Ben's POV

The house was quiet — too quiet.

"Hey, I'm heading to the restaurants!" I shouted from the hallway, bending down to tie my shoes. The sound of my voice echoed faintly off the walls, swallowed by the silence.

No answer.

I frowned, straightened, and listened. The ticking clock in the kitchen filled the quiet, joined by the low hum of the refrigerator and the whisper of wind against the windows. Something felt... off.

"What the hell, Vi?" I muttered, raising my voice. "Violet?"

Still nothing.

With a sigh, I untied the laces I'd just knotted and left my shoes by the door. My footsteps were soft against the polished wood floors as I walked toward her room. The air smelled faintly of coffee and the lavender candle she liked to burn when she couldn't sleep.

"Vi?" I knocked lightly on her door, waited, then pressed my ear against it. Silence, except for a faint electronic hum.

I pushed the door open a crack. Darkness spilled out to meet me — heavy and cool. The dark blue curtains were drawn tight, turning the late-autumn afternoon into a kind of twilight. The room smelled faintly of sleep and warm fabric, and the only sound was the quiet whir of her laptop's fan.

"Are you in here?" I whispered.

As my eyes adjusted, the shapes sharpened: the corner desk cluttered with notebooks and an open sketchpad; clothes folded haphazardly on a chair; a tangle of blankets on the bed. Beneath them, a small rise — the shape of a body curled up tight.

"Violet," I said softly, stepping inside. Light from the hallway cut a golden slice across the carpet, scattering dust motes through the air.

"Vi, wake up. You'll get a headache if you sleep through sunset."

She didn't move.

"You hear me?" I sat down on the edge of the mattress, the bedsprings creaking under my weight. "Come on, get up."

A faint groan drifted out from beneath the blanket. Her hair, a messy halo of soft brown strands, peeked out on the pillow.

"I'm going out. Lock the door behind me," I said.

Her voice came out muffled. "Can't you just lock it yourself?"

"I could," I said, "but then you'd be stuck inside."

"That's fine. I'm not planning on going anywhere." Her words slurred with sleep.

"I'd still rather you do it yourself. Humor me." I nudged her shoulder gently.

She mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'mhm.'

"Seriously, Vi. Why are you sleeping so early?"

"Just tired," she murmured, stretching under the blanket, keeping it tight around her. "I'll get up in a minute."

"I'll believe that when I see it." I reached for the blanket, but she jerked it back fast.

"I'm not wearing anything," she muttered, voice rasping. "Unless you want an eyeful, go put your shoes back on."

"Oh. Right." Heat crept up my neck. I raked a hand through my hair and backed toward the door. "Sorry."

"Turn on the light!" she called after me.

Without looking back, I flicked the switch. The warm glow filled the room, chasing away the gloom. I closed the door gently behind me and lingered in the hallway, listening to the faint rustle of her moving inside.

For a moment, I just stood there, frowning at the closed door.
Violet...

Only a few months ago, she used to be up before sunrise — full of chatter and coffee and plans. When had it changed? When had she started sleeping through the afternoons?

"You alright?" Her voice came from behind me.

I turned, surprised. She was standing there barefoot in an oversized T-shirt, rubbing at her eyes. The dim hallway light traced the outline of her face — sleepy, but softer than I remembered.

"Yeah," I said quickly. "Just thinking."

"Can you walk and think at the same time?" she teased, brushing past me. "I'd love to get back to bed."

I followed her toward the front door, my mind still tangled in thoughts I didn't want to have.

She stopped and crossed her arms. "Now I think it's my turn to ask if you're okay."

"I'm fine," I said. "Just wondering... when did you start getting up earlier than me?"

She blinked, confused. "Uh... not sure. Why?"

"I just realized I don't have to waste half an hour every morning trying to wake you anymore."

She smirked. "Oh, so you wasted time on me? Poor you. Hurry up, you're wasting my time now."

I laughed, bending to tie my laces again. "Apology accepted, sissy."

"Shoo," she said, waving me off dramatically. "Go pretend to be an adult."

"You're an ass," I told her.

She grinned. "Of course. I learned from the best — Sensei Benn-ass." She gave a mock bow, and we both laughed.

"Good luck getting back to sleep," I said, heading for the door.

"Where are you going, anyway?" she called. "And when should I expect you back?"

