LUCIAN'S POV
Against my better judgment, I spent the entire day with Teresa, starting with breakfast in the garden. Ares—as usual—wouldn't stop talking in my head, especially during the tour of the pack lands, which, of course, he practically pressured me into suggesting to her. To make things worse, Rylan was sulking somewhere, feeling betrayed that I had taken the initiative on the tour when he'd been the one to suggest it to Teresa in the first place. But it wasn't my fault, blame Ares!
"Touch her hand," Ares muttered in my mind. "Just a brush, nothing big."
I mentally swatted him away, but the idiot was persistent. All day, he kept nagging me with the same suggestion: Brush your fingers against hers. Hold her gaze a little longer. You'd think a supernatural being like him would have better self-control—but nope.
"Why are you like this?" I muttered under my breath as I handed Teresa another brochure about the estate's–pack lands– so-called historical landmarks.
"What?" She glanced up, looking confused.
"Oh, nothing." I quickly cleared my throat. "Just, uh, talking to myself."
She nodded and turned back to the brochure, completely missing my awkwardness, thankfully. I realized Teresa was one of those people who could get absorbed in the smallest details. It was both endearing and frustrating—endearing because she was genuinely interested in what she was learning, and frustrating because… well, it was like she forgot she'd been in a conversation before something else caught her attention.
Was she genuinely this oblivious, or was she playing some kind of game? I couldn't tell, and it was driving me nuts. Not that I wanted her to notice me all the time or anything like that.
"Tell her she smells good," Ares suggested, and I nearly tripped over my own feet.
I mentally growled back at him. "That's creepy."
"But she does smell good," he whined.
This was getting ridiculous. I wasn't going to be that weird guy who randomly compliments her scent.
Instead, I focused on showing her around the estate, pointing out all the nice, normal things: the schools, the cinemas, the markets. The whole place looked like a picture-perfect small town. Except, it wasn't. Not even close.
Of course, I left out the parts where things got... complicated. The woods where my pack roamed, the residential areas, the training grounds, and, most importantly, the fact that mostly all the people she was seeing on this "tour" were werewolves with the exception of a few humans, witches, and vampires who were mated to wolves in my pack and chose to stay in the pack with their mates. Those little details? Yeah, she wasn't ready for that.
As we rode around in a golf cart, her wide-eyed wonder was... amusing. Teresa kept asking questions, one in particular sticking with me. "Do you own all of this?" she asked, her voice full of awe.
I nodded, trying to suppress a grin. "Yes," I answered simply. Her smile was so bright it made Ares practically purr with satisfaction. Even I had to admit, seeing her that happy wasn't the worst thing in the world, but I'd die before saying that out loud.
People kept staring as we passed, which, let's face it, was expected. I'd never been interested in anyone before. They were probably half-expecting me to spontaneously combust. Several pack members paid their respects, calling me 'Alpha' as we passed. The braver ones even came up to ask who Teresa was.
"My guest," I replied every time. The confusion on their faces was priceless.
Teresa, though, looked more like she was waiting for someone to toss a rock at her. Ares growled at that, urging me to reassure her.
"You're safe with me," I said, trying not to sound too stiff about it. She gave me a small, relieved smile, and for once, I think Ares and I agreed on something. I liked it.
That evening, dinner at the pack's huge dining hall was… an event.
The smell of dinner hit me the moment we stepped into the dining hall, a mix of fresh bread, sizzling steaks, and eggs so strong that even I, with all my discipline, couldn't completely ignore the hunger pangs. The hall itself was grand, larger than most would expect, but that's how the Moonpeak pack did things—massive chandeliers, stone floors polished to a mirror-like sheen, and tables that stretched endlessly. A whole damn buffet spread across the tables like this was hogwarts or something like that.
Teresa and I weren't even two steps in before the entire room went quiet. Heads turned, eyes locked on me and her as they gave me the typical alpha treatment and just blatantly stared at her. After all these years, you'd think I'd be used to it. But nope, still weird. I gave a few sharp nods, pretending not to notice the stares, walking toward the head table like I had more important things on my mind. (Spoiler: I did.) Respect is nice and all, but could they maybe, just once, not gawk like we were a zoo exhibit?
Ares, decided to chime in. "They're acknowledging their alpha and soon-to-be Luna. Can't blame them. Look at us."
"Nobody is becoming Luna anytime soon." I quickly corrected. Ares groaned and I ignored him.
A few pack members in the back stared a little too long, their whispers obvious even with my superhuman hearing.
Teresa, clearly feeling uncomfortable with all the attention on her quietly sat next to me at the head table, surrounded by the higher-ranking pack members. Rylan looked absolutely thrilled by her presence, and Juliette was practically buzzing with excitement. I was just trying not to let their enthusiasm get to me.
Teresa obviously had never seen so many people eat together before because she kept glancing around, wide-eyed, her curiosity making me want to laugh, though she thought she was doing it discreetly. Ares and I were both thoroughly entertained by how cute and confused she looked. It made the whispers around the room all the more tolerable.
