"Where the devil is my son?"

The snarl cut through the quiet hum of the refrigerator, a sound so violent it made Sharon’s hand slip on the doorknob. She had spent seven years running from that voice, seven years burying the memory of how it could command her very blood to stop. The magic she had sensed outside wasn't coming from the woods; it was radiating from the heart of her home.

Her hand shook so violently it took two tries to turn the knob. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to grab Alexander and vanish into the mist, but Luthor Michaels was already inside. An Alpha’s presence was a physical weight, and through the wood of the door, Sharon felt the crushing gravity of his power. She was practically hyperventilating by the time the door creaked open, revealing the truth she had prayed was a hallucination.

Luthor Michaels sat at her small dining table, his large frame making the modest kitchen look like a dollhouse. He was her ex-Alpha, the father of her child, and the only man who had ever touched her. The moment their eyes met, every Omega instinct Sharon had suppressed for nearly a decade roared to life. Her body wanted to drop, to offer her throat, to beg for the favor of the man who had discarded her.

Screw that, she thought, her teeth grinding together. She hadn't spent seven years building a life out of scrap and magic just to roll over because a dominant wolf walked through her door.

"Sharon," Luthor rumbled, standing up. The movement was fluid, predatory, and entirely too close. "It’s been a long time."

Sharon took an instinctive step back, her knees threatening to give way. She forced her chin up, a futile attempt to look brave while her heart tried to hammer its way out of her ribs. "You shouldn't be here, Luthor. You have no right."

"I have every right," he countered, stepping toward her. "I’ll ask you one more time. Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stuttered. The lie was flimsy, a paper shield against a hurricane.

Up close, Luthor was still the most handsome man she had ever seen, a fact that felt like a betrayal to her own soul. Time had only sharpened him. His blond hair, usually a shade lighter than Alexander’s, was cut into a severe, military style that emphasized the harsh, beautiful lines of his face. His jaw was a ridge of granite, his lips full and sensual against his tanned skin. But it was his eyes that truly undid her—that bright, summer-sky blue that she saw every single morning when her son woke up.

Luthor watched the color rise in Sharon’s cheeks. She was flushed with a volatile mix of fear and fury, her dark chocolate hair stacked messily on her head with wisps curling around her neck. Her eyes—midnight black with flashes of moonlight silver—were wide and despairing. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. He had spent years convincing himself she was a plain, useless girl he’d made a mistake with, but the woman standing before him was a revelation. The shy awkwardness of her youth had been beaten away, leaving behind something tempered and sharp.

He was enraged, but beneath the fury, his wolf was howling in recognition, desperate to claim the Omega it had never truly forgotten. He’d been searching for seven years, nearly tearing the continent apart. When his scouts finally told him she was living a mere four hours away under a different name, he had nearly leveled the packhouse in his rage.

"Don't lie to me," Luthor hissed, his scent—that intoxicating cedar and woodsmoke—filling her lungs. "I smelled him the moment I crossed the porch. My blood. My son."

"He isn't yours," Sharon snapped, her voice gaining a jagged edge. "He’s mine. You made it very clear seven years ago that I wasn't worth your time. That makes him mine."

Luthor flinched, though he hid it behind a mask of cold arrogance. He remembered that night vividly, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. Back then, he was a newly minted Alpha, and Sharon Spark had been the pack’s ghost—a girl born of shifters who seemed to have no wolf and no magic. He had written her off as useless until her first heat hit. It was an Omega heat, rare and powerful, and it had undone him.

He had been gentle with her that night. He had mated her, bound her, and protected her like she was the highest-ranking member of the pack. But when the haze of the heat cleared, his rational, cold-blooded side had taken over. He needed a queen, a dominant mate to help him lead a warring pack, not a submissive, magic-less girl. He had convinced himself that mating her was a monumental error. He had been distant, then cold, and finally cruel, driving her away until she disappeared into the night.

"I was young, and I had a pack to secure," Luthor said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "But I don't leave my blood in the wilderness, Sharon. You stole an heir from the Tenzclaw. That’s a death sentence for anyone else."

