Chapter 1

“You’re just like a sister to me.”

Those were the actual words that broke the camel’s back.

Not after what just happened.

Not after the hot, breathless, soul-shaking night we spent tangled in each other’s arms.

I knew from the beginning that Tristan Maverick was a line I shouldn’t cross.

He wasn’t just anyone, he was my brother’s best friend. The man I spent years secretly wanting.

But that night… we were broken. We had just buried our parents. And the grief was too heavy, too real.... so I begged him to touch me.

To make me forget. To fill the silence that death left behind.

And he did. He held me like I was something fragile.

Kissed me like I was the only thing he needed to breathe.

Then left me bleeding with six words that burned deeper than rejection ever could.

So, I ran. Away from everything that cost me pain.

Now, five years later, I’m back.

Fresh from rejecting the mate who abused me. Still carrying the scars of a pup I never got to hold.

And the man waiting for me at the airport isn’t my brother.

It’s Tristan.

And he's not the guy I left behind.

He's a biker.

An Alpha.

And when he looked at me, I knew there was no where else to run to.

Chapter 1

Prologue

Athena

I can't breathe.

Tristan moves inside me, slow and deep, and I'm drowning in the sensation. Each thrust sends heat spiraling through my body, filling all the hollow spaces that grief carved out today.

His hands find their way beneath my thigh, lifting it carefully... gently, like I might shatter—before he pushes forward, filling me again. I gasp, arching my back off the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something solid, anything.

But it's all so overwhelming. So intoxicating.

The moonlight streaming through his bedroom window catches the sweat on his chest, the way his dark hair sticks to his forehead. His hands grip my thighs, holding me steady as I fall apart beneath him.

This is wrong. So wrong.

We just laid our parents to rest this morning. All four of them—my mom and dad, his mom and dad. Lowered into the ground side by side, just like they would have wanted. Our fathers had been best friends since childhood, Alphas of neighboring packs who refused to let territory lines divide them.

They'd died together on vacation, their car wrapping around a tree on some mountain road. My mother had held on for three days in the hospital, her wolf fighting until the very end, but even she couldn't survive what that crash had done to her.

I still can't wrap my brain around how we got here. One minute we were holding hands at their graveside as we watched them lower their bodies, and the next... we're here, wrapped in each other's arms.

I should be grieving. I should be home, surrounded by my brother and pack, letting them comfort me the way wolves are supposed to. Instead, I'm here, in Tristan's bed, letting my brother's best friend touch me like he owns me.

"Athena," he breathes against my throat, and I arch into him, desperate for anything that will make this pain stop. I've wanted him for so long... years of watching him from across rooms, of pretending I didn't notice how his eyes would linger on me sometimes when he thought no one was looking.

He drives into me again, slower this time, savoring each moment until I whimper. I instinctively reach for him, my hands wrapping around his shoulders, then slipping into his hair, pulling him closer, aching for his warmth... because he is the only thing that feels real in this shattered moment.

His left hand plays with my clit, taking me to places I've never been. I want more. I need more.

I tilt my head up, and when a moan slips out louder than I intend, he closes the space between us and kisses me hard, swallowing the sound as if it pains him to hear it.

The kiss is desperate, a raw mix of warmth and urgency... his lips pressed against mine like he fears the silence that looms between us.

He quickens his rhythm again, every thrust knocking the breath from my lungs, making me gasp into his mouth, blurring the lines of grief, of reality.

I know I shouldn't be here... finding solace like this, lost in an intimacy that feels too good to be true.

But I am. And I don't want him to stop. I know we're going to face the harsh reality after this, but I still want to enjoy it while it lasts.

At some point, he flips us over, and suddenly I'm straddling him, my hands pressed against his chest, moving against him as he studies me, his eyes tracing every contour of my body.

His mouth travels down my neck, across my collarbone, and when I cry out, he shushes me softly, his lips brushing against my skin like a gentle chant.

I lean down to kiss him again, slower this time, even as our bodies dance together. I can't tell if I'm crying or not... my eyes burn, yet everything else is hot, aching, alive.

My fingers dig into his shoulders as he holds me in place and moves faster, deeper, pushing me toward the edge. The sound that escapes me is half-moan, half-sob, and he swallows it with his mouth again, kissing me like I'm the only thing keeping him sane.

When I come, it's with his name on my lips and tears on my cheeks. He follows seconds later, his face buried in my neck, his body shuddering against mine.

For a moment, we just lie there, breathing hard, his weight pinning me to the mattress. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, can smell the mix of his cologne and our sweat.

My wolf is purring, content in a way she hasn't been since we got the call about the accident.

This feels right. Like coming home.

