Page 12

Yelena

I slide the crisp ten-dollar bill into the envelope with the other bills and smile grimly to myself. This money represents a secret promise that I’ve made to myself, a tangible sign that my plan is real. It’s my way out.

Over the last two weeks, I’ve managed to squirrel away almost a thousand in cash by selling tinctures, babysitting for various packmates, and keeping back a few dollars here and there from errands.

It’s not as much as I’d like to have, but it’s enough to help me on the road when I leave. It will have to be.

“Yelena! Breakfast is ready!” Austin calls out, cheerfully.

I grimace and carefully tuck the envelope back into the bottom of the tampon box and hide it under the sink.

“Ok, thank you,” I call back, double-checking that the lock was still turned on the bathroom door.

Austin has been more attentive in the last two weeks than he has…ever. I don’t know what to make of it. Suddenly, he’s talking to me. Making breakfast. Asking me my opinion on things. He even folded my laundry the other day when I was out.

He’s been supportive. Kind. Friendly. It’s messing with my head.

Sometimes I wonder if my plan was created too hastily. If this is the new Austin, shouldn’t I want to stay and see it through?

I stand, brushing my hands off on my jeans, and look at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. My cheekbones are more pronounced and I look paler. Dark purple smudges linger under my eyes—evidence of my lack of sleep. I’ve had difficulty keeping food down and sleeping for days now.

My breath catches in my throat when I think about my plan. The thought of actually going through with it and turning my back on my pack, my family, weighs heavily on my heart. Leaving Nightwing Pack is not something I ever wanted to have to do, but I don’t see any other option.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection in the mirror. With another deep breath, I paste a fake smile on my face and go out to have breakfast with my intended mate…possibly for the last time.

The smell of burned eggs and toast wafts through the house as I step out of the bathroom, a gentle reminder that Austin is trying, in his own way. His cooking has been…an experience. But he’s trying, and it’s hard not to feel hopeful about that.

When I arrive in the kitchen, Austin is pouring scrambled eggs onto a plate, his back turned to me.

He’s seldom cooked before, and it shows, but the last two weeks he has insisted on trying.

The sight of him, so normal, so domestic, tugs at my heart.

I almost want to believe that things can be different. Almost.

“Morning,” he says, turning to face me. He’s holding the plate up proudly and my eyes widen when I see the table is set, complete with fresh flowers. “You look lovely today.”

His bright smile is disconcertingly real, reaching up to the corners of his eyes. I manage a weak smile in return.

"Morning," I reply, taking a seat at the table.

He sets a heaping plate before me and for a moment, we fall into silence. I push the eggs around on my plate, too nervous to actually eat them.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. His conversation is light and requires little input from me.

He tells me about his work schedule, and which members of the pack he needs to go see, and how the training of the new guards is going.

It feels completely disconnected from the chaos that is tumbling around my mind.

For months, I’ve wanted this, this banal conversation and companionship over a meal. I would have given anything to have him like this before I knew the truth. But I can’t undo what I heard.

He doesn’t want me.

I assume his father, our Alpha, has ordered him to fix this.

All of these little gestures aren’t because he wants me, they’re because he’s following orders.

It’s too little, too late.

I choke down a few more bites of breakfast and try to focus.

“Yelena, are you okay?” Austin asks, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His silver eyes meet mine and for the briefest moment, I swear I can see a flicker of true concern.

I muster up some enthusiasm and take a big bite of my buttery toast.

“I’m fine,” I lie, talking around the mouthful. “Just tired.”

He nods slowly in understanding and continues to shovel his food in his mouth.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” he adds with a small smile, “I would hate for you to get overly tired.”

I struggle to control my expression. His concern would be laughable and adorable if it were real, but because it’s not, it’s mostly infuriating. My decision to leave was the right one. I know that now.

“Maybe,” I shrug, tossing the bread crust on my plate and pushing it away from me.

He glances at the clock on the wall and curses, standing suddenly.

“I’m late for work. I have to run, but tell you what, I’ll stop by the pie shop this evening and bring you your favorite chocolate mousse pie for dessert!”

My favorite pie flavor is actually apple, but I don’t bother correcting him. Instead, I stand to take my plate up to the sink. He’s carrying his plate as well and we meet in the middle, awkwardly bumping into each other.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back.

“No, that was me. I should have looked where I was going,” I say quietly.

The tension between us feels even more awkward, and I don’t know what to do. There’s a knot forming in my chest, and everything just hurts. I want this feeling to end, but the prospect of leaving feels so painful too.