"Is that what this is? An execution?" Sharon challenged, stepping deeper into the kitchen, placing herself between Luthor and the hallway leading to Alexander’s room.

"It's a reclamation," Luthor corrected. He looked at her, his gaze lingering on the pulse jumping in her neck. He wanted to be angry—he was angry—but the lust was a secondary fire, burning just as hot. He could smell her magic now, too. It was different, stronger than it should be. "You've changed. You're not the girl who used to hide in the corners of the dining hall."

"That girl died the day she realized her Alpha was a coward who was afraid of a little girl’s heart," she said.

Luthor’s eyes flashed gold. He moved so fast she didn't have time to blink, pinning her against the counter. His hands didn't touch her, but he boxed her in, his heat radiating through her clothes. "Careful, Sharon. I’ve spent seven years being angry. Don't push me to show you exactly how much of a 'coward' I am."

"Mama?"

The small, sleepy voice from the hallway shattered the tension like a stone through glass. Both Sharon and Luthor froze.

Alexander stood at the end of the hall, clutching a stuffed wolf—a cruel irony Sharon hadn't noticed until this exact moment. He rubbed his eyes, his messy sandy-blond hair catching the kitchen light. He looked from his mother to the giant man looming over her.

"Who's that?" Alexander asked, his voice small but curious.

Luthor stepped back from Sharon, his entire posture shifting. The predator didn't disappear, but it became still, hushed. He stared at the boy, his sky-blue eyes wide with a shock that looked dangerously like pain. He saw the chin, the shoulders, the height—it was like looking into a mirror that showed him a better version of himself.

"Alexander," Sharon breathed, moving quickly to her son’s side. She gathered him into her arms, her magic flaring instinctively, a soft violet shimmer dancing around her fingertips.

Luthor’s eyebrows shot up. "Magic? You’ve been hiding more than just a child."

"I've been learning to protect what’s mine," Sharon said, her voice steady now that she was holding her son. "Now get out of my house."

Luthor didn't move. He kept his eyes on Alexander, who was staring back at him with a strange, fearless intensity. "He doesn't know who I am, does he?"

"He knows he has a mother who loves him. That’s all he needs to know."

Luthor let out a dry, dark chuckle. He walked to the door, but he didn't leave. He paused with his hand on the frame, looking back at the two of them—the Omega he had thrown away and the son he hadn't known he needed.

"You’ve done well, Sharon. Better than I expected," Luthor said, his voice carrying the weight of an Alpha’s decree. "But this little cottage isn't a fortress. The Tenzclaw are coming. I’m not leaving this town without my son. And since you're so fond of him, I imagine you'll be coming too."

"I'll die first," Sharon vowed.

"We'll see," Luthor replied, his gaze dropping to her lips for one agonizing second. "Get some rest, Sharon. You're going to need your strength for what comes next."

He stepped out into the night, the heavy fog swallowing him whole. Sharon immediately collapsed against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, pulling Alexander into her lap. She was shaking, her magic flickering out like a dying candle.

"Mama, why was that man crying?" Alexander asked softly.

Sharon froze. "He wasn't crying, baby. Men like that don't cry."

"He was," Alexander insisted, tucking his head under her chin. "I saw his eyes. They looked like the ocean when it's sad."

Sharon held him tighter, staring at the closed door. The Alpha had found them, and the seven years of peace had ended in a single breath. She knew Luthor Michaels. He didn't ask; he took. And she knew that the fire between them—the anger, the guilt, and the devastating attraction—was about to burn her entire world down.

"I’m going to ask you again—where is my son?"

Luthor’s voice was a low vibration that seemed to rattle the very foundation of the small cottage. He didn’t scream; he didn't have to. The sheer weight of his Alpha authority was enough to make the air in the kitchen feel like lead.

Sharon flinched, the question hitting her like a physical blow. She went deathly pale, making her large, dark eyes stand out like ink against snow. She stared at him, her gaze locked on his as if she were afraid that blinking would give him the opening he needed to tear her world apart.

Luthor watched her, a dark sense of satisfaction curling in his gut. At least the Omega still recognized who was in charge.