"Checking on the restaurants," I said. "Might be a few hours. Maybe tomorrow. Don't wait up — eat something from the kitchen or grab dinner at the restaurants."

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Have fun with your girlfriend."

"Just one girlfriend," I corrected, glancing back. "And stop rolling your eyes at me."

She did it again — exaggerated this time. "Whatever you say, Alpha."

I opened my mouth to reply, but the door clicked shut right in my face.

I stared at it, jaw tight, the wolf under my skin stirring.
That girl needs to be taught a lesson.

A low growl vibrated in my chest before I forced it down. Calm down, bud. She's just a pup.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. She wasn't a pup anymore. Twenty-four, mateless, years past the easy age to find someone. A pang of something sharp and wrong twisted through me.

I shook my head hard, chasing away the thoughts before they rooted.

The evening air hit cool against my face as I stepped outside. The fading sun threw long golden stripes across the quiet street, catching in the windshield of my car. I got in, gripping the steering wheel, exhaling the last of my frustration into the stillness before turning the key.

-------------------------

Violet's POV

Damn him.
Didn't even flinch when I mentioned his girlfriend.

The door had barely clicked shut before I buried my face in the pillow, groaning. The faint scent of his cologne still hung in the hallway — clean, sharp, familiar. It irritated me how much comfort that smell gave me. He knew. He knew perfectly well how I felt about him, and still he kept parading his human girlfriends like they were nothing.

The room was dim again, the curtains swallowing the last of the light. I rolled onto my back, staring at the faint glow from my laptop across the room. Its low hum filled the silence. Outside, the wind stirred fallen leaves against the window — a soft scrape, rhythmic and lonely.

He knew... and he still went out.

I turned over, yanking the blanket tighter around me.
Everything had changed last February — the night of Mark's anniversary party.

I hadn't gone, of course. Mark had a thing for me, and being near him while Ben was there... no thanks. The man's human charm was too forward, too clumsy. He'd look at me like I was dessert, and Ben, of course, never noticed.

I'd stayed home that night, wrapped in a blanket with a book and a cup of tea, waiting for Ben to come back. He said he'd be home by one. When one-thirty came and went, I started calling.

The third time, someone finally answered.
"Hello?" Not Ben's voice — too chipper.

"Mark?" I'd recognized it instantly.

"Oh, hey beautiful! How come you didn't come?" His words slurred slightly, soaked in alcohol and cheap confidence.

"Not feeling well," I'd said flatly. "Is Ben around?"

"Ben? He was... busy last I saw him." The hesitation made my stomach tighten.

"Busy? At a party?" I'd tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked. "Can you find him, please?"

Mark chuckled. "You sure you don't need anything? I could—"

"Mark." I'd cut him off. "Just find him."

There'd been a shuffle of noise — doors, laughter, bass thrumming. Then, finally, Ben's voice: "Hello?"

The moment I heard him, I knew he wasn't drunk. His tone was steady, detached — too controlled.

"Hey. You said you'd be home by one," I'd started. "I've been calling—"

"Yeah, sorry," he interrupted. "We'll be home in an hour or two."

We?

"Yeah. Jane and I."

The air had left my lungs. "Oh... okay."

"Talk later."
Click.

Jane.
The beginning of the end — of my quiet little fantasy life, anyway.

Jane was beautiful, of course. Big eyes, long hair, that delicate kind of prettiness that makes men forget how to think. But there was nothing in her. No spark. Just television gossip, fashion chatter, and giggles.
Ben said she was "great in bed."
I still don't know why he told me that.

After Jane, there were others — a blur of names, faces, perfume. A few lasted days, some weeks. None stuck... until Mary.

Mary, the smart one. The one who never came over, never flaunted her presence. She knew. I could see it in the way she avoided me — careful, polite, too aware of what I felt for him. It made me furious, mostly because she handled it so gracefully.

I rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The tile was cool beneath my feet. The refrigerator hummed in the stillness, its door decorated with old takeout menus and a few pictures — one of us laughing at the lake, another from when we opened my first bakery. He looked so proud in that photo, arm slung around my shoulders.

The ache in my chest pulsed stronger.

Mary had lasted over a month. Long enough for him to say things like "she's human, she wouldn't understand why I live with another female."
Right.
Which meant, soon enough, he'd ask me to move out.

The thought hit like a slap.
I glanced at the wine fridge — half-full bottles gleaming behind the glass. Perfect.

