A Return
The morning air in the Appalachian mountains is sharp enough to sting my lungs.
I pull the thick quilt up to my chin, staring out the tall, narrow window of my bedroom. Outside, the early morning fog hangs low over the valley, draping across the endless canopy of ancient pines like a heavy silver shroud. The sun is barely an idea behind the eastern ridges, bleeding a pale, watery gold into the mist. It’s my favorite time of day. Before the pack wakes up, before the noise of three hundred wolves fills the basin, the world belongs entirely to the forest.
And, for exactly seven more days, I belong to no one but the forest, as well.
I swing my legs out of bed, shivering as my bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Even though my wolf is fully formed, she won’t truly wake up until my twentieth birthday. Right now, I have the baseline traits—the enhanced sight, the sharp hearing, the subtle scent-mapping that every child of the Silver Ridge pack inherits—but I still shiver from the air seeping in through the crack on my window.
Standing in front of the small, gilt-framed mirror above my dresser, I tie my long blonde hair back into a loose, wavy ponytail. A few stray pieces escape immediately, framing a face that I’ve always considered entirely unexceptional. Like my mom, I have blue eyes, a scattering of freckles across my nose that never quite fade, even in winter, and deep dimples that show up the second I smile. My body is toned because a sedentary lifestyle is practically impossible in a mountain pack that prides itself on self-sufficiency. Still, I don’t carry the lean, hard muscle of the guardians or the warriors. I’m soft. Approachable.
“Conventionally pretty, but not a head-turner.”
“Seven days,” I whisper to my reflection, a small, giddy smile tugging at my lips.
Seven days until the Moon Goddess grants me my fated mate. In a pack as traditional as ours, the mate bond is everything. It’s the ultimate anchor. A soul-link forged by a bite to the neck, allowing two people to share thoughts, feelings, and an eternity of perfect understanding. I’ve spent my entire life watching the mated couples in the pack—how they move in sync, how they look at each other across crowded rooms. I want that. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, a trait that Cassie constantly mocks me for, but I can’t help it. I want the fated fairy tale.
I pull on a thick flannel shirt over my tank top, slip into a pair of worn-in jeans, and head downstairs.
Our house sits on the eastern edge of the pack territory, a sturdy timber cabin built by my father before he passed. It was meant to be a project for us to keep building on, as a family. Now, even the grass is abandoned to grow as it wishes.
The walk to the central village is a mile-long trail winding through the ancient trees, the ground damp and soft beneath my boots. As I walk, I breathe in the familiar scents of home—the damp earth, the sharp tang of pine resin, and the faint, sweet smell of wild berries clinging to the frost.
The closer I get to the pack house, though, the more the air shifts. Werewolves are creatures of energy, and today, the territory feels wired. The invisible static of pack gossip is practically buzzing in the air.
“Maeve! Wait up!”
I turn to see Cassie jogging down the path behind me. Her dark hair is pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense braid, and her sharp grey eyes are scanning the tree line. Cassie doesn’t do ‘soft.’ She’s a cynic through and through, a protector by nature, and she’s been my best friend since we were old enough to shift into clumsy, tumbling pups.
“You’re up early,” Cassie says, falling into step beside me. She adjusts the leather strap of her hunting pack over her shoulder. “Let me guess. Counting down the hours until you magically inherit a husband?”
“It’s a mate, Cass, not an arranged marriage.” I laugh, nudging her shoulder with mine. “And yes. I’m excited. Sue me.”
“I just don’t get the obsession with mates,” she mutters, though there’s a familiar fondness in her voice. “What if he’s a brute? What if he’s from some tech-obsessed city pack and expects you to move away from the mountains? You’re too trusting, Maeve. The world isn’t a storybook.”
“The Moon Goddess doesn’t make mistakes,” I say softly, looking up at the gray sky through the pine needles. “She gives you exactly what your soul needs.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope your soul needs someone who knows how to chop wood and shut up,” Cassie says dryly. But as we round the final bend and the central pack square opens up before us, her posture completely changes. Her shoulders square, her jaw sets, and that easy, mocking tone vanishes.
The square is crowded, far more than usual for a Tuesday morning. Wolves are gathered near the steps of the massive stone pack house, whispering in tight, tense circles. Even the older aunts, usually content to sit on the porch rocker with their knitting, are leaning in close, their expressions guarded.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my stomach dropping slightly. The air smells heavy, thick with stress and old, familiar pheromones.
“Look at the garage,” Cassie whispers, her voice low.