We both set our dishes down at the same time. He turns and brushes his hand across my cheek. I hate that I still get butterflies from his touch.

On impulse I step into his caress and wrap my hands around his waist, giving him a quick hug.

He’s stiff at first before he relaxes and hugs me back.

His strong arms hold me tightly and I feel a small tingle of butterflies in my core.

I hold him tighter, savoring this stolen moment of affection.

In my own way, perhaps I’m saying goodbye to him.

“Have a good day,” he murmurs into my hair before releasing me and heading out the door.

Watching him go, I feel a pang of sorrow and an odd sense of relief.

With trembling fingers, I run my hand across my cheek where he had touched me.

It still tingles, a ghostly reminder of what we could have been.

I shake off the thought. There's no point in dwelling on things beyond reach. I hear the rumble of Austin’s motorcycle pull out of the driveway and watch from the kitchen window as it disappears down our road.

I walk back into the kitchen and start cleaning up, trying to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. It’s a soothing routine; washing dishes, wiping counters...simple things that keep me grounded in reality.

Once everything is clean, it’s time to go.

Gathering my belongings takes very little time.

I have my purse and tote bag with my precious stash of cash and enough snacks to get me through the next few days and a small overnight bag with my favorite clothes.

The shoebox with my photos and trinkets from my childhood has been hidden in the trunk of my old car for days now.

I’d saved for two years in high school to afford this old thing, working odd jobs here and there.

It’s not flashy, with faded paint and a few small rips in the seat upholstery, but it’s reliable. And, most importantly, it’s mine.

I look around our shared cottage one last time and a deep sense of sadness fills my being. When I moved in here, I was full of so much hope for the future and now, that future doesn’t even exist.

Outside, I quickly lock up and move my belongings to the car.

Most of my neighbors are at work, but the ones that are out wave to me.

I wave back with a smile, praying to the Moon Goddess that no one thinks anything is amiss.

I need to make sure I can get a head start before Austin realizes I’m gone.

I slide behind the wheel and slam the door shut. I take a moment to breathe, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I force myself to take slow, deep breaths until it returns to normal.

With one last glance at the cottage that was supposed to be my home, I start the car and pull out of the driveway.

The road through our pack lands stretches out in front of me and I drive slowly, knowing that this decision is going to open my life up to possibilities I can't even envision yet. Every mile that passes feels like a small victory, as if I’m claiming back parts of myself that had been lost.

The road winds through our lands and I drive slowly, careful not to draw attention to myself. I pass by the school and my heart hurts that I won’t be able to say goodbye to Hannah.

“Don’t forget me,” I whisper as I pass.

At the stop sign, I squint into the sun and nearly jump out of my skin when there’s a knock on the window. I turn, heart pounding, and see the smiling face of Callie, her silver-gray hair glowing under the midday sun.

Wordlessly, she gestures for me to roll down the window. Her eyes bore into mine with intensity.

“You are leaving?” she asks, but it feels more like a statement.

“Yes,” I admit, surprised at how firm my voice sounds. “I am.”

She offers a nod of understanding, her gaze softer now.

The silent empathy in her eyes touches me more deeply than any words could.

Of all the people in the pack, Callie is the closest thing I have to a confidant.

She knows how hard I’ve tried, but I’m still surprised that she isn’t trying to convince me to stay.

Perhaps this has been my destiny all along.

"You have a long journey ahead, Yelena," Callie says, her voice tender. "Remember that sometimes, our path leads us into the wilderness before it takes us home."

Her words are cryptic, as always. But there's a certain comfort in them, a subtle reassurance that this isn't the end of the world and I’m making the right choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. I need to know, in a time like this, that the Moon Goddess isn’t going to abandon me completely.

"I'll remember," I promise her. And I mean it.

"May the Moon Goddess guide your way," she says, placing a hand on mine and squeezing gently.

It feels like a blessing. “And may you always know that our Goddess never gives her children more than they can bear. Your path is set and you must follow it. By doing so, you will find your happiness and bring happiness to others.”

"Thank you, Callie," is all I manage to say before she steps back and gives me a final nod.

“Go with peace, child,” she whispers before turning away.

I roll up the window and pull out, turning toward the highway that will take me toward the city.

I watch her in the rearview mirror until she's nothing more than a speck.

As my car leaves the pack's territories, the familiar landscape of forest, mountains, fields and small houses slowly start to fade away.

The empty road stretches on for miles in front of me, the calm inviting me to journey ahead. I take in a deep breath, exhale slowly, and hit the gas pedal.

My future awaits.