"I'm alone," she said. Her voice was trembling, but her jaw was set in a line of pure, unadulterated stubbornness. She glared at him, a fierce flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. "Why don't you get the hell out of my house?"

"Is that any way to talk to your Alpha?" Luthor demanded.

He stepped closer, his large frame casting a long shadow over her. She wasn't his mate—not by law, anyway—but she was his pack. She was his. And if he had to take her respect by force, he would. The scent of her fear was intoxicating, but beneath it was that familiar, sweet Omega heat that had haunted his dreams for seven long years.

"Where is the child, Sharon?"

"I told you, he’s not here!" she snarled, taking a daring step toward him. Her small fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. The flush had spread down to her chest, and Luthor found himself wanting to press his lips against her collarbone just to taste the heat of her defiance.

Sharon swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a forced, softer tone. "He’s having a sleepover with one of his friends. A human friend. So don't even think you're going to roll up there and pull all this Alpha hooey on a house full of humans."

Luthor narrowed his eyes. She was lying. It was a clumsy, desperate lie, and it irritated him to his core. He could see how hard she was trying to play it cool, attempting to mask the scent of his own son with the smell of her own magic and panic.

It might have fooled a younger, less experienced Alpha, but Luthor had spent seven years obsessing over every scrap of memory he had of Sharon Spark. He noticed the minute way she shifted her weight, positioning herself directly in front of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She was on her tiptoes, ready to spring, ready to fight for the boy.

A sick sense of pride swelled in his chest. The shy, awkward girl he had bedded and discarded was gone. In her place was a lioness.

But the pride didn't last. It was quickly charred by a fresh wave of fury. He thought about the past seven years—the humiliation of realizing she had run from him, the degradation of knowing his own blood was being raised in some nameless town without his guidance.

If he had rebuffed her after their night together, that was his prerogative as Alpha. It was completely unacceptable that she had retaliated by depriving him of his heir.

"Okay," Luthor said suddenly, moving back a step. "You win. I won't go near your friend's home."

Sharon froze, her eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. She crossed her arms over her chest, her full lips pursed into a thin, hard line. She didn't believe him for a second, and that was fine. He didn't particularly trust himself right now either. His wolf was snarling at the edge of his consciousness, urging him to grab her, to mark her, to drag them both back to the Tenzclaw lands where they belonged.

"You just happened to stop by to say hello?" she asked. Her voice was light, but it was the brittle lightness of someone standing on the edge of a breakdown.

"I was just making sure you were okay," Luthor lied, his blue eyes as cold as a winter sky. "And everything seems to be just fine."

Sharon nodded once—a jerky, uncertain movement. She took a step forward, her nostrils flaring as she tried to catch his scent. Luthor stood perfectly still, knowing she wouldn't detect a thing. He had spent the last few hours masking his trail, ensuring that the scent of the Tenzclaw and the scent of the boy he had watched through the window didn't cling to him. If Sharon couldn't smell him, she couldn't track him. And she certainly wouldn't know that he had already seen the boy’s sandy-blond hair and bright blue eyes.

The silence in the kitchen was stifling. Luthor looked at her—really looked at her—and realized that the woman before him was a stranger. Where was the sweet, tender girl who had almost wept with joy just because he had noticed her? Where was the Sharon who had looked at him with such pathetic, beautiful hope?

This woman was itching for a fight. She was lying to his face and shielding a secret that belonged to him by right of nature.

He had nearly lost hope of ever finding her. Year after year, the trail had gone cold, and his advisors had whispered that he should move on, that an Omega like Sharon wasn't worth the resources of the pack. But he couldn't let it go. When he finally discovered she was a mere four hours away, he felt like the world had finally righted itself.

He wasn't the same man she had left. He was older, harder, and far less patient. His self-absorption had cost him seven years of his son’s life, and he was not about to lose another day.

"I'll be seeing you, Sharon," Luthor said, his voice a low promise.

"Don't come back," she whispered.

"We both know that’s not going to happen."

