Page 8

The old Morgan family house looms before me, weathered brick and ivy-covered walls holding too many memories.

It’s not really the Morgan house anymore—it’s James’ house.

I haven't ventured this far into pack territory since returning two days ago, but something drew me here today.

Maybe it's the approaching lottery, making me seek connections to who I used to be. Maybe I’m trying to get my mind off of how it felt when Nic grabbed me yesterday, how I can still feel the heat of his hand on my skin. Maybe it's just masochism.

"Didn't expect to find you here."

I turn from the door to find James leaning against our parents' favorite oak tree out in the front yard, looking annoyingly at ease in ranger gear. My brother has always worn pack life as comfortably as his own skin. Even now, he radiates that easy confidence that made him popular while I was struggling to fit in. Magic-less, tall, lean, and a powerful shifter, we took opposite halves of our parents’ genetics.

"Just... came to see if it felt nostalgic," I say, gesturing at the house. The garden where Mom taught me about herbs. The window of my old bedroom, tucked away at the top of the house. The back porch where Dad used to tell us stories. In the years since I’ve been gone, someone’s taken down the tire swing in the backyard.

There’s no need for it anymore, no children to use it.

James's expression softens. "You know you can go inside. It's still yours, too."

"Is it?" The words come out sharper than I mean them to. "Pretty sure I lost any claim when I ran away."

"Left," he corrects quietly. "There's a difference. I don’t call you a runaway. I don’t let anyone else call you one either, not in front of me.”

I study him, noting the changes the years have wrought.

Silver threads his dark hair at the temples—early for his mid-twenties, but pack security is a stressful job, and it makes him look like our father, who also went grey very young.

New scars mark his forearms, telling stories of border patrols and territory disputes.

But his eyes are the same warm brown as Dad's, holding that familiar mix of affection and uncertainty when he looks at me.

We were close once, before pack politics and starkly diverging social statuses drove us apart.

He had always been Nic’s best friend, for as long as I can remember, even before he became the perfect shifter son while I remained stubbornly, embarrassingly two-legged.

Before, he stood silent while Nic rejected me in front of everyone.

"How's pack security treating you?" I ask, falling back on safe topics. “You’ve aged.”

"Gee, thanks, Lu. It’s busy. The borders..." He hesitates. "Things are complicated lately."

"So I've heard. Ruby mentioned disappearances in neighboring territories."

Something flickers across his face. "You shouldn't worry about pack business."

"Right. Because I'm not really pack." The old bitterness rises. "Just the hybrid mistake they're forced to include in their precious lottery."

"Luna..." He pushes off the tree, taking a step toward me. "That's not—I never thought of you that way."

"No? Then where were you?" The words burst out before I can stop them. "When they drove me out, when they made my life hell, where were you, James? Too busy being the perfect pack warrior to defend your freak sister? You know I try not to blame you, but it would help if you’d ever apologized for it.”

Pain crosses his features. "I wanted to help. But the politics—"

"Politics." I laugh harshly. "You sound like Nic. He was always talking about that stuff.”

"Nic was wrong." The words surprise both of us. James runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture he inherited from Dad. "The way they treated you... the way I let them treat you... it wasn't right. He’s my friend, and I’m loyal to him, but I can admit it.”

I blink back sudden tears. "Little late for that revelation."

"Maybe." He takes another step closer. "But things are different now. The pack is changing. And Luna..." His voice drops. "There are things you need to know. About Mom and Dad."

My chest tightens. "What about them?"

He looks uncomfortable. “There have been rumors. About how they died. I don’t know much, but… if… if you were to end up staying, it might be dangerous—”

I speak over him. “I’m not staying. They’d have to kill me before I stayed.”

James’ brow furrows. “Luna, please—”

"Well, well. Look who's slumming with the half-breed."

The mocking voice makes me stiffen. Melissa Blackwood saunters toward us, flanked by her usual sycophants. The Alpha's little sister has always been beautiful in a sharp, cruel way—all perfect, long limbs and predatory grace. Everything I'm not.

Once, years ago, we were classmates. She made my life hell, and it didn’t even seem like it took her much effort.

Now, she probably works directly for the pack authorities, probably filing the Council’s paperwork.

It must be a cushy life, I find myself thinking resentfully, the weight of years spent working gruelling hours to keep my business afloat feeling particularly heavy today.

"Melissa." James's tone carries a warning, but she ignores it.

"Lay off, Jamie, it was just a joke."

My brother frowns. He hates being called Jamie.

But Melissa kept talking before he could correct her.

Her smile shows too many teeth. She leans around my brother to peer at me as if I’m some kind of insect, small and gross.

“Still hiding behind your big brother, Lulu?

Some things never change. Still can't fight your own battles without a real wolf to protect you? "

My magic stirs, responding to the threat, but it feels sluggish. I’m exhausted, I realize in a rush. Stressed and exhausted and… helpless, if she decides she wants to hurt me. Would James even defend me? Against the Alpha’s sister? Unlikely. I’m on my own.

I shuffle out from behind James, ignoring the warning look he casts me.

"I don't need protection," I say, proud that my voice remains steady. "I'm not hiding. Let’s not act like children, please."