I grabbed one and poured a glass, then another. The tangy scent of red filled the air as I sat at the kitchen table, opening the laptop. The cold blue light flickered across my face.
If he wanted me gone, then I'd go.

There were listings all over the screen — small houses, cottages, apartments. Places far enough to feel free but close enough to keep the bakeries running smoothly. I took another sip of wine, scribbling down numbers on a notepad, my handwriting slanted from the buzz. Each new listing felt like a breath of air, a tiny escape hatch from everything that hurt.

A gust of wind rattled the windows. The shadows outside deepened, autumn creeping closer. I reached for the cheese in the fridge, slicing a few pieces onto a plate. Wine and cheese — the dinner of broken hearts.

Halfway through the bottle, I had a list of six properties. I'd call Beckie — my realtor and pack sister — in the morning. She'd know which ones were worth seeing.
She always did.

The screen blurred for a moment, my eyes heavy. I closed the laptop, put away the leftovers, and made myself some Theraflu. The citrus steam curled in the air, mixing with the scent of wine.

I leaned against the doorframe, staring into the dark hallway — toward his room, empty now. My chest tightened.

"Time to look for some real estate for your sorry ass," I muttered.

I downed the last of the Theraflu and padded back to my room, the house silent. Outside, the wind sighed through the trees. Inside, I crawled into bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

The warmth and wine hit at once. The world faded.

The last thought before I drifted off was his voice — low and rough, calling my name through the hall.
"Vi..."

I turned on my side, forcing it away.

Sleep claimed me before I could wonder why that memory still hurt so much.

A/N

Sooo, welcome to the pack!)))
Thanks for taking your time to visit, and I hope you have a great time here with Violet!

Did you ever have an unanswered love? How'd you manage to fall out of that love?

Don't forget to touch those stars at the bottom! They make an author want to write even more <3

The house was still quiet when I woke. No scent of coffee, no sound of footsteps — which meant Ben had spent the night at his girlfriend's place. Again.

I pushed down the small twist in my stomach and focused on practical things: coffee, keys, and the plan for the day. Beckie and I had agreed to meet at her office before heading out to look at a few properties. I poured coffee into a travel mug, grabbed my bag, and told myself this was just business.

There were two houses I was genuinely excited to see — ones I'd saved for last, after the other three. Beckie had offered to pick me up and drive us around, but there was no way I was letting anyone else take the wheel. I'd lied easily, saying I had errands afterward. Truth was, I just needed the control.

Five minutes late, I pulled into the parking lot and spotted Beckie instantly — mid-thirties going on twenty-five, strawberry-blond hair in a high ponytail, one hand clutching her phone, the other a Starbucks cup. Her black slacks and matching blazer were crisp enough to make realtors everywhere proud. If I hadn't known her age, I'd have guessed she was my peer — and if I were into women, I'd probably be drooling all over the steering wheel.

She looked up as I pulled in, raising an eyebrow and tapping her watch. I offered my best guilty grin.

"Sorry, Beck! You know me and my time management."

She sighed dramatically, setting her coffee in the cup holder before sliding into the passenger seat. "Ugh, don't remind me. Still love you, though."

"I know you do." I laughed, pulling out of the lot.

"So, tell me," she said, buckling in. "How are my bakeries doing?"

Beckie had been the first person to believe in my bakery idea — and the one who shoved me into making it real.

"Thanks to my amazing, Moon-sent realtor and her divine real-estate wisdom," I said with a grin, "my bakeries are the best this town's ever seen."

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "That's right, baby Vi. Worship me while you can. Without me, you'd be selling burnt croissants from a food truck."

I gasped theatrically. "And now, I pray that this goddess helps me find the perfect house — so I can hang her portrait on the biggest wall and offer sacrifices of baked goods every Sunday."

Beckie tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "So we're choosing the house based on wall size now?"

"Obviously."

We both burst out laughing.

"Alright, fun's over," she said eventually, pulling a stack of printed listings from her bag. "Let's get down to business."

"Hit me."

She flipped through the pages, then paused, giving me a pointed look. "These are nice. But tell me — why are you looking for a house when you're already living with Ben in that mansion of his?"

The laughter in the car faded. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "I just need a place of my own. Somewhere quiet, away from the city."

"Bullshit."

I blinked, caught off guard. Beckie almost never cursed.