He turned on his heel and walked out the front door, the damp night air hitting him like a cold towel. He didn't look back, even as he heard the heavy thud of the deadbolt sliding into place behind him.

He walked down the gravel drive, his mind spinning. He had prepared for Sharon to be angry. He had prepared for her to be frightened. But he hadn't expected her to have developed a backbone of steel. He hadn't expected the way his own blood would react to seeing her again—a violent, possessive roar that demanded he claim her right there on the kitchen floor.

He reached his black SUV parked a quarter-mile down the road, hidden under the canopy of the pines. His Beta, Gabe, was waiting in the driver's seat.

"Did you see the boy?" Gabe asked as Luthor climbed in.

"I saw him," Luthor said, his hands gripping the dashboard until the leather groaned. "He’s mine. There’s no doubt about it."

"And the mother? Is she coming willingly?"

Luthor let out a short, harsh laugh. "Sharon Spark wouldn't do a single thing willingly if it involved me. She’s turned into a fighter, Gabe. She tried to tell me he was at a sleepover while he was sleeping twenty feet away."

"So, what’s the move? We take them tonight?"

Luthor looked out the window at the dark silhouette of the trees. He could still taste her scent on the back of his throat—sweet, floral, and laced with the sharp tang of her magic. He thought about the boy, Alexander, and the way Sharon had shielded him. If he took them by force now, the boy’s first memory of his father would be one of violence and terror.

He was an Alpha, but he wasn't a fool. He wanted his son’s loyalty, and he wanted Sharon’s submission. Neither would come from a kidnapping.

"No," Luthor said, his eyes glowing gold in the dark interior of the car. "We wait. I want her to realize that there is no corner of this earth where she can hide from me. I want her to understand that her 'independence' is an illusion."

"And if she runs again?"

Luthor smiled, a dark, predatory curve of his lips. "She won't get far. I’ve put a perimeter around the town. Every road, every trail. She’s in my territory now. She just doesn't know it yet."

Back in the cottage, Sharon was slumped against the door, her breath coming in jagged hitches. She could still feel the phantom heat of Luthor’s presence in the room. It was like he had left a permanent stain on the air.

She walked down the hall and opened Alexander’s door. He was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in the deep, easy rhythm of childhood. She sat on the edge of his bed and watched him, her hand trembling as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Xander," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She knew Luthor hadn't believed her. She knew the "okay, you win" was a lie. He was a predator, and he was just playing with his prey before the kill. She had spent seven years running, seven years pretending that she was more than just an Omega and he was more than just an Alpha.

But as she looked at her son’s face—the face of the man who had just left her kitchen—she realized the truth. The bond was never broken. It was just stretched thin, and now Luthor Michaels was reeling it in.

She stood up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, desperate resolve. She couldn't stay here. The perimeter he’d mentioned—she didn't know about it yet, but she could feel the invisible walls closing in. She went to the closet and pulled out a duffel bag, her movements frantic.

She had magic now. She had strength. She wasn't the shy girl from the Tenzclaw anymore.

"I won't let you take him," she hissed into the dark.

But as she packed her few belongings, she could still hear Luthor’s voice in her head, deep and certain.

Is that any way to talk to your Alpha?

The war had begun, and Sharon Spark was starting it with a bag of clothes and a heart full of terror.

"I'm fine," Sharon said, her voice tight and clipped. She didn't wait for him to respond, instead sidling around his massive frame to push open the front door. She stood there, one hand on the heavy wood, gesturing pointedly for him to exit. "Now, if you please, I have some errands to run. Thank you for dropping by to check on me, Luthor, but I don't need your help. Not today, not ever."

Luthor paused in the doorway, looking back at her with a flicker of genuine surprise before his face smoothed into his best, most lupine smile. It was a predatory expression, one that promised he was seeing much more than she was showing. "Naturally not. You’re doing fine on your own, aren’t you? Quite the independent life you’ve built in this little hole in the wall."

His eyes scanned the interior of the cottage one last time, taking in the frayed rugs and the mismatched furniture. Sharon stood stock still, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. They both knew the truth. This wasn't a home; it was a burrow, a place where a frightened creature had holed up to hide from the sun.

