The days blurred together as I regained my strength in Demetrius's cabin. My wolf remained weak, a faint presence deep inside me, but at least we were alive. Or rather, reborn.

"You should venture out," Demetrius suggested one morning, his amber eyes studying me with that same careful distance he always maintained. "There's a village nearby where no one will ask questions."

I hesitated at the threshold of his cabin, the misty forest beyond seeming both inviting and threatening. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"You won't be alone," he said simply, and something in his tone made me believe him.

The village was small—a collection of wooden buildings nestled among ancient pines. The residents, a mix of humans and werewolves, paid little attention to us as we walked through. Perhaps they were used to strangers seeking refuge in these neutral territories.

"Gregory might be what you need," Demetrius said as we approached a weathered workshop at the edge of town. The sign above the door read simply: "Moon Stones & Carvings."

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cedar and sage. An elderly man with silver hair and gnarled hands looked up from his workbench.

"Demetrius," he greeted, his voice like dry leaves rustling. "You've brought someone new."

"Eleanora," I said before Demetrius could speak. It felt important to introduce myself.

Gregory's eyes—a startling shade of blue—studied me for a long moment. "Your spirit is fractured, child. Your wolf retreats."

I flinched at his perception. "Is it that obvious?"

"To those who know how to look." He gestured to a stool beside his workbench. "Sit. Let me show you something."

From beneath his bench, he retrieved a block of pale wood and a set of carving tools. "This is Totem Carving," he explained. "The old way of healing."

"I don't understand," I admitted.

"Your grief is trapped inside you," he said, pressing a carving knife into my palm. "Let it flow through your hands instead."

I stared at the blank wood, unsure where to begin. "What should I carve?"

"What calls to you," he replied simply.

My hand moved almost without conscious thought, the knife biting into the wood with surprising ease. Hours passed as I worked, tears streaming silently down my face. When I finally set down the knife, a small wolf emerged from the wood—its gentle features unmistakably my mother's.

"This is Totem Carving," Gregory said softly. "This is how you begin to heal."

---

Weeks passed, and gradually I found myself venturing farther from the cabin. Demetrius often accompanied me, always keeping a respectful distance but never leaving me truly alone.

"Moon stones are most powerful when gathered during a storm," he explained one afternoon as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. "Their energy is heightened by the electricity in the air."

We climbed a rocky slope where moon stones could be found among the granite outcroppings. The first fat raindrops began to fall as we reached the top.

"Here," Demetrius said, pointing to a cluster of small white stones glinting among the rocks.

I knelt to collect them, the rain soaking through my clothes. The storm intensified suddenly, the ground beneath me turning slick with mud.

As I reached for a particularly beautiful stone, my foot slipped on the wet rock. I gasped, losing my balance.

Strong arms caught me before I could fall, pulling me against a solid chest. Heat radiated through me at the contact—a warmth so different from the painful burn of Jaxxon's touch.

"I've got you," Demetrius murmured, his voice close to my ear.

For a moment, we stood frozen, rain streaming down our faces. Then he immediately stepped back, releasing me with careful hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, though there was nothing apologetic in his eyes—only concern for my comfort.

A strange confusion washed over me. The brief contact had sent a jolt through my system—not pain, but something like recognition. My wolf stirred, more present than she'd been since I'd fled the Silver Moon Pack.

"Don't be sorry," I whispered, unsure what else to say.

---

Miles away, in the territory I'd fled, Jaxxon paced his office like a caged animal. His eyes had taken on a feverish gleam, his movements erratic.

"Eleanora," he muttered, inhaling deeply as if he could catch my scent on the air.

Ashlyn watched nervously from the doorway. "Alpha, you need to rest. The pack is concerned."

"She's here," he snarled, whirling on her. "I can smell her."

Ashlyn's face paled. "That's impossible. She's dead."

"Then why do I smell her?" His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Why does my wolf howl for her every night?"

Ashlyn took a step back as Jaxxon's eyes flashed black, his wolf rising to the surface. "I don't know."

"You," he spat, advancing on her. "This is your fault."

His hand shot out, gripping her throat. "You drove my property away."

Ashlyn's eyes widened in shock and fear as Jaxxon's grip tightened momentarily before he released her with a disgusted sound.

"Get out," he ordered. "You're no longer welcome in my quarters."

As she stumbled from the room, Jaxxon caught his reflection in the window glass—his once-glossy black fur now streaked with premature gray, his eyes wild with an anguish he refused to acknowledge.

"Eleanora," he whispered to the empty room, "you belong to me. Dead or alive."

