Page 21

21

SONYA

T he moment Sonya stepped off the ridge trail and onto the dirt path that led to her childhood home, her stomach twisted like it knew what her heart refused to admit—this wasn’t going to end quietly.

She’d waited long enough.

Landon had gone back to his aunt Jen’s place, moving careful and slow, hoping to dig up anything else about his heritage.

He’d promised to check in once he gathered supplies and had a moment to clear his head.

Sonya had taken that window to do what she’d been putting off—face the fallout.

Check on her parents.

See the damage her choice had carved across the pack lines.

The house stood like it always had, proud and quiet with its weather-worn siding and pine-framed porch.

But the second her boots hit the packed dirt, her wolf stirred uneasily, hackles rising.

Roman.

His scent clung to the air like scorched cedar and iron—cloying, toxic.

Her pulse leapt to her throat.

Damn it. She should’ve known he’d be waiting, skulking around like a vulture dressed in tailored rage.

She rounded the bend and there he was, leaning against the porch railing like he owned the damn earth beneath it.

His eyes—dark and slick with fury—snapped up the second he caught her scent.

His jaw ticked, lips curling into a smile that held no warmth.

“There you are,” he said, voice smooth as oil.

“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

Sonya slowed but didn’t stop.

“Roman.”

He pushed off the railing, taking a few steps toward her.

“You reek of him.”

She blinked.

“What are you?—”

“Don’t insult me!” he snapped, eyes flashing.

“I know his scent. I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Her spine stiffened.

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“It is,” he growled, stepping in close, “when the future Luna opens her legs for a stray mutt.”

That did it.

Her head snapped up, ice in her gaze.

“I was never your Luna,” she said coldly.

“You just never heard the word no.”

The front door creaked open.

Her mother’s voice floated out, uncertain and frail.

“Sonya?”

Both her parents stood on the porch now, her father behind her mother, jaw tight and fists clenched.

And the woods—they weren’t silent anymore.

She felt it more than saw them.

Pack members, trickling out from the tree line and neighboring homes, drawn by raised voices, by the scent of a brewing storm.

Roman’s voice thundered through the clearing.

“She has broken sacred bonds! Shared herself with the outsider. With the prophecy.”

Whispers curled like smoke around them.

Sonya stepped forward.

“You sent me to get close. I did exactly what you asked. And now that I found the truth, you can’t handle it.”

The air thickened.

Someone gasped. Another murmur passed through the trees like wind through brittle leaves.

Roman’s face twisted with something unhinged.

“You dare throw that in my face?”

“I dare to choose for myself.” Her voice rang out, steady.

“And I choose him.”

Her mother’s gasp was sharp and pained.

Her father’s eyes flared, fury and confusion warring in his gaze.

But neither of them spoke.

Roman’s breathing grew ragged, fists trembling at his sides.

Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and roared, “Sonya Hawthorne, you are hereby marked by treason!”

The words cut through the clearing like a blade, and the world stilled.

But Roman wasn’t done.

He raised a hand as if calming the chaos he’d just unleashed.

“However,” he added, voice low and dangerous, “punishment will be delayed.”

Every head turned.

Even the wind held its breath.

“You were valuable once,” Roman said.

“You still might be. If there’s even a sliver of truth in what you claim, if Landon Graves is what the old prophecy foretold… then you are the tether that binds him to us. You’re leverage.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a venomous whisper just for her.

“This isn’t mercy, Sonya. This is strategy. I need to see what he becomes. And if you’re the cost of that? So be it. But you’re watched now. Watched close. Your family? Under scrutiny.”

Her jaw clenched.

The threat behind his words slithered beneath her skin like poison.

He wanted her to know—any wrong step, any further defiance, and they’d suffer for it too.

But still, she stood tall.

“Then mark me,” she said, voice loud and unshaking.

“But know this—your rule ends with fear. Mine will rise with choice.”

Roman didn’t respond.

He turned and disappeared into the woods, leaving behind silence and stunned faces.

The moment he was gone, the crowd shifted.

A few hung back, eyes downcast. Others disappeared without a word, melting into the trees.

She didn’t expect cheers or defense.

But what gutted her was her parents.

Her mother didn’t speak.

Didn’t run to her like she had when Sonya was ten and scraped her knee on the creek rocks.

Her father looked at her, hard and silent, then turned without a word and walked inside.

The door shut behind them.

Sonya stood there, alone in the clearing, surrounded by the imprint of her choice.

Shame didn’t burn—but sorrow did.

Deep and aching. Because it wasn’t just her name Roman tried to strip.

It was her place. Her blood.

Her roots.

And still, she’d choose Landon again.

Still, she’d do it all over.

Because fear had ruled long enough.

And Sonya Hawthorne wasn’t afraid anymore.