"As much as I love you," she said, voice sharp but steady, "I don't appreciate being lied to. You know I've never liked you two living away from the pack house. So before I help you, I want the truth. Why are you really looking for a place? And don't feed me the 'pack property' excuse — you only use that when you want me to pick everything myself."

My fingers tightened on the wheel. Buying properties for the pack had always been my loophole — my way to buy distance. A few acres of silence here, a stretch of farmland there. Freedom disguised as generosity.

I exhaled slowly. "I just need out, Beck," I said at last. "I'm twenty-four, still mateless, and I've been living with a guy I've had a crush on since forever — who, by the way, keeps parading different women through our house. Now he's playing house with some human who isn't even his mate. I can't do it anymore."

Traffic shifted ahead. I changed lanes a little too sharply, the car jerking forward as some idiot cut in front of us. I slammed the brakes, honking hard.

"What the hell, man!" I growled, pressing the gas again.

Beckie just shook her head. "You know," she said calmly, "if you actually showed up to pack gatherings, you'd have found your mate by now. Running from the pack won't fix anything."

"I'm not ready," I whispered. "And Ben's been to every gathering — he's still mateless."

"It's been fifteen years, Vi. It's time to stop using him as the example." She reached over, resting her hand on my shoulder. "Almost everyone else found their mate at those gatherings."

I didn't answer.

She let the silence hang for a beat, then brightened. "Okay, deal time."

I groaned. "Do I get a choice?"

Her grin turned mischievous. "Not really. You can take the deal... or take the deal."

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

"Because you will," she said cheerfully. "Here it is: I'll help you find your dream house — but it has to be close to the pack house. And you'll come to every pack gathering until you find your mate." She paused for effect. "Think of it as payment for my services. And be grateful I'm not demanding you move into the pack house itself."

I stared at her. "You really are the devil."

She grinned. "And you love me for it."

"Pretty sure that's blackmail."

"My pricing depends on me," she said sweetly. "And right now, nothing you own can afford my help otherwise."

I sighed. She had me cornered, and we both knew it. Maybe she was right — maybe it wasn't safe to keep isolating myself this far from the pack. But ready or not to "move on," I wasn't sure I believed in fated mates anymore.

The car hummed with quiet for a while before I finally muttered, "Fine. Deal."

Beckie let out a victorious laugh. "Good girl. You'll thank me once you find him — and I'll be your future kids' emergency guardian, obviously."

I rolled my eyes. "You haven't even found me a house yet, and you're already planning playdates?"

She laughed, brushing imaginary dust from her blazer. Beckie and her mate didn't have children — by choice. They said they weren't ready to commit to anyone but each other, not until they'd lived a little more.

When I dropped her off later that afternoon, we agreed to meet the next day. She promised to email the listings and — of course — the schedule for upcoming pack gatherings. My end of the deal.

The thought made my stomach turn.

Pack gatherings were supposed to be celebrations — a place for unmated wolves to meet their other halves, for Alphas to share news, for alliances to strengthen. But to me, they were nothing but reminders.

It was because of one of those gatherings that I'd lost everything — my parents, our Alpha, our safety. I hadn't even wanted to go that day, but my parents insisted. Said someone important was coming. Said it mattered.

I swallowed hard, pushing the memory back down where it belonged.

Maybe I'd made the wrong decision taking Beckie's deal.
But it was too late now.

"So, did you like any of the houses I sent you to look at?" Beckie asked, sipping her coffee as she settled into the passenger seat beside me. She looked just as effortlessly put together as yesterday — only today in shades of pale grey that made her hair gleam almost gold in the morning light.

"Yeah," I said, starting the engine. "A few of them were nice. But I really want to see this one." I unlocked my phone and turned the screen toward her — a picture of a wooden house with a narrow path curling past it like a ribbon.

"Oh," she said, sounding mildly disappointed. "Not the two-story stone one? I was kind of rooting for that one. But," she added quickly, "this one's a solid choice too."

"So where is it?" I asked, shifting into drive.

"It's not far from the pack house — maybe ten minutes north." She gave me a sidelong look. "You do remember where the pack house is, right?"

"I do," I said shortly. Then I merged onto the road before she could press the subject.

It would take us an hour and a half to reach the area, which left plenty of time for Beckie's chatter — and my quiet brooding.

"So, what's the story with the place?" I asked after a few minutes. "If it's near the pack lands, I might know who it belonged to."