Who is she? What's she doing in our pack? Has the Alpha lost his mind?
I heard them all, but I acted like I didn't. Instead, I focused on chatting with Rylan, who seemed more interested in Teresa than the conversation. Juliette, meanwhile, kept trying to draw Teresa into whatever conversation they were having, and Teresa, being the sweet, curious thing she was, was more than happy to oblige. I should have been annoyed by how easy it was for her to get along with them, but I wasn't.
That night, after my usual rounds securing the borders and checking on Teresa's safety, I finally crawled into bed, though the exhaustion gnawing at me felt shallow and hollow. The heavy weight of sleep came at a steep cost; the nightmares always lurked just beyond the edge of consciousness, waiting. And tonight, as soon as I shut my eyes, it returned.
I was ten again, standing in the dimly lit warmth of our kitchen, chatting with my mother about school. She was humming as she sliced vegetables, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. The rich scent of spices filled the kitchen, mingling with the familiar comfort of home. My father was away on pack business, leaving the two of us wrapped in a cocoon of easy laughter and warmth. I can still hear her gentle voice, asking if I'd aced my math test and if I'd remembered to brush my teeth. For a fleeting moment, it was so real—until it wasn't.
The quiet shattered with the sound of splintering wood, and a rogue wolf burst into our house through the kitchen door, a creature barely clinging to life. His fur was matted, tangled with filth, his ribs visible under patchy fur stretched too tight. His eyes were wild, a strange blend of desperation and hunger that spoke of months of starving, surviving on scraps. He was gaunt, each breath a rattle, his body a thin, shivering shadow of the beast he was meant to be.
My heart hammered, cold fear seizing my throat, but I remember glancing at my mother, hoping for some reassurance. She shifted into her wolf form, but even as her small, slender frame shook with resolve, she was still the weakest omega in our pack—her strength limited, her abilities subdued. I watched her bare her fangs, trembling but standing tall, her growl low but fierce. She threw herself at the rogue, clawing, snapping, trying to protect me, but it wasn't enough. The rogue was ruthless, driven by his desperation, and though he staggered, his blows landed hard, each one a brutal reminder of her fragility. I saw her stumble, saw her blood splatter against the floor, a sickening red stain on the life we'd built. And then, with a final, brutal strike, he ended her.
The silence that followed was deafening. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, frozen in that endless moment of horror. And then, faint footsteps in the distance—my father's heavy boots, his hurried stride. When he entered, his face was a blank slate of shock, his eyes hollow as he took in the scene. And then, like a dam breaking, I saw the raw grief tear through him as he struck the wolf with one blow, leaving it lifeless. He fell to his knees beside her, his fingers trembling as he touched her face, his tears mingling with the blood on the floor. That moment shattered him. And when he looked up at me, something in his gaze changed. The father I'd known was gone, replaced by a haunted, broken shell.
In the days that followed, he locked me away, hidden from the world "for my protection," he claimed, but the truth was darker. It was my face—my mother's face—it was a mirror of everything he'd lost, a painful reminder that twisted something deep inside him. He would come to my cell, staring at me from behind the iron bars, his eyes distant, almost feverish. The way he looked at me was unsettling as if he didn't see me, his son, but his long-lost mate. His obsession with my resemblance to her grew, and the line between love and madness blurred in his hollow gaze.
Years passed in that cell, the only company the cold iron around me. On my eighteenth birthday, the solitude finally cracked. I met Ares, the wolf within me—a presence I'd longed for, a voice that felt like companionship, like salvation. There was a strange joy in no longer being alone, in knowing that someone else understood the cage we were trapped in.
But that day of quiet joy turned to horror when my father came, stumbling and drunk, slurring his words as he opened the gate to my prison. The sour stench of alcohol clung to him as he staggered in, his eyes unfocused, his mouth mumbling words that slipped in and out of clarity. He looked at me, his eyes unfocused, and he called me by my mother's name, "Lisa," as if he could bring her back by seeing her in me. I tried to explain, to reach him, to tell him that I wasn't her—but he didn't listen. His hands reached for my neck, gripping with a force that left bruises, his face inched closer to mine, his eyes locked on my lips making my pulse pound in panic, each second stretching into eternity.
And then instinct took over. Ares surged forward, a primal fury driving my claws to slash across his throat before I even knew what was happening. His grip slackened, his eyes wide with a strange, tragic acceptance, and he collapsed, his blood pooling around him, his final breath a whispered apology that I would never hear.
I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I clawed my way back to reality. The darkness pressed in around me, thick and suffocating, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to my skin like a toxic fog. I pressed my hand to my face, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remind myself that it was over, that he was gone.
"Lucian," came Ares's voice in my mind, calm and grounding. "I'm here."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, gripping the sheets. It didn't help. Nothing ever did.
Tomorrow, my walls were going back up. Keep the distance. Keep the control. I would never fall for a woman, for Teresa. I would never be my father. Never.
But tonight, I let myself feel vulnerable just a little bit.