"Don't worry, though," Luthor added, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that made her skin crawl. "Your secret is safe with me."

Sharon opened her mouth to snap a sharp rebuttal, to tell him she had no secrets and no fear, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I'm not here to fight you, Sharon. At least, not yet."

For a second, it appeared she was going to lung anyway. He could sense the refusal coiling in her throat, the way her magic hummed just beneath the surface of her skin, ready to lash out. But then, as if the weight of the last seven years had finally crashed down on her shoulders, she sighed. The tension dissipated from her body, leaving her looking small and fragile in the doorway.

"Please," she whispered. "Just leave."

Luthor felt a twinge of disappointment. Part of him had wanted her to scream, to throw something, to give him an excuse to stay and dominate the space until she remembered exactly who he was. He didn't like the way she looked at him—like he was a monster she had outgrown. But he could see she was at her breaking point, and he had no desire to deal with an Omega’s total emotional collapse in the middle of a gravel driveway.

"As you wish," he said. He gave her a mock salute, the gesture dripping with unearned arrogance, before turning on his heel and descending the porch steps.

He didn't miss the audible sound of relief that escaped her as the door thudded shut and the deadbolt slid home.

As Luthor walked toward the tree line, his mind was a chaotic storm of conflicting instincts. The only thing he truly wanted to do was turn back, kick that door off its hinges, and demand to know why she had left. He wanted to scoop her up, throw her in the back of his car, and drive back to the Tenzclaw lands where he could lock her in his suite and never let her out of his sight again.

She had lied to his face. That fact alone infuriated him, a hot coal burning in his gut. But he had seen the terror in her eyes, and he knew she was only holding out because she expected him to act like the tyrant she remembered.

I won't force her, he promised his inner wolf, which was currently pacing and snarling for a taste of her skin. She’s going to be my mate. That means I treat her right. Even if she doesn't get it yet.

If she needed to feel like she had a choice, he would play the game. He would give her the illusion of agency, however thin. He wouldn't like it, and it would test every ounce of his restraint, but Luthor Michaels always got what he wanted in the end. And right now, he wanted a family that looked at him with loyalty, not just fear.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Luthor hadn't actually left the neighborhood. He had reached the edge of the property line, but something about the way Sharon had practically pushed him out the door set off every alarm bell in his head. He knew she was lying about the boy being at a sleepover—the scent of milk and young shifter was too fresh in the house for that—but there was something more. A frantic energy in her scent that suggested she wasn't just hiding; she was preparing.

Instead of heading to a hotel, he circled back through the dense woods behind the cottage. He found a vantage point beneath a sprawling cedar, where the shadows were thick enough to mask his heat signature. The house was dark and quiet, save for a single amber light glowing in the kitchen window.

He stood there, perfectly still, observing for nearly half an hour. He felt like a fool. What was he doing? Was the Great Alpha of the Tenzclaw reduced to lurking in the bushes like a common stalker, hoping to catch his ex-lover in a lie?

He needed a plan. His wolf was agitated, hating the way things had been left unresolved. If he pushed too hard, she’d run again, and this time she might find a way to disappear for good. He couldn't risk losing Alexander again.

He exhaled a long breath, resting the back of his head against the rough bark of the tree. The temperature was dropping fast. Even though the spring day had been warm, the coastal night was turning brittle and cold. He only had on a light jacket, and while his shifter blood kept him warmer than a human, he wasn't exactly looking forward to freezing his ass off while staring at a silent house.

Just as he had convinced himself that a warm bed and a steak at the local inn were a better use of his time, a light flickered on inside the cottage. Then another.

Luthor tensed, his body dropping into a low, predatory crouch. He stopped breathing, his eyes locked on the front door.

Moments later, the door creaked open. Sharon emerged, but she wasn't the defeated woman he’d left an hour ago. She was dressed in a black pullover and leggings, her dark hair pulled back into a high, severe ponytail. An overloaded backpack was slung over her shoulders, and tucked tightly under her arm was a large, blanket-wrapped package.