Chapter 24 Landon

The floorboard creaked beneath Landon’s weight, the same damn one that had groaned since he was a kid.

It used to annoy him—used to feel like the old cabin was sighing at his every step.

Now, it felt like a whisper, a clue.

He crouched low, fingers prying at the edge with renewed focus, sweat dampening his brow.

A crowbar rested at his side, already worn from the afternoon’s effort.

Dust danced in the shafts of late sunlight that cut through the broken blinds.

Nothing yet. Just layers of silence and splinters.

Jen had been smart. Clever in a sly, whimsical sort of way.

If she hid something important—hell, something this tied to his bloodline—it wouldn’t be somewhere obvious.

He hadn’t found much at her place either, just cryptic journals full of half-finished thoughts and an old velvet pouch of dried herbs that smelled like the woods and grief.

But the cabin… it still felt alive.

Humming. Like it knew more than it let on.

He exhaled slow and tried again, nudging a loose board beside the hearth.

It gave way with a groan.

Beneath it a small tin box, covered in soot and spider webs.

His chest tightened.

Hands trembling, he lifted it out and popped the rusted latch.

Inside faded newspaper clippings, a few yellowing photographs, and a worn leather-bound book with a wolf etched into the cover.

The moment his fingers touched it, something in his chest pulsed.

Like recognition. Like the damn thing breathed.

Before he could flip it open, gravel crunched outside.

Landon stiffened. He wasn't sure how, but he could smell who was outside and it was familiar. From the day on the hike. Dark, metallic, laced with arrogance and expensive cologne.

Roman.

The front door creaked.

Landon stood, slower than he normally would’ve. Deliberate. Calculated. He set the book on the mantle behind him, careful not to turn his back completely.

Roman didn’t knock. He walked in like he owned the place. His silhouette filled the doorway, posture casual but eyes sharp.

“Well,” Roman drawled, glancing around with faux interest. “You remember me, I assume?”

“Yeah, you were the one who ruined the nice hike Sonya and I were on,” Landon replied, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. He could feel himself getting defensive and it wasn’t because the asshole wanted Landon dead, it was how Sonya talked about him the other night and his claim on her.

“Good.” Roman smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Thought I’d stop by. Chat. See what the big fuss about you is.” His gaze drifted toward the fireplace, lingered, then returned to Landon. “I saw Sonya this morning.” His dark eyes almost turned cruel. “You’ve been busy.”

Landon ignored the bait. “I have questions,” Landon said. “Figured answers don’t fall from the sky so I’m looking for them on my own.”

“Cute.” Roman’s tone hardened. “You’ve stirred things, Graves. Made a mess of what was balanced.”

“Balanced?” Landon barked a laugh. “That what you call fear? Control?”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “Watch your tone, pup.”

The room buzzed with tension and Landon felt himself automatically step toward him.

“I’m not your pup,” Landon said, voice low, that strange heat rising in his chest again. “I don’t answer to you.”

Now Roman took a step forward. Landon didn’t back down.

“You think a few stories, a bloodline, a girl—makes you king?”

“I don’t want to be king,” Landon said. “I want the truth. I want Sonya safe. I want this damn town to stop pretending monsters are only in stories.”

Roman’s smile vanished.

“That girl was mine,” he said, coldly. “You think this is about some prophecy? Some romantic bullshit? No. This is power. Territory. Lineage.”

“She was never yours,” Landon snapped. “She’s not property.”

Roman moved then—fast. One second he was still, the next his hand was in Landon’s shirt, fist curled and knuckles grinding into his collarbone as he shoved him hard into the wall.

Landon’s breath whooshed out, the impact rattling his ribs, but he didn’t crumple.

He shoved back.

The movement caught Roman off guard. Landon’s eyes flashed—gold, bright, and seething. His chest heaved, but he held his ground.

“You want to throw punches?” Landon growled. “Go ahead. But I’m not gonna cower. Not for you.”

Roman paused.

Something shifted.

He released Landon, took a step back, and studied him like a puzzle that suddenly rearranged its edges. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

Landon didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

The energy in the room crackled, thick and primal. The scent of pine and smoke clung to Landon like a second skin.

Roman straightened his jacket. “You’re not ready.”

“Maybe not,” Landon said. “But I’m not backing down either.”

Roman’s eyes darkened. “You’re on borrowed time. She’s marked. And now you’re in the crosshairs.”

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “She chose wrong,” he said, almost to himself.

“She chose real,” Landon replied.

The door slammed behind him.

Landon leaned against the wall, chest still heaving. The pain in his ribs bloomed, but beneath it—there was pride. Strength. A burn that wasn’t just rage, but power awakening.

He turned back to the fireplace, grabbing the book with the wolf on the cover.

Whatever this bloodline was… he wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

Let Roman come.

Landon wasn’t running.