But then he pulls away, sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to me. The distance between us suddenly feels like a chasm.

"This can't happen again," he says, his voice rough. Cold.

My heart stops. I knew this was coming, but I didn't expect it this soon. "Tristan..."

"You're like a sister to me." He stands, reaching for his jeans. "That's all you've ever been. All you'll ever be."

The words hit like a physical blow. A sister. He's known me since I was fifteen, watched me grow up, been there for every milestone. But I've never been his sister. Not the way he's looking at me now, like I'm something he needs to forget.

"Don't," I whisper, pulling the sheet up to cover myself. "Don't say that. Not after what we just..."

"After what we just did?" He turns to face me, and the regret in his eyes is unmistakable. "We just made the biggest mistake of our lives, Ath. We're grieving, we're not thinking straight, and we..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Your brother is going to kill me."

"Orion doesn't have to know."

"That's not the point." He pulls his shirt on, every movement sharp and angry. "The point is this should never have happened. I was supposed to protect you. Not take advantage of you during my weakness."

"That's not..."

"We were both hurting, we still are... and that was the reason we did something this stupid. That's all this was." He says, cutting me off.

Each word feels like a knife between my ribs. I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, but the look on his face stops me. He's already decided. In his mind, I'm just his best friend's little sister who threw herself at him in a moment of weakness.

"Get some sleep," he says, moving toward the door. "I'll drive you home in the morning."

"Tristan, wait..."

But he's already gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that makes my chest ache.

I stare at the ceiling, my wolf whimpering in my chest. She doesn't understand why he's rejecting us, why he's running when we both know what we felt tonight was real. But I understand now.

I'm not enough for him. Not what he needs. Never have been.

I should have known better. Should have known all this was too good... too fucking perfect to be real.

When his fingers had traced the curve of my spine, when he had whispered my name like a prayer against my skin, I should have known this would end in ruins.

But grief does terrible things to your judgment, and I allowed myself to drown in the illusion that... maybe... just maybe, he sees me as the woman I am.

I let out a painful laugh.

The only thing I've ever been to him was Orion's baby sister. The child that needs protecting. And that's what I'll ever be.

The next day, I didn't wait for him to take me. I'm not a little thing that needs protecting.

Over the next three days, I make my decision. I can't stay here, in this pack, in this town where every corner reminds me of my parents, where I have to see Tristan and pretend that night meant nothing. I can't watch him treat me like a stranger, like a burden he has to carry for my brother's sake.

I book a flight to London. Pack my bags. Tell Orion I need space, time to figure out who I am without our parents.

I don't tell him the real reason I'm running.

I don't tell him that I'm in love with his best friend, and that loving him is going to destroy me if I stay.

Some secrets are too dangerous to speak aloud, even to family.

Especially to family.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Five years later

Athena

The white dress feels like chains around my neck.

I stare at myself in the mirror of the bridal suite, my reflection wavering through the tears I refuse to let fall. The woman looking back at me is a stranger, hollow cheeks, dark circles carefully concealed with makeup, a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

The dress Daxon chose hangs off my frame, too big now after months of barely eating, of walking on eggshells, of shrinking myself smaller and smaller until I almost disappeared entirely.

"You look beautiful," whispers Elena, one of the pack's omega females assigned to help me prepare. Her voice is gentle, but I catch the way her eyes linger on the foundation caked thick around my left eye, the way the sleeves of my dress are positioned to hide the fingerprint bruises on my arms.

Beautiful. The word tastes bitter in my mouth. When was the last time I felt beautiful? When was the last time I felt anything other than afraid?

"Thank you," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

Through the thin walls, I can hear the pack members gathering in the main hall. Their excited chatter grates against my nerves like sandpaper. They have no idea what they're celebrating.

They think they're witnessing the union of their Alpha and his chosen mate. They don't know they're watching a funeral, the death of whatever was left of the woman I used to be.

Elena adjusts my veil, her fingers surprisingly gentle. "The Alpha requested that you wear your hair down," she says carefully. "He said it frames your face better."

Of course he did. Daxon has an opinion about everything. How I should dress, how I should speak, how I should breathe. The hair thing is new, though.

For the past three years, he's insisted I wear it up, professional, not drawing attention to myself. The change makes my skin crawl. What does he want now? What new way has he found to control me?

My fingers trace the silver necklace at my throat—Daxon's "gift" from this morning. It sits heavy against my skin, cold and restricting. Everything he gives me comes with invisible strings attached, invisible chains that bind me tighter to him with each passing day.

The door opens without a knock, and he fills the doorway. Even after three years, Daxon Sullivan still takes my breath away, but not in the way it used to. Now it's fear that steals the air from my lungs.