The rogue's eyes widened as Jaxxon's grip tightened around his throat. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where the Alpha had struck him moments before.

"Again," Jaxxon demanded, his voice a dangerous growl. "Describe her."

"She was selling carved totems," the rogue gasped, struggling for breath. "In the Northern markets. Black hair, like midnight. Her hands moved like they were dancing as she worked."

I could almost see the scene playing out in my mind—Jaxxon's face transforming from rage to something worse: hope.

"And you're certain it was her?" Jaxxon's grip loosened slightly.

"I've never seen anyone carve like that," the rogue whispered. "The wolves she carved looked alive. She had a moon stone pendant..."

My mother's pendant. The one I still wore beneath my clothes every day.

Jaxxon's eyes flashed black. "Where exactly?"

"The Northern Territories. Near the misty valleys."

The rogue's words had barely left his lips when Jaxxon's hand closed around his throat with a sickening crack. The body crumpled to the floor, eyes still wide with the shock of betrayal.

"Alpha," Marcus, Jaxxon's Beta, stepped forward cautiously. "We can't just—"

"We leave at dawn," Jaxxon snarled, not bothering to look at his Beta. "Elite trackers only. No one enters the Northern Territories without my permission."

I felt a chill run down my spine as if the very air had turned cold. Jaxxon was coming for me.

---

Sunlight streamed through the workshop windows as I carefully carved the final details into a wolf totem. Gregory had been teaching me more advanced techniques, and I found peace in the rhythmic motion of the knife against wood.

"You've improved," Gregory remarked, his weathered hands adjusting my grip slightly. "Your wolf guides your hands now."

I smiled, feeling a flush of pride. My wolf was stronger these days, though still cautious. The carving helped us reconnect, piece by piece.

The door burst open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Demetrius stood in the doorway, his usually calm expression replaced by urgent intensity.

"Eleanora," he said, my name sounding like both a warning and a prayer on his lips. "You need to come with me. Now."

Gregory straightened slowly, his ancient eyes narrowing. "What is it, boy?"

"Alpha wolves," Demetrius replied grimly. "At least a dozen. Crossing the northern border."

My knife clattered to the floor as ice flooded my veins. "How do you know?"

"I felt them." His amber eyes met mine, and for an instant, I saw something else there—a flash of molten gold that disappeared so quickly I wondered if I'd imagined it. "Their Alpha is powerful. Dangerous."

"Jaxxon," I whispered, the name tasting like ash on my tongue.

Demetrius crossed the room in three long strides, his hand gentle but firm as it closed around mine. "No Alpha will touch you again," he promised, his voice dropping to a register that made my wolf stir with interest. "Not while I live."

Something in his tone made me look up sharply. In that moment, I saw beyond his careful mask to something ancient and powerful lurking beneath the surface.

"Who are you?" I breathed.

Before he could answer, a howl split the air—unearthly and commanding. My wolf cowered inside me, recognizing the voice that had once been our master.

"He's found me," I whispered.

---

The village square was bathed in late afternoon light when Jaxxon's warriors surrounded it. I stood frozen beside Gregory's workshop, my carving tools still clutched in my hands.

Jaxxon emerged from between two buildings, his tall frame silhouetted against the setting sun. His eyes found mine immediately, and the look on his face stole my breath—a terrible mixture of relief and rage that made him look half-mad.

"Eleanora," he breathed, and my name sounded like both a prayer and a curse on his lips.

He looked different—thinner, wilder. Streaks of gray marred his once-glossy black hair, and his eyes held a feverish gleam that made my skin crawl.

"You're alive," he said, taking a step toward me. "Alive."

I backed away instinctively, bumping into Demetrius's solid chest behind me. His hands settled protectively on my shoulders.

"Don't touch her," Jaxxon snarled, his gaze snapping to Demetrius. "She's mine."

"She belongs to no one," Demetrius replied, his voice steady but carrying an undertone I'd never heard before.

Jaxxon's face contorted with fury. He took another step forward, and I could feel the weight of his Alpha power pressing against me like a physical force.

"Eleanora," he commanded, his Alpha Voice amplified by desperation and rage. "Submit and come to me!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled beneath me as years of conditioning, of responding to that voice, took hold. My wolf whimpered in confusion—caught between her instinct to obey and her growing trust in the man behind me.

As I fought to remain standing, I caught sight of something in Jaxxon's eyes that chilled me to the bone—not love, not even desire, but possession. Pure and simple.

He didn't want me back because he loved me.

He wanted me back because I was his.