She moved with a frantic, quiet grace, using her foot to pull the door shut behind her. She didn't lock it—she didn't have time. She made a beeline for the beat-up sedan sitting in the driveway.

Luthor’s mind raced. There was only one explanation: she was making a run for it. She was going to disappear into the night, taking his son into the unknown just to keep him away from his father.

He could have stayed put. He could have let her get into the car and then followed her from a distance, but his wolf was done with waiting. The beast inside him demanded a confrontation.

He stepped out from the shadows, his boots crunching on the dry needles and dead leaves. In the suffocating silence of the forest, the sound was as loud as a gunshot.

Sharon froze. Her entire body went rigid, her hand hovering over the car door handle. She turned slowly, her eyes burning with a desperate, trapped anger.

"Going somewhere, Sharon?" Luthor asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to come from the earth itself.

The bundle in her arms wriggled. Sharon gasped, clutching it tighter to her chest, but it was too late. The blanket shifted just enough, and for the first time in seven years, Luthor caught the full, unmasked scent of his son. It was a mix of Sharon’s sweetness and his own raw power—a scent that slammed into his chest and made his vision blur with a sudden, violent protective urge.

"Get away from us!" Sharon hissed, her voice shaking with a terrifying intensity. "Luthor, I mean it. Stay back!"

"You were going to run," Luthor said, his voice dropping into a register that made the nearby trees seem to shiver. He took a step forward, his eyes glowing a brilliant, terrifying gold. "You were going to take him and hide again."

"I was protecting him!" she screamed, her eyes flashing with a sudden burst of silver magic. "You don't get to just show up and claim him like he’s a piece of property!"

The bundle in her arms began to cry—a small, sharp sound that cut through Luthor’s heart like a knife. Sharon rocked the package instinctively, her face contorted in a mask of maternal agony.

"Let me see him," Luthor commanded.

"No!"

"Sharon, don't make me take him from you," he warned, his own wolf rising to the surface, his fangs beginning to ache behind his gums. "I am his Alpha. I am his father. Let. Me. See. Him."

Sharon backed up against the car, her chest heaving. She looked at the woods, then at the house, and finally at the man who had been the villain of her story for seven years. She realized she had nowhere left to go.

Slowly, her hands trembling, she began to peel back the heavy wool blanket.

Luthor took a cautious step closer, his breath hitching in his throat. Emerging from the folds of the fabric was a small, ruffled head of sandy-blond hair and a pair of wide, startled blue eyes. The boy looked exactly like the photos Luthor had imagined in his head, but a thousand times more real. He was beautiful, he was fierce, and he was undeniably a Michaels.

"Alexander," Luthor whispered, the name tasting like a prayer on his tongue.

The boy stopped crying, staring at the giant man with a strange, solemn curiosity. He reached out a small hand, his fingers brushing against the air as if trying to catch the golden light in Luthor’s eyes.

"Is he the man from the window, Mama?" the boy asked softly.

Sharon didn't answer. She just held him tighter, her tears finally spilling over and tracking lines through the dust on her cheeks.

Luthor looked from his son to the woman he had once broken. He saw the duffel bag in the backseat, the fear in her posture, and the incredible, stubborn love in her eyes. The anger in his gut didn't vanish, but it was suddenly joined by a heavy, soul-deep weight of responsibility.

"Put him in the car, Sharon," Luthor said, his voice no longer a snarl, but a quiet, iron-clad command.

"Where are you taking us?" she gasped.

"I'm not taking you anywhere yet," Luthor said, reaching out to brush a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. His touch was surprisingly gentle, though his eyes remained fixed on her with an intensity that promised her life would never be the same. "We’re going back inside. We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to tell me everything. And then, we’re going home."

Sharon looked at the dark forest, then at the car, and finally at the Alpha. She saw the truth in his gaze. The run was over. The hiding was done.

"He's not like you, Luthor," she whispered as she turned back toward the house. "He’s kind. Don't you dare ruin that."

Luthor followed her into the cottage, his shadow looming large over the small porch. "I didn't come here to ruin him, Sharon," he murmured as the door closed behind them. "I came to make sure no one else ever gets the chance."