He's devastatingly handsome in his black tuxedo, his dark hair perfectly styled, his Alpha presence commanding the room. To everyone else, he's the perfect groom. I know better.

"Ladies, could you give us a moment?" His voice is smooth silk, the tone he uses when he wants something.

Elena and the other helpers file out quickly, leaving us alone. I keep my eyes on my reflection, watching him in the mirror as he approaches. He stops behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders, and I have to fight not to flinch.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "You look absolutely perfect."

The word tastes bitter. Perfect for what? For the show? For his image? Perfect victim?

His hands tighten on my shoulders, not enough to bruise, he's learned to be more careful about visible marks, but enough to make his point.

"I know the past few weeks have been... difficult. But after tonight, everything changes. No more doubt. No more hesitation. You'll be mine completely."

Completely. The word makes my stomach turn. I already feel like I'm disappearing, piece by piece, day by day. What will be left of me after tonight?

"I love you," he says, pressing his lips to the top of my head. The words sound rehearsed, empty. When was the last time he said them and meant it? When was the last time I believed them?

"I love you too," I whisper back, because it's what he expects. The lie tastes like copper in my mouth.

He releases me and checks his watch. "Ten minutes. Don't be late, Athena. And don't disappoint me." The threat hangs in the air between us, unspoken but understood. I nod, not trusting my voice.

After he leaves, I sink into the chair, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until I walk down that aisle and bind myself to him forever. Ten minutes until there's no escape, no hope, no future that doesn't include his fists and his rage and his suffocating control.

My phone buzzes on the vanity. A text from an unknown number: Thinking of you today. You deserve happiness. - A friend

I stare at the message, my heart hammering. Who could have sent this? I don't have friends anymore. Daxon made sure of that, slowly isolating me from everyone who might see the truth, might ask questions, might offer me a way out.

Another buzz: You're stronger than you know.

My hands shake as I delete the messages. If Daxon sees them, if he thinks I'm talking to someone behind his back... I can't even finish the thought. The last time he thought I was "keeping secrets" from him, I couldn't sit properly for a week.

A knock at the door makes me jump. "Miss Morrison? It's time."

Elena peeks in, her smile bright and expectant. Behind her, I can hear the processional music beginning. The moment I've been dreading for months is finally here.

I stand on unsteady legs, smoothing down my dress. In the mirror, the woman staring back at me looks like a ghost. Maybe she is. Maybe I died two months ago in our apartment, bleeding on the bathroom floor, and this is just my corpse going through the motions.

"Ready?" Elena asks.

No. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready for this.

"Yes," I lie.

The walk down the aisle feels like walking underwater. Everything is muffled, distorted, unreal. I see faces in the crowd, pack members smiling, nodding, some of them crying happy tears. They think they're witnessing something beautiful. They have no idea they're watching a woman walk to her own execution.

Daxon waits at the altar, handsome and confident, his smile perfect for the cameras. But I know that smile. I know what it hides. I know what it costs.

The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice echoing through the hall as he speaks of sacred bonds and eternal commitment. The words wash over me like white noise. All I can think about is the silver around my throat, the bruises hidden under my makeup, the baby I lost because I wasn't strong enough to leave.

"Daxon, I have something to tell you....."

I'd been so excited that day, rushing home from the doctor's office with the news that would change everything. We'd been trying for months, and finally, finally, it had happened. I was pregnant. Two weeks along, but pregnant.

I'd found him in the living room, the words had died in my throat when I saw him. Saw them. His secretary, Jessica, bent over our kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up around her waist while my mate—my supposed mate, took her from behind like a rutting animal.

The pregnancy test was still clutched in my hand when he noticed me standing there. Positive. Two weeks along. The family we'd talked about, the future we'd planned, the reason I'd convinced myself to stay despite everything.

"Athena," he'd said, not even bothering to pull out of her. "You're home early."

Jessica had laughed, actually laughed, while adjusting her clothes. "Oops," she'd said, not sounding sorry at all. "I should go."

And then it was just us. Just me, standing in our kitchen with proof of our future in my hands, and him, still half-dressed, looking at me like I was an inconvenience.

"We're having a baby," I'd whispered, holding up the test. Maybe that would make him remorseful. But I've never been more wrong.

His face had gone white, then red, then something darker. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I have the test results, the ultrasound pictures. I just came from the doctor. We're going to have a baby, Daxon. We're going to be parents." I look at him unsure of what I was really feeling.

But I was willing to let whatever I witness slide, for the sake of our family. The family we were about to build. "I was going to wait until after dinner, make it special" I added with a slow voice.

