Elara Meadowes POV:

My fingers tightened around my phone, the plastic groaning under the pressure. The knuckles of my free hand turned white where I gripped the edge of the library table.

"I know, I know!" Cole said hastily to the woman in the background. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he spoke back into the phone. "Ila, listen, I'm so sorry. It's crazy here. It's all about Ryker's mate selection ceremony, you know?"

His tone was apologetic, almost pleading, and it was enough to douse the initial flare of my anger. But the cold knot of suspicion remained.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, trembling with an insecurity I hated.

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "That's Mira Thorne," he said, his voice tight. "She's... she's my brother's chosen mate. The future Luna. She's in charge of a lot of the arrangements."

Mira Thorne. The future Luna of the Nightshade Pack.

The name landed in my stomach like a stone. A woman with power, with status. A woman who could command the Alpha's brother and expect to be obeyed without question. A woman who belonged in that world of wealth and influence, a world I could only peer at from the outside.

"...Oh. Okay," I managed to say, the words feeling like ash in my mouth. The last thing I wanted was to sound like a needy, jealous girlfriend.

"I promise, as soon as this is all over, I'll make it up to you," Cole's voice softened, turning warm and intimate. It was the voice I had fallen in love with. "I love you, Ila."

Those three words were a balm to my frayed nerves. They were everything. "I love you too," I whispered back. "Be safe. Take care of yourself."

We hung up, and the oppressive silence of the library rushed back in to fill the void. But this time, it wasn't empty. It was filled with the echo of his promise.

*I'll make it up to you.*

But why should I wait? He was working so hard, he sounded so tired, being ordered around by his future sister-in-law. He needed something to lift his spirits. He needed me.

A surprise.

The idea bloomed in my mind, bold and brilliant. It wasn't just a want anymore; it was a mission. I would go to him. I would be the bright spot in his stressful day.

I shot out of my chair and hurried out of the library, completely ignoring the buzz of my phone in my pocket. A quick glance showed a text from Silas. *At the front gate. Where are you?*

I shoved the phone deeper into my bag.

I ran the few blocks to the town's main bus station, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves. I scanned the route map, my eyes finding the line that went out toward the forested suburbs, toward Blackwood Manor—the Packhouse.

An image flashed in my mind: Cole, a few months ago, happily devouring a cinnamon roll from The Rolling Pin, the best bakery in town. He'd claimed they were his one true weakness.

My plan solidified. It was perfect. Simple, sweet, and undeniably from the heart.

I boarded the bus, the fare taking a significant chunk of my weekly allowance. As the bus rumbled through town, I felt a giddy sense of rebellion. I was doing this. For Cole. For us. I imagined the look on his face when I showed up, a warm cinnamon roll in hand. The thought was so wonderful it pushed aside all of Silas's dire warnings, all my own fears about the imposing Alpha and his world. Love was a powerful shield. It made me feel invincible.

I got off at the stop near the bakery, the warm, spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar wrapping around me like a hug. It smelled like happiness. It smelled like Cole.

I carefully selected the biggest, gooiest roll they had, the warm paper bag a comforting weight in my hands. Then, I was back on another bus, this one heading out of the city, toward the deep woods that bordered the pack lands.

The urban landscape slowly gave way to towering trees, their dense canopy swallowing the sunlight. Deep within that forest was the heart of our pack, the center of all power.

Through the window, I could just make out the distant silhouette of the manor's pointed roofs against the sky. I took a deep breath, the air tasting of pine and damp earth.

Moonlight paced restlessly in my mind, a mix of her own excitement and a primal unease.

*For Cole,* I told myself, clutching the paper bag a little tighter. *It's all for Cole.*

Elara Meadowes POV:

The bus let me off at a lonely stop on the edge of the main road, leaving me to walk the long, private driveway to Blackwood Manor alone. Towering pine trees lined the path, their branches forming a dark canopy overhead that made the late afternoon feel like twilight. Ahead, the wrought-iron gates of the estate loomed like the jaws of some great, sleeping beast.