She perked up, slipping easily into professional mode. "The house has been empty for years — technically still pack property, so you'd be buying it from them. It's surrounded by forest and has that little stream you liked. But it'll need work. I've got a contractor who can handle it without needing special clearance for pack territory. If you don't already have someone, I'll set it up. As for who's it was - you don't know them for sure. They came into the pack right after the attack. And left about ten years ago."

"I see." I smiled faintly. "Even if it's a little closer to the pack house than I wanted, I can live with that if the house on the photo is what's waiting for us on the spot."

We talked about the renovations, then drifted to safer topics — her mate, my bakeries, Ben, and the general gossip of pack life. I didn't realize how much I'd missed this — real conversation, someone who didn't fill silences with small talk or empty compliments. Beckie always said what she thought, even if it hurt.

But the closer we got, the more my chest tightened.

"Turn here," she said, pointing toward a dirt road branching off the main highway.

I frowned. "That's the road to the pack house."

"Well, yes," she said easily, "but it's also the only road that leads to that house. Don't worry — the turn-off for the property comes before you actually reach it."

"Oh." My fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "Right."

The trees grew denser around us, tall pines whispering in the wind. Even after all these years, the air here smelled the same — pine, damp soil, faint traces of smoke from pack house. Memories flickered like ghosts behind my eyes: laughter, running feet, my father's voice calling my name. I swallowed hard.

Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

"Don't tense up," Beckie said gently. "We'll turn left soon. You won't even see the pack house, I promise. I'm not that evil."

I exhaled shakily. "Thanks."

A few minutes later, she pointed again. "There — take that narrow road through the trees."

The dirt path dipped and curved until, suddenly, the house appeared through the trees like something out of a dream — weathered wood glowing golden in the sunlight, a small stream glinting behind it.

"Oh," I breathed. "Beckie, it's gorgeous."

She laughed, stepping out as I parked. "Let's see if you still think so once you're inside." She fished a key from her purse and unlocked the door.

The hinges groaned, and the scent of old wood and dust spilled into the cool air. Inside, the floorboards creaked beneath our steps, the light slanting through the windows in warm, golden streaks.

It was worn, yes — scuffed floors, faded paint, the faint scent of disuse — but it felt alive. Like a house waiting for someone to come home.

"I'm taking it," I said without hesitation, spinning toward her.

Beckie blinked. "You haven't even seen the other rooms yet."

"I don't need to. My heart's already sold."

She laughed. "You sure you don't want to think about it? Maybe see a few more?"

"Not a doubt in my mind." I grinned, unable to stop smiling. "This one's perfect."

"Well," she said, pretending to pout, "that was faster than I expected. I was hoping our little house-hunting adventure would last at least another day."

I looped my arm around her shoulders. "You realize you'll be close enough to walk over for tea now, right? We can gossip every day if you want."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You're going to regret saying that, Vi."

I laughed.

She checked her watch. "So, when do you want the contractors to come by? I can call them now. The firm's owned by Kane, our Alpha — he likes to keep an eye on the work his guys do, so it's a good excuse for you to finally meet him."

"Our Alpha runs a construction firm?" I blinked. "Didn't know that. Sure — call them. And since it's his company, I can just leave the keys here. No point hovering while they work."

"Good plan," she said, stepping outside with her phone already in hand. "Go look around while I make the call."

I wandered through the house, excitement bubbling under my skin. One attic bedroom, a big open living room, a spacious kitchen with a dining nook — even a small sunroom facing the stream. There was a basement too, but the thought of dark staircases and cobwebs made me shiver. I'd ask the contractors to seal it. Nothing good ever came out of basements.

When I stepped back outside, Beckie was on the phone, toeing at the fallen leaves near her feet.

"I just know you're going to like her, Alpha," she said softly.

I froze mid-step.

She looked up, startled when she noticed me, and ended the call quickly. "Ah, thank you for your time, Alpha. I'll see you at dinner."

I raised a brow. "Talking about me again?"

"Hmm, maybe." She smiled innocently. "Anyway, I've got you a contractor coming by tomorrow. He'll assess the damage — to your house and your wallet."

I groaned. "Do they need me here? I've got a meeting in the morning."

"Nah," she said, waving it off. "I'll give them the keys tonight. They'll call you once they've got a plan."

"Perfect." I unlocked the car. "You heading home, or need a ride back?"

"Actually, I've got a few things to finish at the office. Mind if I tag along a bit longer?"