"Special?" He'd laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"You're lying because you think it will make me stay. You think trapping me with a pup will keep me from leaving you."You think I'm stupid enough to fall for that?"

His words slide through my heart. What was he talking about? I thought maybe he was drunk. He's saying all that because he was drunk. Yes.

"Leaving me? Daxon, what are you talking about? We're getting married in two months...." I try reasoning with him. Talking sense into him.

"Two months of pretending I actually want this. Two months of playing happy couple for the pack. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is, pretending to love someone like you?"

The words had hit me like physical blows. "Someone like me?"

"Weak. Pathetic. Clingy. You're nothing, Athena. You're nobody. The only reason I'm marrying you is because it's expected of me, because an Alpha needs a mate. But don't fool yourself into thinking it's because I love you." After three years, this is what I get?

He'd started walking toward me, and every instinct I had screamed at me to run. I backed away from him, my hands instinctively moving to protect my stomach. "You don't mean that. You're just scared about the baby, or nervous"

"I'm not scared. I'm disgusted. The idea of you carrying my child makes me sick."

That's when he'd hit me. Not across the face, he'd learned to be more careful about visible bruises. This time, his fist had connected with my ribs, driving all the air from my lungs. I'd doubled over, gasping, and he'd grabbed my hair, yanking my head back to look at him.

"Get rid of it," he'd snarled. "I don't care how. Just get rid of it."

"No." The word had come out as a whisper, but it had been the strongest thing I'd said in months. "I won't."

His second punch had been to my stomach. The third had been to my back when I'd fallen to the floor. The fourth had been to my ribs again, and I'd heard something crack.

My wolf snarled, trying to release itself but held I it down with everything I had. I didn't want to anger Daxon anymore. I couldn't. I just needed to protect my baby.

I'd curled into a ball, trying to protect the tiny life growing inside me, but it was too late. The cramping had started an hour later. The bleeding had begun that night.

I couldn't walk, there was no one around. I'd lost my baby on the bathroom floor, alone, while Daxon was at the office "working late." The tiny cluster of cells that had been my hope for the future had slipped away from me along with my faith in love, in goodness, in the possibility of happiness.

When he'd come home and found me there, he'd actually looked shocked. "Athena? What happened?"

"You killed our baby," I'd whispered.

For the first time in months, he'd looked genuinely remorseful. "I didn't know. I didn't know you were really pregnant. I thought you were lying, trying to manipulate me." I felt like slapping him across the face, but I couldn't, not when I don't want to break a ribs two more

"I never lied to you. Not once."

He'd gathered me in his arms, carried me to bed, called his pack doctor to come examine me. For three days, he'd been the man I'd fallen in love with—gentle, attentive, horrified by what he'd done.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered over and over. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I love you, Athena. I love you so much, and I'm going to be better. I promise I'll be better."

I'd wanted to believe him. God, how I'd wanted to believe him. But promises are just words, and words are just air. And air can't protect you from fists.

"Do you, Daxon Sullivan, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?"

"I do." His voice is strong, confident. The voice of a man who's never doubted his right to own whatever he wants.

"And do you, Athena Morrison, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?"

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

This is it. The moment of truth. The point of no return.

I look at Daxon, at his expectant face, at the way his eyes promise punishment if I don't give him what he wants. I look at the crowd of pack members, all watching, all waiting, all believing they're witnessing something sacred.

I think about the woman I used to be, before I learned to make myself small. Before I learned that love was supposed to hurt. Before I forgot that I had a voice.

I think about my baby, who never got a chance to live because I was too weak to protect us both.

I think about the rest of my life, stretching out ahead of me like a prison sentence.

I think about the text messages from earlier: You're stronger than you know.

And I realize something. I am stronger than I know. Stronger than he's made me believe. Stronger than the fear he's used to control me.

I open my mouth, and the words come out clear and strong. "I reject you."

The silence that follows is deafening. Three hundred people staring at me in shock, their mouths open, their eyes wide. The officiant looks confused, like he's not sure he heard correctly.

Daxon's face cycles through emotions—surprise, confusion, embarrassment, rage. "What did you say?"

"I reject you, Daxon Sullivan." My voice is steadier now, powered by three years of suppressed fury. "I reject you as my mate. I reject you as my husband. I reject you as my Alpha. I reject this ceremony, this marriage, this life you've built for us on lies and fear."

The silver necklace at my throat grows warm, then hot, then burns against my skin as the magical bond between us begins to sever. Daxon staggers backward, his hand pressed to his chest as he feels it too, the tearing, the breaking, the freedom.

The reaction is immediate and explosive. Gasps echo through the hall. Someone screams. I hear chairs scraping against the floor as people jump to their feet.

