Brendan POV:

The next morning, I stood outside the heavy oak door of the antique shop. I wore the cheap, faded jacket. I had purposely messed up my hair, trying to scrub away any trace of the ruthless predator I used to be.

I stood there for ten full minutes. I just stared through the glass window, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight of June. She was standing behind the counter, carefully dusting a porcelain vase. She looked healthy. She looked calm. She looked perfectly fine without me.

I took a deep breath that rattled in my chest and pushed the door open.

The brass bell above the door chimed. To me, it sounded like an executioner’s bell.

June stopped wiping the vase. She turned around. The morning sunlight hit the side of her face, highlighting her smooth skin. There were no scars on her face.

My lungs stopped working. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets, balling them into tight fists to stop myself from sprinting across the room and pulling her into my arms.

June looked at me. Her lips curved into a flawless, polite, and completely empty professional smile. It was the exact same fake smile she used to give the corrupt politicians she despised.

"Welcome, sir. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything." Her voice was clear, melodic, and completely devoid of any recognition.

My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I forced a bitter, pathetic smile onto my face. I wanted her to show fear. I wanted her to show disgust. Anything was better than this blank politeness.

I cleared my throat. My voice came out raspy. "Hi. My name is Bren. I just moved to town."

June nodded slightly and went back to dusting the vase. "It's a quiet town. Good for fresh starts. Are you interested in any particular era?" She didn't care who I was.

I looked around the shop. It was filled with Victorian silverware and old pocket watches. Her taste hadn't changed at all.

I walked up to the counter, locking my eyes onto hers. "I... I went through some terrible things. I went bankrupt. I just need something to distract myself." I fed her the lie, shamelessly using pity to force my way in.

June stopped dusting. A flicker of genuine human sympathy crossed her eyes. The spell hadn't erased her kind heart.

I caught that look, and a twisted, sick sense of joy bloomed in my chest. If playing the victim got her attention, I would gladly crawl on the floor.

"The wind is harsh today. If you don't mind, have a cup of hot tea to warm up, Mr. Bren," June said, pointing to the steaming teapot behind the counter.

My eyes lit up like a starving dog being offered a bone. I nodded eagerly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

June turned her back to pour the tea. My eyes traced the line of her spine, my wolf locking onto his mate.

I inhaled deeply, waiting for the familiar, crisp scent of cedarwood tea. It was the only tea I used to drink. She used to brew it for me every single day to cure my stress headaches. I was so sure she would keep that habit.

June turned back around and handed me a plain white ceramic cup.

I reached for it instantly. I intentionally let my fingertips brush against her fingernails as I took the cup.

Nothing. No spark. No static shock of the mate bond. June pulled her hand back naturally, completely unaffected.

I swallowed the massive lump of disappointment in my throat and looked down at the cup. I took a large gulp, desperate to find comfort in the taste.

The scalding liquid burned its way down my throat. It wasn't the clean, sharp taste of cedarwood. It was cheap, bitter, generic black tea.

I froze. I stared blankly at the dark red liquid in the cup. My existence had been completely scrubbed from her life. Not even my tea remained.

"Is something wrong? Not to your taste?" June tilted her head, asking out of basic courtesy.

My eyes burned. I gripped the cup tightly. "No... it's just, I thought it would be cedarwood flavored." I couldn't stop myself from testing the waters.

June let out a light laugh and shook her head. "I hate cedarwood. It's too pungent. I only ever drink this plain black tea."

Her words were a physical blade stabbing straight into my chest. My hand began to shake violently. She didn't just forget. The spell had rewired her to actively reject everything associated with me.

The hot tea almost spilled over the rim. I jerked my head back and downed the rest of the scalding liquid in one brutal swallow, letting the physical burn distract me from the tearing in my soul.

I slammed the empty cup down. My voice was a hoarse whisper.

"It doesn't matter. The tea is good. As long as it's from you, I'll drink it."

Brendan POV:

The empty teacup hit the wooden counter with a loud, heavy thud. I had tried to set it down gently, but the violent storm of pain in my chest made my muscles jerk.

June frowned. She immediately reached out and pulled the cup away, placing it safely in the sink. She had always been fiercely protective of her belongings, hating when anyone treated things with disrespect.

I realized my mistake instantly. Panic flared in my gut. I wiped my sweaty palms on my cheap jeans, suddenly terrified. I was a man who used to flip massive mahogany tables when I was angry, and now a single frown from her made my blood run cold.

I took a deep breath and leaned over the glass counter, pretending to examine a tarnished brass pocket watch. I needed to get closer. The visual and taste tests had broken me, but my wolf was screaming for her scent. I needed the smell of my mate to calm the raging beast under my skin.

As the distance between us closed, my nostrils flared. I pushed my werewolf senses to the maximum. I waited for the sweet, intoxicating scent of moonflowers that always clung to her skin.

But the smell that hit my nose was wrong. I smelled the old wood of the shop, the metallic tang of the silver, and a heavy, cheap, artificial vanilla body wash.

The spell hadn't just erased her memory. It had completely mutated her pheromones.

My body locked up. The giant wolf inside my mind let out a long, agonizing howl of pure grief. To a werewolf, losing the scent of your mate was like having half of your soul surgically removed without anesthesia.

I couldn't accept it. I leaned in further, my chest almost brushing against her shoulder as I desperately chased a ghost of her scent.

June sensed the aggressive intrusion. Her human survival instincts kicked in. She took a large, quick step backward, putting distance between us.

Her eyes turned hard and guarded. "Mr. Bren, please maintain a proper social distance." Her voice was a wall of cold, modern civility.

I looked at the suspicion in her eyes, and my heart twisted. I realized how I looked. I looked like a creeping predator.

I immediately threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender, forcing a pathetic, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I haven't been this close to another person in a very long time."