"Hop in, oh divine Goddess of Real Estate," I said, grinning as she slid into the passenger seat.

As the engine rumbled to life and the house disappeared in the rearview mirror, I caught one last glimpse of the stream glinting through the trees — and for the first time in a long while, I felt something close to peace.

For the past four days, the only times I saw Ben were at his restaurants when I stopped in for a late dinner. We spoke the way old acquaintances do when they've been apart too long — polite, surface-level, a careful "How are you?" and then a retreat into silence. No sharp edges, no warmth either.

Surprisingly, it didn't gut me the way I'd expected. My head was full of other things — my house — and I let that occupy the space he used to take up. I spent nights sketching layouts and scrolling through textures: rough-hewn beams, open shelving, linen curtains. Rustic, so the wood could breathe and the house could keep its own voice.

Today was my weekly managers' meeting, held — as always — at one of Ben's places. Years ago, I'd accepted his offer to use the private dining room. At the time it felt like an excuse to be near him; it also meant my team ate well for half price. Now the room felt too bright, the silverware too loud against the plates, the idea a little too awkward to sustain much longer.

At six p.m., as the meeting wrapped, my phone lit with an unknown number. I stepped into the hall and answered. "Hello?"

"Violet Reef?" A deep, even voice. Confident. It slid down my spine like a low note.

"Yes?" I swallowed. "Speaking."

"Kain Moor. Moor's Contracting and Renovations."

"Oh." I straightened, heart giving a small, ridiculous leap. "I've been waiting for your call all day. I'm excited about the house. What's the verdict?"

A beat of quiet, like he'd waited for me to say more and then decided not to care. "We can start whenever you're ready," he said. "First, I need you to come in, sign paperwork, and decide scope — what you want done now, what can wait, or whether we complete everything in one go. I'll also need your design direction so my team can draft plans. What time can you be here?"

Direct. No fluff. "Tomorrow?"

"Ten a.m.," he said. "We'll expect you then. Have a good evening... Miss Reef."

"At ten? How ab—" The line clicked dead.

I stared at my phone. "Rude much?" I muttered under my breath — and it immediately rang again. Beckie.

"Yell-ow?"

"Hey you!" Chirpy, triumphant. "What are you doing?"

"Just wrapped my meeting. You?"

"Waiting for you to come sign some papers. Get that gorgeous butt over here so I can hand you the documents to your house."

"Fifteen minutes," I said, already moving.

Traffic cooperated for once, and I pulled into her building on time. The lobby smelled faintly of cleaner and printer ink; the elevator hummed. Beckie's office door stood open, and there she was — behind her desk, surrounded by small stacks of paperwork and no fewer than three phones, eyes flicking from screen to screen.

"Hey," I said.

"About time." She grinned and pointed to the chair across from her. "Sit. Sign. Claim your kingdom." She fished a tidy folder from her purse. "Anywhere you see a check mark. Fill in ID info. Also — paying today, or...?"

"I don't even know the price yet," I admitted, taking the pen. "Might need to wire the remainder."

She blinked, then laughed. "Right, we never got to that part. Thirty-five grand."

I stared. "Thirty-five? You're kidding. I was budgeting at least five hundred." My eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. You're buying the structure." She tipped her head. "The land is pack property. Not for sale unless you want to start a regional incident."

"Oh." That tracked. "So visitors at any hour, I can't technically kick them off my lawn, because it isn't fully mine." I gave her a look. "Classic, Becks."

She shrugged, unapologetic. "It's for the best, Vi. And there isn't a fence a wolf won't hop." Her expression softened. "You still want it?"

"Of course I do," I said, signing. "I just hoped it would be my little island of peace. Not... communal coastline." I exhaled. "Speaking of: the contractor called."

"No kidding. What'd they say?"

"It's not what he said, it's how. Customer service apparently died sometime before his birth." I flipped a page and signed again. "Moor-something. Dane? He ordered me to come in at ten, didn't let me say I can't make it that early, and hung up."

Beckie's mouth twitched. "Kain Moor."

"Yeah. That guy. Rude little—"

"Our Alpha," she said, savoring the words.

I paused, heat crawling up my neck. "Oh."

Beckie burst out laughing, smacking her desk with her palm. "Violet. I know names aren't your thing, but forgetting your Alpha's? Truly elite behavior."

"Shut up," I muttered, cheeks burning. "Either way, he was rude."