Daxon takes a step toward me, his face contorting with rage. "You can't do this. You can't humiliate me like this. Not in front of everyone."

"I just did." The boldness in my voice surprises even me. I've had enough. Enough of his constant disrespect. He'd turned me into someone I couldn't even recognize in the space of three years.

He wasn't always like this. When I first came to London, I focused on studying and working. Then one day, I met Daxon at the grocery store where I was working. It took months before I could agree to go out with him. But he'd been so sweet and loving that I fell in love with him completely.

I was so stupid.

I see his hand move toward me instinctively, the backhand that's silenced me so many times before. But this time, I'm ready. This time, I don't flinch.

"Go ahead," I say quietly, my voice carrying in the shocked silence. "Hit me. In front of all these people. Show them who you really are."

He freezes, his hand halfway to my face, suddenly aware of the hundreds of eyes watching us. His carefully constructed image cracking in real time.

I reach up and grasp the silver necklace at my throat—his claim on me, his mark of ownership. With one sharp yank, I break the chain, feeling my skin underneath burn and blister where it touched me.

"I'm done," I say, dropping the necklace at his feet. "I'm done with you, with this, with all of it."

The pack erupts in chaos. Voices raised in shock, in outrage, in confusion. But I don't hear them. I'm already turning away, already walking back down the aisle, my steps steady and sure for the first time in three years.

.......

In the bridal suite, I strip off the white dress and leave it pooled on the floor like a shed skin. I pull on the jeans and sweater I'd hidden in my bag, real clothes, clothes that feel like armor after months of wearing what he wanted me to wear.

My phone is in my hand before I even realize I'm reaching for it. I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I haven't called in almost four years.

"Orion?" My voice shakes when he answers, the sound of my brother's voice almost breaking the dam I've built around my emotions.

"Athena?" He sounds shocked, confused. "Jesus, is that really you? I haven't heard from you in..."

"I need you to come get me," I interrupt, my words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm heading to Heathrow Airport. I'll text you the flight information."

"Heathrow? What are you doing in London? I thought you were in America. You haven't returned my calls in years, and now you're..."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll explain everything when I see you. I just... I need to come home. Please."

There's a pause, and I can hear the concern in his voice when he speaks again. "Of course. Of course you can come home. But I'll actually be heading to Scotland with Sarah and the kids tomorrow. We're visiting her parents for the week. I won't get back until next week, but I can call someone..."

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "I don't want anyone else to know I'm coming. Not yet."

"Athena, what's wrong? You're scaring me. What happened?"

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temples. How do I explain three years of hell? How do I tell him that his little sister has been dying slowly, piece by piece, while he had no idea?

"Nothing," I whisper. "I'm fine. I just can't... I can't stay here anymore."

Another pause, longer this time. "Did someone hurt you?"

The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with all the things I've never told him, all the secrets I've kept to protect him from the truth.

"I just need to get out of here," I say instead. "Please."

"Okay." His voice is gentle but firm. "Okay. I'll figure something out. Let me make some calls."

I quickly gather what matters most to me and sneak out, heading toward the airport. Twenty minutes later, my phone rings again.

"I called a friend," Orion says. "He's the only one who can get to you in time. Just call me when you get there."

"Don't worry, I can wait," I say quickly. "I can get a hotel, wait until you get back."

"Athena, you sound like you're about to fall apart. I'm not leaving you alone in an airport or a country that's now strange to you for days. You know what, I can just postpone my trip. I'll pick you up, drop you off, and then join Sarah and the kids."

I want to argue, but I'm too tired, too drained, too broken to fight anymore. "Okay," I whisper. "Okay." If he wants to help, then who am I to refuse? I really need him so badly.

.......

The flight to America is the longest seven hours of my life. I spend most of it staring out the window, watching London disappear beneath the clouds, feeling like I'm leaving behind not just a country but an entire version of myself.

The woman who boards the plane in Heathrow is not the same woman who landed there five years ago. That girl had been heartbroken but hopeful, wounded but still believing in love. This woman is something else entirely, hollowed out, hardened, marked by experiences that changed her on a molecular level.

But she's also free. For the first time in three years, she's free.

JFK Airport is a maze of noise and chaos, but I navigate it on autopilot. My single suitcase feels pathetically small, three years of life reduced to one bag of essentials. Everything else I left behind. The apartment, the furniture, the wedding dress now crumpled on the floor. All of it tainted by his touch, his presence, his violence.

I send a message to Orion telling him I just landed. He responds immediately, saying he's already on his way. I should give him a few minutes.