I follow her line of sight. Parked outside the Alpha’s private quarters is a heavy, mud-splattered black truck. It looks rugged, foreign, and entirely out of place among the older, well-kept pack vehicles. But it’s not the truck that makes my chest tighten.
It’s the scent rolling off it.
It’s faint, buried beneath five years of dust and distance, but I would know it anywhere. It’s cedarwood, stormy rain, and cold iron. A scent that used to mean safety, scraped knees, and bubbling laughter in the middle of the night.
“No way,” I breathe, my hand flying to my chest as a sudden thrum beats against my ribs. “Is she...?”
“The Alpha’s daughter is back,” Cassie says, a guarded tone in her voice. “Senna is home.”
My heart does a violent, erratic flip. Senna.
Up until five years ago, she was the light-hearted jokester of the pack heir-apparents. She was the older girl who let me tag along behind her, who taught me how to track rabbit tracks in the snow, who looked at me with eyes so intensely dark they made my throat go dry even when I was just a teenager. And then, right before her own twentieth birthday, she vanished. The Alpha told the pack that she had been sent to an elite training camp in the north to prepare for her future role as Luna. For five years, there was nothing but silence.
“Maeve, hold off on the early celebration,” Cassie warns, grabbing my forearm. Her grip is tight as she turns me towards the pack house steps. “Something is off.”
The heavy oak doors of the pack house swing open.
Alpha Thomas steps out first. He’s an imposing man, his graying hair cropped short, his posture rigid with the absolute authority of a man who has ruled Silver Ridge with an iron fist for twenty-five years.
He looks prouder than I’ve ever seen him. His face is practically beaming as he looks over the crowd that has gathered in the square.
And then, she steps out behind him.
My breath hitches, trapping the air in my lungs.
Senna is not the same.
Had I not just confirmed the scent, I would not have known it was her.
She has hardened. The tall, lanky nineteen-year-old girl who left is entirely gone. In her place stands a woman who looks as if she were carved from the Appalachian stone itself. She’s taller, her shoulders broader, her frame packed with dense, lethal muscle that commands attention without her even trying. Her dark hair, which used to fall wild and messy around her face, is cut short now, barely brushing her shoulders. And splitting through the dark strands on the left side is a stark, jarring white stripe.
As she steps into the pale morning light, I see the thin, jagged white line of a scar cutting straight through her bottom lip. It wasn’t there before. It gives her mouth a hard, cynical set.
She isn’t smiling. She looks at the gathering crowd with a cool, detached indifference that makes a shiver race down my spine. She looks like a stranger—a dangerous predator.
“She looks so different,” Cassie mutters beside me, her knuckles turning white on her pack strap.
Alpha Thomas raises a hand, and the murmuring square falls dead silent.
“Packmates,” Thomas’s booming voice echoes across the stone. “Five years ago, my daughter left us to fulfill her duties and hone her strength. Today, she returns to take her rightful place at my side. Senna has proven her resilience. She returns to us wiser, stronger, and ready to secure the future of Silver Ridge.”
Thomas turns, clapping a heavy hand on Senna’s shoulder. “As you all know, Senna’s twentieth birthday passed while she was away, but the Moon Goddess’s blessing has not given her a mate yet. Therefore, over the coming weeks, we will be welcoming eligible high-ranking males from our allied packs. Senna will choose a worthy partner to stand beside her, to secure the next generation, and to lead Silver Ridge into a new era of strength.”
A cheer goes up from the crowd, led by the younger warriors.
But I can’t breathe. My eyes are locked onto Senna.
As her father speaks, Senna’s jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle tick in her cheek. For a fraction of a second, her cool, detached facade turns into iron-hard anger.
Then, as if sensing my gaze, Senna’s eyes shift.
Across the crowded square, through the sea of whispering wolves and cheering warriors, her dark eyes lock straight onto mine.
A beginning smile tugs on my lips, ready to welcome Senna back. For five long years, I’ve looked forward to seeing her again. For five years, I have worried for her well-being, wondering how she could leave without saying goodbye.
But there is no warmth in Senna’s eyes. No recognition. Only a cold, indifferent glare.
Senna holds my gaze for one brutal second, her scarred lip twitching, before she deliberately looks away, turning her back on me to follow her father back into the shadows of the pack house.
Beside me, Cassie lets out a low growl. “Yeah. That’s not the same girl who used to steal apples from the orchard.”
I don’t answer. I stand there in the crisp morning air, my hand pressed flat against my heart, trying to ignore the sudden, terrifying premonition that my fairy tale is about to turn into a nightmare.