"He's your Alpha, Vi. And I'm guessing you didn't address him as one."

"Ugh. Whatever. He said ten. Where is the office?" I asked, focusing hard on the remaining forms.

"Finish signing and I'll show you." She nudged the folder closer.

Thirty minutes later, we were done. I trusted her enough to skim, not dissect — and she'd never steered me wrong.

"Come on," she said, gathering the pages. "I'll point it out and then I'm going home. I'm tired like a sled dog."

We walked down the corridor to a set of tinted glass doors. White lettering across them read: Moor's Contracting & Renovations Ltd.

"Here," Beckie said, already turning to go. "Tomorrow, ten."

I stepped closer to the seam between the doors. Something drifted through — faint, clean, and unexpectedly sharp. Lemongrass and wood. My wolf surged up, ears pricked, tail high, a low thrum of want humming under my skin.

"Vi?" Beckie's voice sharpened. "What are you doing?"

"Can't you smell it?" I breathed, not taking my eyes off the thin line of shadow between the doors. "Lemongrass and wood. It's coming from inside."

She came to stand beside me, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. "All I get is toner and ozone. Printer hell." She set a gentle hand on my shoulder to steer me away.

The touch was small. My reaction was not. My wolf snapped — a flash of teeth that almost met her hand. I yanked myself back in time, horror tearing through me.

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, fighting to shove the animal down. My chest heaved. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what that was."

Beckie had backed up a few steps, eyes wide, palms out. "It's okay." Her voice was careful, soothing. "Are you... going into your needing?"

"No." I swallowed, tasting copper at the back of my throat. "I don't feel like I am." I dragged in a breath. "Let's just go."

"Good idea."

I kept a few paces behind her to the parking lot, afraid of another surge. At her car, she turned and studied me for a beat.

"I'm really sorry," I said again, staring at the asphalt.

"It's okay, Vi. Really." She stepped forward, laid a tentative hand on my shoulder. My wolf went still — alert, but quiet. I breathed out.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, soft smile returning.

"Yeah. I'll drop by after and we'll get lunch."

"Text me," she said, getting in her car.

I nodded, headed for my car, and glanced back at the tinted doors. The scent was gone — or faint enough to doubt I'd ever caught it. But the hum under my skin hadn't faded.

Lemongrass and wood.

Tomorrow at ten.

"Hi!" I gasped, leaning over the reception desk, panting. My hair was a mess, my sweater half-tucked, jeans mismatched with sneakers — a picture of grace and professionalism. Great first impression, Vi.

"I was supposed to be here at ten," I said between breaths, "but I, uh... took a wrong turn." I'd overslept. Now it was half past ten, and I was late for a meeting with the Alpha. Perfect.

The receptionist — a woman about my age, sleek in a light-green dress — smiled with syrupy sweetness. "Miss Reef?"

"That's me," I said, pushing stray hair behind my ear and trying to catch my breath.

"Alpha Moor asked me to let you know he won't be available today," she said smoothly. "He's assigned a team to your project instead. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to them."

"Oh." My stomach loosened a little. "Alright."
It took me a beat to process that she'd said Alpha. Of course. Probably a werewolf-run company. Convenient, at least.

As we walked through the office corridor, my wolf stirred — a restless hum under my skin. The scent hit me before I realized I was sniffing the air: faint lemongrass and wood. My pulse jumped, and my wolf whined, low and insistent. I clenched my fists, forcing composure.

By the time we entered a small meeting room, I barely registered the receptionist's polite introduction. Four people sat waiting — two men, two women — smiling uncertainly as I battled for control. My hands shook.

"Just... one moment," I managed, closing my eyes and grinding my teeth. My wolf clawed for air. Not here. Not now.

I forced a smile, opened my eyes, and grabbed onto the first excuse that came to mind. "You all have everything you need for on-site work, right? Because I haven't eaten yet, so how about we take this outside — grab something to eat and talk things over there?"

They blinked, startled.

"Great!" I said brightly, already standing. "Let's go."

I didn't wait for agreement. The need to leave this building was overwhelming. By the time I hit the parking lot, the fresh air hit my lungs like medicine. The buzzing under my skin eased.

The team hurried after me, trying to keep up. "Come on," I said, waving them toward my car. "We'll take my ride."

As we drove, I called one of Ben's restaurants. "Table for five, private room," I said. The hostess recognized my voice immediately. "Of course, Miss Reef. We'll have it ready."