After ten minutes, I receive another text from Orion, telling me he's here. I scan the arrivals area when I spot the last person I ever expected to see.

My mind and body freeze for what feels like forever.

Chapter 4

Chapter 3

This can't be happening.

Not now. Not after everything I've just escaped from. Not when I'm finally free, finally breathing again, finally remembering what it feels like to make my own choices.

But there he is. Tristan Hayes. The man I spent two years trying to forget. The man who taught me that love could be gentle before Daxon taught me it could be violent.

Wow! He's still so hurt, I hear Claire, my wolf, say.

I raise a brow. So she's still here? I'd forgotten about her existence.

Isn't he so hot? she says with the most sheepish voice I've ever heard from her.

That's not what matters now, we need to stay away from him. I say, pushing her down.

Then I let myself look at him. Really look at him. Even after five years, Tristan Hayes is impossible to miss. He's taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, his dark hair longer and wilder than the neat style he used to wear.

He's aged like fine wine. It looks like he hasn't aged a single day. He looks nothing like a thirty-five-year-old man.

He's scanning the crowd, those dark eyes I once knew better than my own searching for someone. For me. His jaw is tighter than I remember, his shoulders broader, but it's still him. Still the man who held me while I cried over my parents' deaths. Still the man who walked away when I needed him most.

I should run. Hide in the bathroom until he gives up and leaves. Text Orion that I made a mistake, that I'm not ready to come home after all.

But I can't move. I'm frozen in place, watching him search for me, watching the exact moment his eyes find mine across the terminal.

The world stops.

Everything stops. The noise, the chaos, the constant motion of people rushing past. For just a moment, it's five years ago and we're twenty-five again, and he's looking at me like I'm the only person who matters in the entire world.

Then reality crashes back in.

He starts walking toward me, and I can see the questions in his eyes. Questions I'm not ready to answer. Questions about where I've been, what I've been doing, why I look like a ghost of the woman he used to know.

"Athena." My name on his lips sounds like a prayer. Like he's not sure I'm real.

"Tristan." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I wasn't expecting... Orion......"

"I told him to go with Sarah." His eyes are searching my face, cataloging every change, every new scar. "I was free, so I volunteered."

Of course he did. Of course, after five years of silence, this is how I come home. Running straight into the arms of the man who broke my heart before I even knew what heartbreak was.

"You look..." He stops, shakes his head. "You look tired."

Tired. That's one way to put it. I look like I've been through a war. Because I have been. A war with myself, with my choices, with a man who tried to erase everything I used to be.

"It's been a long flight," I say, because it's easier than the truth.

He nods, but I can see he doesn't believe me. Tristan always could read me like a book. It used to be one of the things I loved most about him. Now it terrifies me.

"Come on," he says, reaching for my suitcase. "Let's get you home."

Home. The word hits me like a physical blow. I don't even know what that means anymore. The apartment in London was never home. The pack house was never home. Home was... home was before. Before my parents died. Before I made the worst decisions of my life. Before I learned that love was supposed to hurt.

We walk toward the exit in silence, and I can feel him stealing glances at me. Taking in the way I flinch when someone gets too close. The way I keep my head down, my shoulders hunched. The way I've learned to make myself invisible.

This isn't how I wanted to come home. Broken, defeated, with my tail between my legs. I wanted to come back triumphant, successful, with stories of my amazing life in London. Instead, I'm running away from a nightmare I created for myself.

The terminal is too bright, too loud, too full of people. Every sound makes me jump. Every sudden movement sends my heart racing. I hate that I've become this person. This scared, broken thing that jumps at shadows.

Daxon did this to me. He took the woman I used to be and systematically destroyed her, piece by piece, until all that was left was this hollow shell walking beside the man I once loved.

"Athena," Tristan says softly as we reach the parking area. "What happened to you?"

The question I've been dreading. The question I don't know how to answer without falling apart completely.

"Nothing," I lie, just like I lied to Orion. "I just... I needed to come home."

He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war happening behind his eyes. Part of him wants to push, to demand answers. Part of him wants to pull me into his arms and tell me everything will be okay.

But he doesn't do either. He just nods and stops beside a sleek black motorcycle.

A motorcycle. Not a car.

I stare at it for a moment, trying to reconcile this with the Tristan I used to know. The man who drove a sensible sedan and wore button-down shirts to work. The man who never took risks, never did anything remotely dangerous.

But this Tristan... this Tristan is something else entirely. He's dressed like he stepped out of some dangerous fantasy. Black leather jacket that fits him perfectly, dark jeans that hug his legs, boots that look like they could crush someone's skull. He looks nothing like the clean-cut guy I used to know. This version of Tristan is all sharp edges and shadows.