Two guards in crisp, black uniforms stepped forward as I approached, blocking my path. They were warriors, their bodies tense and alert, their eyes sharp and assessing. They radiated an aura of disciplined danger.

"Halt," one of them said, his voice a low, gravelly command. "This is private property."

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. "I'm... I'm here to see Cole Blackwood," I stammered, my voice sounding small and weak in the vast, quiet space. "My name is Ilana Meadows."

The mention of Cole's name didn't change their stoic expressions. But as I said my own name, a crackle came from the other guard's radio earpiece. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. Silas. My brother must have put my name on a visitor's list, just in case. The realization sent a complicated pang of gratitude and guilt through me. He was always one step ahead, always trying to protect me, even when I was actively ignoring him.

The guard's posture relaxed slightly. "The Gamma's sister?" he asked, his tone shifting from suspicion to professional courtesy. "You may enter."

They swung open a smaller pedestrian gate set into the massive ironwork.

A wave of relief washed over me. I was in. I was so focused on my success that I completely missed the real reason for it. I thought they were letting in Cole's girlfriend, not the Gamma's sister.

Stepping through the gate was like entering another world. The Packhouse was even more imposing up close, a modern fortress of dark stone and vast panes of glass that reflected the grim, gray sky. It was magnificent, but cold, built to project power, not welcome.

I crossed a manicured lawn that was greener than anything I'd ever seen and pushed open the heavy oak doors to the main building. The great hall stole my breath. The ceiling soared two stories high, and the floor was a polished expanse of black marble that reflected the stern faces of the past Alphas whose portraits hung on the walls.

I felt small, insignificant, like an ant that had wandered into a palace of giants. The warm, sweet-smelling paper bag in my hand suddenly felt childish and out of place.

A few omegas, the lowest rank in the pack, moved silently through the hall, polishing silver and dusting furniture. They glanced at me, their eyes wide with a fleeting curiosity, before quickly looking down and scurrying away. Their deference was a physical thing, a learned response to the oppressive weight of the power that permeated this place. It made my skin prickle with discomfort.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the vast hall, scanning the area for any sign of Cole. The place was huge, a maze of hallways and staircases. I had no idea where to even begin looking.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I approached a young she-wolf who was carefully cleaning a large porcelain vase. "Excuse me," I said, trying to keep my voice friendly and non-threatening. "Do you know where I can find Cole Blackwood's room?"

The girl jumped, startled, her eyes darting around as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. In a place like this, simply speaking the name of an Alpha's family member was a transgression.

"The... the Blackwood... masters' rooms..." she stammered, her gaze fixed on the floor. "They are on the top floor. The West Wing."

It was the most she dared to say. The top floor was the family's private sanctuary, a place servants were forbidden to speak of, let alone enter. She pointed a trembling finger toward a grand, sweeping staircase that dominated one side of the hall. "Up... up there."

"Thank you," I said. The girl gave a jerky nod and practically fled.

I was left alone, staring up at the staircase. It felt like a path to a forbidden kingdom. A knot of fear tightened in my stomach. But then I thought of Cole, of his tired voice on the phone, of the smile I so desperately wanted to put back on his face.

The thought gave me courage.

Clutching my paper bag, I took the first step onto the plush, crimson runner that carpeted the stairs. The thick carpet muffled my footsteps, creating an eerie silence that was broken only by the frantic beating of my own heart. The walls along the staircase were lined with more portraits, older ones in black and white. The stern, unsmiling faces of generations of Blackwoods seemed to follow me, their painted eyes judging me, this intruder in their sacred home.

I hurried my pace, eager to escape their silent scrutiny.

Finally, I reached the top. A long, dim hallway stretched out before me, lined with identical, imposing dark wood doors.

*The West Wing,* the servant had said. I turned left, my sneakers sinking into the thick, blood-red carpet, and walked into the lion's den.

