked to be in his forties, tall with slightly sharp features and calm but observant eyes. The moment Alaric entered the house, the man's posture shifted almost imperceptibly.
His eyes sharpened and his movements became more careful.
Anya noticed none of it immediately, but Alaric did.
The scent was unmistakable.
Werewolf.
Not from the Stone pack.
But one of their kind nonetheless.
The man's gaze rested briefly on Alaric, cautious but controlled.
Alaric met his eyes calmly and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. The tension eased slightly after that silent exchange.
Margaret looked faintly embarrassed as she stepped forward. "Anya," she said gently, "this is Michael."
The man offered a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
Anya blinked in surprise before quickly greeting him politely. "Nice to meet you too."
Then, almost instinctively, she turned toward Alaric. "This is Alaric," she said. "We came together from Central City."
Michael nodded once, his expression calm now, though his attention lingered subtly on Alaric for a moment longer before returning to normal.
Margaret cleared her throat softly, clearly a little shy under her daughter's curious gaze.
Anya looked between them, realization slowly dawning.
Before she could say anything else, she suddenly felt self-conscious herself and glanced briefly at Alaric before speaking.
"Mum…" she began softly. "Alaric and I are together now."
Margaret froze for a brief second.
Then her entire expression softened into quiet happiness.
"Really?" she asked, her eyes moving between the two of them.
Anya nodded shyly.
Beside her, Alaric's hand moved naturally to the small of her back, the gesture subtle but protective.
Margaret let out a soft laugh, emotional warmth filling her gaze. "I'm happy," she admitted honestly. "Very happy."
She looked at Anya carefully before smiling again. "You finally made your decision."
Anya's cheeks warmed slightly.
Margaret's eyes then shifted toward Alaric, filled with understanding that carried far more meaning than Anya realized.
"You finally accepted the love of your life," she said gently.
The words settled quietly in the room.
Anya lowered her eyes shyly, while beside her, Alaric's chest tightened slightly at hearing those words spoken aloud.
*****
After the meal, Michael and Alaric remained downstairs, continuing a quiet conversation over tea while Margaret brought Anya into her room for some private time together. Margaret sat beside her daughter on the bed, her expression softer than before now that they were alone.
"You've grown up so much," she said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from Anya's face. "Sometimes I still think of you as that little girl following Alaric around everywhere."
Anya laughed softly before her expression turned more curious. "Mum," she began carefully, "what about Michael?"
Margaret blinked slightly before smiling, though there was a faint shyness in her expression that Anya had not seen in a long time.
"We met at the cafe where I work," she admitted softly. "At first he was just a regular customer. Then he kept coming back."
Anya raised an eyebrow slightly. "Just for coffee?"
Margaret laughed quietly. "Not really."
There was warmth in her eyes now, something calmer and happier than Anya remembered seeing during their years in Westbridge.
"We started talking more often," Margaret continued. "And somehow… everything felt natural with him. Comfortable. Like I'd known him much longer than I actually had."
Anya watched her mother carefully before her expression slowly turned more serious.
"Mum," she said quietly, "I want you to tell me the truth."
Margaret's smile faded slightly.
Anya took a breath before asking directly, "Does our family have anything to do with werewolves?"
The room fell silent.
Margaret looked at her daughter for a long moment before finally letting out a quiet sigh, as though she had known this conversation would eventually come.
"Yes," she admitted softly.
Anya's heart tightened slightly.
"My father, your grandpa," Margaret continued, "was a werewolf. I'm only mixed blood, not fully wolf."
Her gaze softened as she looked at Anya. "Which means… you are too."
Anya stared at her, trying to process the words.
"So all this time…" she murmured quietly. "You knew?"
Margaret nodded slowly.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Anya asked, not angry, but confused. "Why keep it from me for so long?"
Margaret lowered her gaze briefly before answering honestly. "Because I thought you could live a normal life without being involved in any of this," she said softly. "I never intended for you to become part of the werewolf world."
She paused before continuing.
"When Alaric met you as children, I realized things were changing. Later, Marcus and Evelyn spoke to me briefly about it. They told me Alaric recognized you very early."
Anya's chest tightened slightly hearing that again.
"But even then," Margaret said gently, "I believed it was something you should discover yourself when you were older. I didn't want to force that burden onto you too early."
Anya sat quietly, absorbing everything.
Then another thought surfaced.
"And Michael?" she asked softly.
Margaret's expression softened again, this time carrying a quieter kind of happiness.
"He's my soulmate," she admitted.
Anya blinked in surprise. "Really?"
Margaret gave a small laugh, almost disbelieving herself. "I know it sounds unbelievable at my age," she said, "but the bond between soulmates can't be mistaken."
Anya frowned slightly. "The bond?"
Margaret looked at her carefully before asking gently, "Has Alaric marked you yet?"
Anya blinked immediately. "Marked?"
The unfamiliar word made her sit straighter.
Margaret smiled faintly at her reaction. "Then he hasn't told you yet."
"Told me what?" Anya asked quickly.
Margaret's expression turned softer as she explained. "A mark is when a werewolf formally accepts and bonds with their soulmate. It deepens the connection between them permanently."
Anya stared at her mother quietly, clearly hearing this for the first time.
"I… didn't know anything about that," she admitted softly.