The leather jacket is worn in places, like he's had it for years. Like he's been living this life for a long time. The boots are scuffed, the jeans faded in all the right places. This isn't a costume. This is who he is now.

There's something different about him too, a hardness around his eyes, a tension in his posture that wasn't there before. And there's something dangerous about him now, something that makes other people give him a wide berth as he moves through the crowd.

I want to ask him when he started riding. When he traded his sensible sedan for something that screams rebellion. When he decided to become this version of himself that looks like he could break hearts and bones with equal ease.

But I don't. I can't. Because asking questions means opening doors I'm not ready to walk through. Because if I start asking about his life, he'll start asking about mine, and I can't handle that conversation right now.

Maybe not ever.

He pulls a helmet from the back of the bike and hands it to me. "Here."

My hands shake as I take it. Not from fear of the bike. From the way his fingers brush mine. From the way he's looking at me like he can see straight through to my soul.

I haven't been this close to a man in months. Not by choice. Not without violence following. My body remembers what it feels like to be touched in anger, and every instinct screams at me to run.

The helmet is heavier than I expected. Black, like everything else about him now. I turn it over in my hands, trying to figure out how to put it on without looking like an idiot.

But this is Tristan. Tristan who never raised his voice at me. Tristan who held me when I was falling apart. Tristan who walked away that night, yes, but who never hurt me.

The problem is, my body doesn't know the difference anymore. My body has learned that men mean pain, that closeness leads to violence, that trusting someone is the fastest way to get hurt.

I slip the helmet on, grateful for the barrier it creates between us. For the way it hides my face, my expressions, the tears I'm fighting back. For the way it muffles the world, making everything seem distant and dreamlike.

He swings his leg over the bike with practiced ease, and I realize this isn't new for him. He's been riding for a while. Long enough to make it look effortless. Long enough that the bike responds to him like an extension of his body.

The engine roars to life beneath us, and the sound sends vibrations through my entire body. It's loud, powerful, alive. Nothing like the quiet comfort of a car. This is raw, unfiltered, dangerous.

"Athena," he says, his voice muffled by his own helmet. "You okay?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Then I approach the bike, trying to figure out how to get on without making a fool of myself. Without flinching away from his proximity.

He doesn't offer to help. Somehow, he knows I need to do this myself. Need to prove to myself that I can still function like a normal human being.

I swing my leg over and settle behind him, my body rigid with tension. Every muscle screaming at me to get away, to run, to hide. But I force myself to stay still. Force myself to breathe.

The seat is narrow, designed for two people to be close. There's no way to sit behind him without my chest pressed against his back, without my thighs bracketing his, without my arms having nowhere to go but around his waist.

"Hold on," he says, and I can hear the concern in his voice even through the helmet.

My hands find his jacket, gripping the leather like a lifeline. He's solid, warm, real. Not a memory. Not a ghost from my past. The leather is soft under my fingers, worn smooth by years of wear.

Just Tristan. Taking me home.

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

He pulls out of the parking spot slowly, giving me time to adjust. The motorcycle purrs beneath us like a contented beast, and I can't help but think how fitting that is. Everything about Tristan has always reminded me of something wild, something barely contained. Even now, after five years apart, I can feel that familiar energy radiating from him.

*He smells like home,* my wolf whispers in the back of my mind, her voice a low rumble of longing. *Like pine forests and summer storms.*

*No,* I tell her firmly.

*We can't think like that. Not anymore.*

But as we merge onto the highway, the bike picks up speed, and I have no choice but to hold on tighter. My arms circle his waist, and my wolf practically purrs at the contact.

She's been so quiet these past three years, retreating deep inside me where Daxon's fists couldn't reach her. But now, with Tristan's familiar scent filling my lungs and his warmth seeping through his leather jacket, she's stirring to life again.

The world rushes past us in blurs of light and shadow. The motorcycle is loud, powerful, alive beneath us. So different from the suffocating silence of the house I've finally escaped.

I can feel every vibration through my body, every turn as we lean into the curves of the road. The sensation is intoxicating, liberating in a way I'd forgotten was possible.

I try not to think about how close I am to him. How my chest is pressed against his back, how I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, how my wolf is practically singing with joy at being near our friend, someone close to family, again.

I try not to think about how this would have felt five years ago, when touching him was natural, when being close to him felt like peace, when I thought maybe, just maybe—friendship could become something more.

Now it feels dangerous. Not because of him, but because of me. Because I'm broken in ways I don't know how to explain. Because I've forgotten how to be touched without violence. Because every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run, while my wolf is begging me to stay.