The harsh edge in June’s eyes softened slightly at my pathetic excuse, but she stayed firmly out of my reach. She didn't hate me, but she definitely didn't trust me.

The awkward silence in the shop was suffocating. Then, the brass bell above the door chimed merrily.

I snapped my head toward the door, a flash of pure, murderous rage crossing my face. Whoever dared to interrupt my time with her was going to die.

Frankie walked in. He was holding a brown paper bag, bringing a gust of cold autumn wind with him. He looked like the perfect, wholesome savior.

The moment June saw Frankie, the tension melted from her shoulders. A bright, genuine, beautiful smile broke across her face.

Seeing her smile at him was a slow, torturous execution. The golden light of my wolf threatened to bleed into my eyes. My jealousy was a physical fire burning my veins.

"Frankie, don't you have classes today?" June’s voice was light and happy. There was zero defense in her tone.

Frankie walked straight to the counter and set the paper bag down. "Lunch break. I brought you your favorite tuna sandwich." He was marking his territory with domestic garbage.

Then, Frankie reached out and casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind June’s ear.

My breathing turned into heavy, ragged pants. My fingernails sliced through the skin of my palms. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to rip his throat out right there.

Frankie slowly turned his head, acting as if he had just noticed me standing there. His acting was flawless. He pretended the rainy alley last night had never happened.

He offered me a polite smile, but his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses were dead and cold. "And who is this?"

"A new neighbor, Mr. Bren," June said casually. "Bren, this is Frankie, my... good friend."

*Good friend.* The words sounded like a death sentence.

Frankie extended his right hand toward me. "Hello, Mr. Bren. I'm the history teacher at the elementary school."

I stared at his long, pale hand. My eyes darkened with absolute hatred.

I slowly reached out my own scarred, calloused hand and gripped his. The second our skin touched, the temperature in the room plummeted.

A cruel, violent smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I was going to crush this human's hand into powder.

"Nice to meet you, 'teacher'."

Brendan POV:

The moment our hands locked, I didn't hold back. I channeled the raw, explosive muscle density of an Alpha werewolf directly into my grip. I was used to obliterating obstacles with pure, unadulterated violence.

I waited for the satisfying sound of shattering bone. I waited for Frankie to scream in agony and drop to his knees in front of June.

Instead, the flesh under my palm felt wrong. It didn't feel like human muscle and blood. It felt like I was gripping a solid block of glacial ice.

Frankie’s polite, gentle smile didn't waver. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes didn't even twitch.

Shock rippled through my chest. I doubled down, clamping my fingers tighter until my own knuckles turned bone-white from the exertion.

Frankie ignored my attack completely. He turned his head slightly to look at June. "The tuna is from that new deli on the corner. They add a special black pepper blend." His voice was perfectly smooth. He was fighting a death match with me and discussing lunch at the same time. It was the ultimate insult.

June had her back to us, organizing a pile of dust cloths. "That sounds perfect, I was craving something spicy," she replied, completely oblivious to the war happening two feet away.

The second June’s back was fully turned, Frankie’s eyes went pitch black.

He squeezed back.

A terrifying, impossible force clamped down on my hand. It felt like my hand was caught inside an industrial hydraulic press.

*Crack. Snap.*

The sickening sound of my own wrist bones fracturing echoed in the quiet shop.

Blinding pain shot up my arm, exploding into my nervous system. Cold sweat instantly broke out across my forehead. I hadn't felt physical domination like this in a decade.

I stared at the man in the gold-rimmed glasses in absolute horror. This wasn't a human history teacher. I had walked into my own trap.

Frankie leaned in a fraction of an inch. His lips barely moved as he breathed a whisper meant only for my ears. "Put your fangs away, stray dog."

Rage exploded in my brain. My left hand curled into a massive fist. I didn't care anymore. I was going to cave his face in.

"What are you guys talking about?" June turned around, holding the wrapped sandwich.

Frankie instantly released my hand. He smoothly shifted his movement, patting my shoulder like we were old drinking buddies. His transition was terrifyingly fast.

"We were just talking about the weather," Frankie smiled warmly at June. "Mr. Bren thinks it's a bit too cold in this town for him."

My right arm hung dead at my side. The agony in my crushed wrist was blinding, but I clamped my jaw shut, swallowing the groan of pain. I couldn't expose my violence in front of her. I had to eat the loss.

I shoved my trembling, broken hand deep into my jacket pocket, glaring at Frankie with the pure hatred of a wounded beast.

June looked between us, her sharp intuition picking up the weird energy. "Mr. Bren, you look incredibly pale. Are you feeling sick?"

I sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the corners of my mouth up. "I... I think the cold is getting to me. I should go."

Frankie naturally draped his arm over June’s shoulders. He waved at me with his free hand. "Take care, Bren. Stay safe out there."

I turned and walked toward the door. Every step felt like walking through wet cement. My pride had been dragged through the mud and stomped on.

As I pushed the heavy door open, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back one last time.

Frankie was leaning down, using his thumb to gently wipe a speck of mayo from the corner of June’s mouth. His eyes were full of sickening devotion.

I shoved the door open so hard the brass bell slammed against the glass.

I practically ran down the street. Once I was ten meters into the dark alley, I collapsed against the rough red brick wall, gasping for air like a drowning man.

I pulled my right hand out of my pocket. It was a horrific shade of purple and black, the bones visibly deformed beneath the swelling skin.

My werewolf healing factor finally kicked into overdrive. The bones snapped and ground back into their proper places with sharp, popping sounds. The physical damage was repairing itself, but the humiliation burned like acid in my veins.

I pulled out my phone with my good left hand and dialed Marcus. My voice was a block of solid ice.

"Dig up every ancestor of that man's entire bloodline!"