Elara Meadowes POV:

The West Wing corridor was silent and still, the air heavy with a scent I couldn't quite place. It was powerful, masculine, and utterly dominant—like the air after a lightning strike, mixed with old leather, and the sharp, clean scent of pine in the dead of winter. It was an Alpha's scent, and it made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. Moonlight paced nervously in my mind, her instincts screaming at her to be submissive.

I tried to push through the overwhelming scent, to find the familiar, comforting smell of Cole's forest rain, but this other scent was a tidal wave, drowning out everything else. I foolishly assumed it was just the scent of the Blackwood family, the collective aura of the top floor, not realizing it belonged to one person. To him.

I walked the length of the hallway, my eyes scanning the identical doors. They were all closed, all unmarked. How was I supposed to find him?

Then I saw it. At the very end of the hall, there was one door that was different. It was a set of massive double doors, made of a dark, almost black wood, with no number or nameplate.

*This must be it,* I thought. *A study, or a lounge they share.* It made sense that the most important room would be at the end. Cole had to be in there.

My hand rose to knock, but I hesitated. The door was slightly ajar, a thin black line in the dim light of the hallway.

A thrill of mischief ran through me. This was supposed to be a surprise, after all. What was more surprising than just walking in?

I pressed my ear to the crack. Silence.

Holding my breath, I gave the heavy door a gentle push. It swung inward without a sound. I slipped inside, pulling it closed behind me, leaving it just a breath away from latching shut.

The room was dark, the only light filtering through the edges of thick, drawn velvet curtains. As my eyes adjusted, the sheer scale of the space became clear. It was a library, or an office. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling on one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes. A desk the size of my entire bed dominated the center of the room, and several deep leather armchairs were arranged around a cold, stone fireplace.

The powerful Alpha scent was a physical presence in here, so thick I could almost taste it on my tongue.

"Cole?" I whispered, but my voice was swallowed by the oppressive silence.

He wasn't here. Disappointment pricked at me. I placed the paper bag with the cinnamon roll on a small side table and let my curiosity take over. I wandered deeper into the room, my fingers trailing over the cool, polished wood of the desk. Everything was meticulously organized, almost clinically neat. It radiated an aura of cold control, a stark contrast to Cole's warm, easygoing nature.

My gaze was drawn to the fireplace. Above the mantel, a pair of ancient, crossed battle-axes were mounted on the wall. But it was what sat on the mantel itself that captured my attention. There was only one object there: a single, ornate silver photo frame.

I felt an unexplainable pull, a need to see what picture was so important it was given this place of honor. I stepped closer, my reflection a ghostly image in the polished stone of the hearth.

The frame held a faded photograph of a handsome, stern-faced man and a woman with a gentle, loving smile. I recognized them from the official pack portraits in the great hall. They were the previous Alpha and Luna. Ryker and Cole's parents.

The woman's warm eyes and soft smile were so much like Cole's. Looking at her, I felt a strange sense of connection, a feeling of peeking into a secret, sacred part of the family's history. It felt intimate, and in that moment, I felt closer to Cole than ever.

On impulse, I reached out and picked up the frame. It was heavier than I expected, the silver cool and solid against my skin. It felt imbued with history, with love and with loss. I used the pad of my thumb to gently wipe a speck of dust from the glass, my eyes tracing the faces of the two people who had created the boy I loved.

I was so lost in the moment, so wrapped up in this tangible piece of the past, that I didn't notice the shadows in the corner of the room shift. I didn't register the faintest creak of a leather chair.

I didn't hear the soft, almost imperceptible click as the door I'd left ajar was pushed fully open.

I didn't hear the silent footfalls on the thick rug behind me.

I just stared at the photograph, a soft smile on my face. "They look so happy together," I murmured to myself.

A voice, as cold and sharp as breaking ice, spoke directly behind me, and every muscle in my body seized.

"What are you doing in my office?"