*He would never hurt us,* she insists, her voice stronger now. *You know this. You've always known this.*

But that's exactly the problem. I trusted once before. I trusted Daxon with everything, my heart, my body, my wolf. And he used that trust to nearly destroy us both. To take the only thing that would have brought me happiness.

I wasn't given the opportunity to hold my pup, because of that same trust.

I force myself to stay still. Force myself to breathe. Force myself to hold on, even as my hands shake against Tristan's stomach. The city lights blur past us as we navigate through traffic. New York at night is beautiful from the back of a motorcycle, all neon and possibility. For a moment, I can almost forget the last three years. Almost pretend I'm just a woman on a bike with a man who once loved her.

*Who still loves her,* my wolf adds hopefully.

*Stop,* I warn her. *Just stop.*

*As a friend* she added.

I wanted to respond, but then we hit a pothole, and I instinctively tighten my grip around his waist, and the movement sends a jolt of panic through me. My body remembers being grabbed, being held down, being hurt. My breath catches in my throat, and suddenly I'm not on a motorcycle anymore. I'm back in that house, back in that bedroom, back under Daxon's heavy hands as he.....

*Breathe,* my wolf commands, her voice cutting through the spiral of panic. *You're not there. You're with Tristan. You're safe.*

Tristan must feel my tension because he slows down, his hand coming to rest briefly on mine where it's pressed against his stomach. The gesture is gentle, reassuring, and it breaks something inside me. His touch doesn't hurt. It doesn't take. It simply... comforts.

I used to trust him completely. Used to feel safe in his arms. Used to believe that love was supposed to feel like coming home. Back when we were just Tristan, Orion and Athena, two matured wolves with their little wolf sister, learning what it meant to find their pack, their place in the world.

Now I don't know how to trust anyone. Especially not the man who I once wished to be more than a friend, before he abandoned me when I needed him most.

*That's not fair,* my wolf chides. *You pushed him, and Orion away. Then you chose Daxon over them.*

My wolf was right, I was hurting. Too young to think straight, I let my emotions get the best of me.

*Because I was young and stupid,* I snap back. *Because I thought I needed to heal without them.*

Then when I met Dixon, I thought his alpha strength meant safety.

Now I know better. Now I know that true strength isn't about dominance or control. It's about the gentle way Tristan slows his bike when he feels me tense. It's about the way he came for me tonight without question, without judgment, without asking for anything in return.

The ride feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Too soon, we're pulling into a driveway I don't recognize.

A medium-sized house with a neat lawn and a porch light that casts everything in warm yellow light. It looks... domestic. Settled. Like a place where someone has built a life.

*Where someone has built a life without us,* my wolf observes, and I can hear the sadness in her voice.

He kills the engine, and suddenly the world is quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the tick of the cooling bike. Even the city sounds seem muffled here, as if this little house exists in its own peaceful bubble.

"Where are we?" I ask, pulling off the helmet. My hair is a mess, static from the helmet making it stick up at odd angles. I probably look like I've been through a tornado, which isn't far from the truth.

"My place," he says, swinging his leg over the bike with fluid grace. Everything about Tristan has always been graceful, even before his wolf fully emerged. "I figured you might not want to go to Orion's right away. Since he's not there."

He's right. I don't want to be alone in my brother's empty house, surrounded by memories of the life I used to have. But I also don't know if I can handle being here, in Tristan's space, surrounded by evidence of the life he's built without me.

"I can take you somewhere else if you want," he says, reading my hesitation with the same uncanny ability he's always had. "Hotel, or..."

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "No, this is... this is fine."

I look at the house more carefully, and something doesn't sit right. It looks like a house chosen by a woman. The flower boxes under the windows, the coordinated outdoor furniture, the way the garden is arranged with careful attention to color and season.

It's a simple place, and I'm shocked. How come he's staying at a place like this? It's arranged and neat. Tristan is neat, but I know he doesn't like these settings. The way his house is set up feels foreign to the Tristan I remember.

*Things change,* my wolf says softly. *People change. We changed.*

But it's just proof that we're no longer the same people we were five years ago. I don't know how Orion would be. Has he changed a lot? He has two kids now, but I've never met either of them. Two little cubs I've never held, never scented, never been there to help raise.

They've all moved on without me. They found their ground and are doing well for themselves. I feel like I'm no longer needed around here. But what did I expect? For five years I've stayed away. Out of reach. Out of sight, they say, is out of mind. But I'm not angry, because I caused it.

*You survived,* my wolf reminds me. *That's what matters.*

As I enter his living room, I see pictures all around. My heart stops when I notice a particular photo on the mantle, a woman about thirty-two years old in a picture with Tristan. They look.... so in love and happy.