Margaret nodded knowingly. "Alaric will probably explain it to you soon," she said gently. "He's likely waiting until you're fully ready."
There was no pressure in her voice, only understanding. Then Margaret's cheeks warmed slightly, almost shy again.
"Michael marked me recently," she admitted quietly. "And… I haven't felt this alive in years."
The softness in her voice caught Anya's attention immediately.
For the first time in a very long while, her mother truly looked happy. Not just relieved or surviving, but genuinely happy.
Anya's eyes softened as she reached over and held her mother's hand gently.
"I'm really happy for you," she said sincerely.
Margaret smiled warmly at her.
Anya squeezed her hand lightly before continuing, "You don't have to worry about me anymore. Just enjoy your life here with Michael."
Emotion flickered across Margaret's face as she looked at her daughter.
"You really grew up," she whispered softly.
Anya smiled faintly. "I think I finally did."
*****
While Anya and Margaret remained upstairs catching up privately, the atmosphere downstairs settled into a quieter but more careful conversation. Michael poured tea into two cups at the dining table while Alaric sat across from him, both men studying each other more openly now that they were alone.
The scent of wolf lingered naturally between them. Neither hostile nor defensive, but unmistakably aware.
Michael slid one of the cups across the table before speaking calmly. "Michael Walker," he introduced himself properly. "From the Walker Pack."
Alaric accepted the tea with a slight nod. "Alaric Stone. Stone Pack."
At the mention of the surname, recognition flickered briefly across Michael's expression.
"So James Walker is your…" Alaric began.
"My elder brother," Michael replied smoothly before lifting his cup.
That confirmed what Alaric had already suspected.
The Walker Pack carried a strong reputation among werewolf packs. They were known for their discipline, their strict hierarchy, and their combat standards. Their Alpha, James Walker, was especially respected among older wolves for maintaining order without allowing weakness to spread through the pack.
"I've heard quite a bit about your pack growing up," Alaric said calmly. "James Walker is known for being fiercely protective of his wolves."
Michael chuckled faintly. "That's probably the nicest way anyone has described him."
"And demanding," Alaric added. "I heard the training standards in the Walker Pack are extremely high."
"That part is absolutely true," Michael admitted with amusement in his voice. "My brother believes weak wolves eventually become dangerous wolves. He would rather push everyone to their limit than allow carelessness to cost lives later."
Alaric nodded slightly in understanding. In many ways, Marcus Stone carried similar beliefs.
Michael then studied him more carefully, his gaze sharpening slightly. "I also heard Marcus Stone has a son," he said. "I assume you're the future Alpha everyone talks about."
Alaric remained composed beneath the scrutiny. "Eventually," he answered simply.
There was no arrogance in his tone, only quiet certainty.
Michael leaned back slightly in his chair, observing him thoughtfully. "You carry your father's presence," he said after a moment. "But your wolf feels different. Heavier."
Alaric understood immediately what he meant.
Most older wolves sensed it instinctively. His dominance carried unusual pressure for someone his age, and ever since his early awakening, it had only grown stronger.
Before the conversation could continue further, Michael's expression shifted slightly as another matter surfaced in his thoughts.
"I heard the Fang Pack has been unstable recently," he said carefully. "There's tension surrounding the succession of their next Alpha."
The moment the Fang Pack was mentioned, something cold tightened inside Alaric's chest.
Then Michael spoke the names.
"Eric Fang and his son, Sebastian."
Alaric's grip around the teacup tightened almost imperceptibly.
Outwardly, his expression remained calm, but beneath that calmness, memories surged violently through him. Rain. Blood. Anya's motionless body in his arms.The silence of a broken bond.
Sebastian Fang.
Even now, hearing that name stirred something dark and dangerous beneath his control.
Michael continued speaking, unaware of the storm building quietly behind Alaric's composed exterior. "From what I've heard, Eric isn't satisfied with Sebastian's behavior. He thinks his son lacks the temperament to become Alpha. There are even rumors he's considering dispersing parts of the Fang Pack instead of handing leadership to him."
Alaric lowered his gaze briefly, forcing his emotions back under control.
That sounded exactly like Eric Fang. The older Alpha valued stability more than bloodline pride. If he truly believed Sebastian would destroy the pack, he would rather weaken it himself than allow it to collapse under poor leadership.
Unfortunately, Alaric knew better than anyone how dangerous Sebastian could become.
"I've heard similar things," Alaric replied evenly after a moment.
His tone remained calm, but Michael still noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere around him. The younger wolf's control was impressive, though the brief flicker of hostility had not escaped an experienced werewolf like him.
"The Stone Pack is prepared to provide support if needed," Alaric continued steadily. "Instability between packs benefits no one."
Michael studied him quietly before nodding in approval. "That's a responsible answer."
But inwardly, Alaric's thoughts were far darker than his words revealed.
This life would be different. Anya was alive and safe. And he would ensure Sebastian Fang never came close enough to threaten her again.
Not in this lifetime and not ever again.
At that moment, he faintly sensed Anya upstairs through the bond, warm and calm. The feeling grounded him almost instantly, easing the tension that had tightened through his body the moment Sebastian's name surfaced.
Alaric lowered his eyes briefly toward the tea in his hand, silently steadying himself before the memories could drag him further into the past.