That was more like it.

By the time we reached the restaurant ten minutes later, introductions had been made. I'd learned their names — Cole, Mira, Devon, and Tasha — and they'd learned I was an absolute control freak with a fondness for rustic wood and open beams.

They murmured polite approval for my design choices as we walked in. "Alright," I said, turning to them. "One rule — don't be shy. Order whatever you like. It's on me."

"Thank you," they chorused, almost in unison. My lips twitched. The Alpha must run a tight ship if his employees were this jumpy.

Over lunch, things loosened up. The conversation drifted from logistics to stories about renovation disasters and funny client habits. By the time our coffee arrived, I felt genuinely relaxed.

The team was solid. They understood what I wanted — warm tones, reclaimed wood, nothing too polished. They promised the full project would cost around two hundred and fifty thousand, appliances included, and be move-in ready in two weeks. We signed the necessary papers between bites of dessert, and when we finally parted ways, I had no doubts that my house was in good hands.

Driving back toward the city, I dialed Beckie. I didn't trust myself to set foot in that building again — not with the way my wolf behaved there. "Still on for lunch?" I asked.

"Ugh, can't," she sighed. "A few things came up. But hey — pack gathering this Saturday, remember? I'll meet you at the pack house then."

"Lucky me," I muttered.

I wished Saturday would never come.

But Saturday did come — faster than it should have.

By afternoon, my nerves had turned physical. I caught myself scratching the insides of my forearms — an old habit I'd inherited from my father whenever he was anxious or deep in thought.

It was already two o'clock. The gathering started at six. Two hours to get ready, two more for the drive. The dress code, at least, was casual. Thank the Moon.

I pulled on light-blue jeans, a loose tan knit sweater, and matching moccasins. Comfortable. I needed comfort. I added a small, beaded shoulder bag — my only nod to style — and left my hair down, its soft waves brushing my shoulder blades. A little mascara, a touch of lip balm. That was all the energy I had for appearances.

Half an hour into the drive, I called Beckie.

"Don't tell me you're not coming," was her greeting — a sharp threat laced with humor. "If you are, I'll hunt you down and drag you there myself. Tie you to a chair until the next gathering if I have to."

"Hello to you too," I said dryly. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. And yes, I'm coming. I just needed you to talk me through the part where I turn the car around and flee the country instead."

"Good choice, my dear friend!" She laughed. "So — what do you want to talk about?"

"Hmm... tell me about the Alpha," I said after a moment. "I'd rather not walk in completely clueless."

"Oh, that's easy," Beckie said. "He's tall — six-two maybe — built like a soldier. Black, curly hair. Handsome in that brooding, too-serious way."

I could hear the smirk in her voice before it shifted to something sharper. "He's got a wife," she added, "but not a mate. She's human. Not our Luna. He only married her to have an heir, to keep his status stable."

My brows knit. "He has a child?"

"Yeah. A girl. Seven, I think. Everyone's waiting to see if he tries again for a son. The pack's been uneasy without a Luna — we can all feel it. He can too. But he refuses to claim her as Luna because he says it wouldn't be right. The problem is, that kind of restraint is eating him alive."

Her voice softened for a heartbeat. "He's still looking for his mate, but... I think he's losing hope. He's not that old — thirty-nine, maybe — but he carries himself like a man twice that. If he doesn't find her soon, I wouldn't be surprised if someone challenged him for leadership."

"That bad?"

"His wolf looks worn out. It's sad, really." She sighed, then brightened. "Honestly, I'm shocked you don't feel the pack's tension out there. You do still have your wolf, right?"

"Oh, she's there," I said, rolling my eyes. "You saw her that day at his office, remember? She's just mad at me for keeping her quiet. And since she's mad, she won't share anything — emotions, instincts, pack feelings — nothing. It's kind of peaceful, actually."

Beckie laughed. "You're the only wolf I know who calls emotional isolation peaceful."

"Guess I'm special."

In the background, someone called her name. "Coming!" she yelled back. "Sorry, Vi — gotta help with prep. Guests are starting to arrive. And don't you dare bail! I'll be waiting by the front door."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, then hung up.

The road stretched ahead, long and sunlit. My stomach twisted as I thought of walking into the pack house again — the laughter, the scents, the weight of memories pressing from every side.

This was going to be a very long evening.