"Not up for some fun?" She circles me slowly, subtly. A lioness with narrowed sights on a lone antelope. "Then why run away for years? Why only come back when forced? There were rumors you’d died, you know, after—”

"That's enough." James moves to intervene, but one of Melissa's friends—a massive enforcer named Derek—steps in his way.

"Pack business, Morgan," Derek growls. "Stay out of it."

"I built a life," I tell Melissa, trying to ignore how they're boxing me in. "A successful one. Without pack charity or family connections. I own a business, I live by my own means. If you think I care even a little about the happenings of Silvercreek anymore, your world must be very, very small.”

“You built a life?” she laughs. "Playing witch with your little herbs and potions? How cute." Her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise. "You're back in the real world now, half-breed. Time to remember your place."

I try to summon my magic, to defend myself the way I have before.

But it sputters and dies like a flame without oxygen.

Not enough gas in the tank. I can do nothing.

I can’t defend myself—I’m seventeen again, tears in my eyes, running as laughter echoes around me, frantic, desperate to leave, leave, leave—

"Let her go." The command cracks through the air like a whip.

I whip my head around. Dominic stands at the edge of the garden, power rolling off him in waves.

His eyes burn amber, his wolf close to the surface.

For a moment, he looks so much like his father—the old Alpha in one of his rare displays of temper—that everyone freezes.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him truly look like the leader of this pack.

Melissa's grip loosens. "Nic, we were just—"

"Release her." His voice drops lower, more dangerous. "Now."

She lets go and steps back, though rebellion flashes in her eyes. "You can't seriously be defending—"

"Careful." The word carries enough threat that even Derek backs away. "She's a lottery candidate. Under pack protection. We shouldn’t do this. You should know better.”

The pack members retreat, and Melissa ducks her head a little, cowed.

She’s always listened to him, always respected him.

I’m pretty sure he’s the only person she’s ever respected in her life, with how much of a hellion she was as a teenager.

I remember when she was little, how Nic would show up to protect her when he was worried she was being picked on in the playground.

That stopped quickly, as soon as he and everyone else realized it was likely her victims who needed defending more than her.

She could take care of herself just fine.

Not that anyone ever defended me, of course. Not until now.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Melissa mutters darkly, loud enough for all of us to hear it. “You know how having a pack full of hybrids and humans and witches and god-knows-what makes us look, Nic. God forbid you mated one.”

Nic moves so fast that I barely see it. Suddenly, he's in front of his sister. For an absurd moment, I think they’re going to fight, but instead, he just puts a hand on her shoulder, turning her from me firmly.

“Go home, Melissa,” he says, that Alpha authority still in his voice. “Just go, alright?”

She scowls at him without heat, glares once over her shoulder in my direction, and then heads off up the path after her friends, not looking back. I wonder whether it might be possible that she’s grown up a little in these years, and then promptly decide it definitely isn’t.

"Nic," I whisper despite myself, immediately wishing I’d covered my own mouth in time to keep that in.

Body angled between me and his retreating sister, the Alpha glances at me. There’s a sort of unreadable intent in his eyes as he peers at me. He says nothing, but doesn’t look away, and I don’t either.

"Rest," Nic orders, and his tone isn’t any gentler. He’s still giving orders. I wonder when he became so used to it as to do it so well. "James, stay with her. I need to handle this. Our packmates shouldn’t behave like schoolchildren on the eve of the lottery."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see James nod, some of his characteristic levity returning. “Don’t be too harsh on Mel, Nic. You know her bark is worse than her bite.”

That makes me bristle. James watched her torment me for years. We both know her bite and her bark alike would have killed lesser women than I. How could he say that? Has he somehow forgotten?

But Nic doesn’t seem to read anything into the comment. He gives James a pensive glance, something hard in it, and sets his jaw.

“See you tonight,” he says, presumably to both of us.

With that, he strides away, every line of his body promising retribution. I should feel grateful for his intervention, but mostly I feel hollow. Tired. Half a decade of independence, of building strength, and I still needed to be rescued. I still need my brother and his best friend to rescue me.

Maybe I should be happy, in some twisted way. In all the times I’ve needed rescue before, it’s never actually come.

"Luna." James comes up beside me, resting a hand on my arm. “You good? You’re very pale.”

I look up at my brother, seeing worry in his eyes. Whatever he was about to tell me about our parents' death suddenly feels vital, connected to everything happening now. But exhaustion pulls at me, and my magic remains frustratingly out of reach.

"Fine," I manage. "I need... I just need a minute. I’m going to go to the creek, I think. I need to clear my head.”

“Some things never change,” James jokes, and it makes me feel unwell.

For a while, until I can get my breath back enough to head uphill to the woods, to my safe place, he settles us on a bench nearby, at the front of the slightly unkempt yard, the half-dead lawn thick with little yellow patches and the occasional burrow of some woodland creature.

There are three or four sizable birds’ nests up in the oak tree, standing strong even as the leaves fall, their little yellow shapes twirling down through the air around us.

We sit in silence as the sun sets behind our childhood home, casting long shadows across the garden where our parents died.

Something is very wrong here, some part of me registers, though it isn’t my conscious mind.

If I didn’t know better, I’d call it my hindbrain, the wolf I never got, the wolf who never came to rescue me from my own personal hell.

I can feel it in my bones, in the hollow space where my magic should be. Something is wrong.