Chapter 4
An hour later, I’m back on my feet for yet another chore—the welcome ceremony for the new Soul Warriors. It’s a mandatory ritual for every incoming recruit before training begins, a formality I’ve long grown bored of.
What I hated about it was that I’d be stuck with Everett, who was even worse than Cooper. Those two were like two peas in a pod, each one more aggravating than the last. Just as I expected, the meeting with him goes downhill fast.
“For the umpteenth time, I said no!” I snap, spinning around sharply enough to make him flinch. He stumbles back a step, blinking rapidly, then—of course—carries on like nothing happened. Nothing ever scares him for long. Mainly because he doesn’t believe in no.
I could’ve used my Alpha command on him. I’ve considered it. But my wolf would tear through my spine if I ever wasted that kind of authority on something so… ridiculous. And truthfully? I care too much about him to do it.
“So…” he says with maddening cheer, “can I take your car then?”
I facepalm—so hard the impact makes me stagger. Bright spots bloom in my vision, and I groan as the dizziness sets in.
“Everett,” I say through gritted teeth, “I’m not letting you take my car.”
“Okay, okay. Then… your motorbike?”
“None of them, Everett! The last three times I did, the vehicles didn’t return the same! You always crash into trees or poles—and let’s not forget last year when you drove my car off a bridge!”
“Well, sorry, Alpha Sir. Not my fault someone banned me from driving! If it bothers you that much, maybe lift the ban. Or… better idea! Lend me your Maserati!”
Everett and moving objects do not get along. If it has wheels, he’ll somehow turn it into a disaster waiting to happen.
“Ever… I love you. But I’m not giving you my car. Not again.”
He scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive, like I’m completely unreasonable. “Look, it’s not my fault that roads and I have a complicated relationship. Those things are evil. They’re out to get me.”
His hands flail wildly, cutting through the air as he launches into a passionate rant about asphalt conspiracy theories, his voice rising and falling like a stormy sea. I spot my chance and quietly slip away, heart pounding against my ribs.
Big mistake.
Just a few steps down the compound, I turn a corner—and collide, face-first, with her.
Brie.
The queen of pain. Pregnant or not, she moves with the unstoppable force of a loaded weapon, her presence filling the space with an electric tension.
I spin around, ready to bolt, but then—thwack—something hard crashes against the back of my skull. A rock. An actual rock. Heat flashes across my skin as my body collapses like a sack of flour, my face slamming against the cold, unforgiving ground.
This is what happens when you make a lunatic your older sister.
I groan, tasting dust as the rock lazily skitters away.
“And where do you think you’re running to, imp?” she demands, her voice low and malicious as she strides past me like a very pregnant war general—one hand pressed to her aching back, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Get up. Walk with me.”
I push myself up, fingers rubbing the tender spot on the back of my head, and shoot her a ‘why-are-you-like-this’ look. I’d offer to carry her, but last time I tried, she cracked my skull with a hammer. Not exaggerating. A literal hammer.
She leads me to her flat, where the living room looks like it survived a mild tornado. Boxes are everywhere, random iron rods jutting out from half-built furniture, and what I think is a crib is flipped on its side.
I eye the chaos, then look at her. “What happened?”
She sighs, the fire in her eyes dimming slightly. “Today’s the day Nolan and I were supposed to decorate the baby’s room.”
That hits harder than I expect.
Nolan. Her mate. The one she waited her whole life to find… and lost shortly after they conceived. Killed by one of the enemy packs. She never let it break her. She never broke. Just got louder, sharper, more violent.
Still, the grief leaks through sometimes—like now.
“Want me to get Cooper?” I ask gently.
“No. He’s in his hopeful idiot mode again. I can’t deal with his sunshine now, only to watch it turn to rain later. You’ll do.”
“Just me?”
She glares. “You think I’m working? I’m pregnant!”
“You chased Cooper last week with a log.”
“Say it again, and I’ll chase you with one,” she snaps.
Wise enough not to argue with the queen of rage, I walk over to the nearest box. Then I stop, frozen by the sudden realisation that I have no clue how to build baby furniture.
“Um… maybe we should get Cooper. I don’t know how to put this stuff together. He’s been practising for his future pups. But if he comes, he’ll definitely do something idiotic, and then you’ll throw your TV at his head again—for the twelfth time. I’ve always told you, Brie, violence is not a virtue.”
She holds up her clenched fist to her face. “Say it again—my fist is ready this time!” she screams, fire blazing in her eyes.
I can’t help the low chuckle that slips out, biting back the dozen smart remarks that flirt at the edge of my tongue. No need to test her patience—again.
Eventually, she gives me a crash course in baby furniture assembly. It involves more yelling than actual teaching, and a few smacks when I put the crib rails in backwards. But somehow, despite the bruises, the decorations end up where they’re supposed to be.
The moment I hang the last streamer, I make a break for the door, eager to escape before she finds another excuse to bring out her hammer. My fingers brush the handle—freedom is within reach—
“Alpha! Stop right there!”
I freeze.
Alpha?
My wolf, Alaric, panics. “Alpha? That can’t be good. Run! Run while you still can!”
But I can’t.
Running away is even more dangerous.
Brie approaches slowly. And instead of her usual left hook, she slips her arm around my torso, hugging me sideways, her chin resting against my shoulder. Her warmth seeps into me like sunlight through cold stone.
Wait… what?
My breath catches in my throat. Her scent flows intensely into my nostrils, and her grip is surprisingly gentle. Protective, even. It rattles something inside me that I can’t pinpoint.
“I know you’re pretending you’re okay, Hendrix,” she murmurs, her voice no longer sharp, but soft and low. “Acting like the whole mate thing doesn’t bother you. But I know it does.”
My chest tightens. I try to laugh it off, but the sound won’t come.
“I don’t care what you believe,” she goes on, fierce in her tenderness. “I don’t care what the others think, either. I believe you’ll bring the Luna of Lúa Infinita home. Soon.”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
Hope. Her voice drips with it.
But to me, it sounds like a beautiful waste of time.
But for once, I don’t swat it away.
I just… stand there.
And let her believe it for both of us.
“Daddy… why do the other kids say I’ll never get a mate like their parents?”
The question slipped out quietly, catching the man mid-thought as he stood facing the tall window, his arms folded tightly behind his back. Outside, the late afternoon sun bled across the horizon in soft streaks of amber and crimson, shadows long and stretching like claws across the floor.
He didn’t turn at first.
His son stood behind him, small fists curled at his sides, lip bitten raw. Tears shimmered in his eyes, threatening to spill but stubbornly held back. His voice trembled from something deeper than sadness—confusion, shame, the quiet ache of being different.
The man slowly looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable beneath the tousled fringe of his dark hair. Their eyes met—father and son—and for a moment, the man’s gaze softened. Just a flicker.
He had once asked that same question. He had once stood in the same spot, tears in his eyes, heart split by the cruel honesty of their kind.
The memory passed like a shadow.
His lips pressed into a tight line as he turned his gaze back toward the setting sun.
“Because monsters like us,” he said quietly, the words heavy as stone, “don’t deserve one.”