Her Return
1039 Words
The gates of the Blood-Moon pack were taller and sharp cleaned than Hazel remembered. Two guards in grey uniforms stepped forward, their eyes scanning her from head to toe.
"Name and business?" the taller one asked, his voice gruff.
“I repeat, name and business?”
Hazel adjusted the strap of her leather bag. She looked into his eyes with a calm, steady gaze. "Selah Vance. I’m here for the nanny position. I have an appointment with the Head Housekeeper."
The guard paused. He seemed struck by her beauty. The "old" Hazel had been a girl of soft shadows, but "Selah" was a woman of light. Her skin glowed, and her presence was so commanding that even the hardened wolf felt the need to stand straighter.
"Check the list," the guard muttered to his partner.
"She’s on it," the second guard replied, gesturing for the gates to open. "Follow the main road straight to the pack house. Don't wander off."
“Wander around and you find yourself back here in pieces.” And of course they didn’t forget to leave the warning.
As Hazel walked through the village, she braced herself for the sounds of celebration. She expected to see a pack thriving on the victory of wiping out her people. Instead, a heavy silence hung over the streets.
The shops were open, but people spoke in hushed tones. There were no banners, no laughter, and no music. It felt like a place that had been holding its breath for ten years.
It’s as if everything has fallen apart for everyone. Just what is happening here?
“Where is the glory you promised your people, Duncan?” Hazel thought, her heels clicking sharply against the stone. “You burned my world to build a graveyard.”
She is sure a graveyard was not what the people wanted. But instead it’s actually what they got.
She reached the pack house, a massive stone fortress that stood tall which still smelled of wolves as it has been for decades. A woman with grey hair and a stern face was waiting at the bottom of the steps.
"You’re late, Selah," the woman said, checking a pocket watch. "I am Greta. Follow me. The Alpha doesn't like to be kept waiting, though he rarely leaves his study these days."
"I apologize, Greta. The borders were heavily guarded," Hazel said, keeping her voice sweet and melodic.
"They have to be," Greta sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "The Alpha is protective. Some say he’s paranoid. Ever since the Great Fire, this pack hasn't been the same. It’s like the sun went out and forgot to come back."
“What a shame.”
They walked through the grand hallways. Hazel’s heart hammered against her ribs as they passed the door to the birthing chamber—the place where she had "died." It was sealed shut with heavy iron bars.
"The boys are in the private garden," Greta explained. "They don't get along with the other pack children. They are... special. And difficult."
The woman named Greta tried her very best to keep her words down as much as she could. But Hazel could see the irritation and tiredness in the woman’s words as she spoke.
“It seems the heirs are not easy wolves.” Hazel tried poking in to learn more.
“Huh, easy? I just told you those boys are… special and difficult.” Greta hissed as it seems she was tired of re explaining herself. In another words you can she seems to be tired of her work relating to the heirs.
“If that’s so, don’t worry,” Hazel smiled. "I’m good with difficult children," Hazel said, her fingers itching to reach for the dagger hidden in her boot.
She is not ready for any surprises. Not after everything. Not after all this time. Not after all the suffering and lost.
Greta led her to a set of glass doors that opened into a lush, walled garden. "Wait here. I’ll inform the Alpha you’ve arrived."
Hazel stepped into the garden. The scent of jasmine was thick in the air. She walked toward the sound of low voices near a large oak tree.
She stopped behind a stone pillar, her breath catching in her throat. She kept herself in one place not to move in the wrong way.
Ten feet away, the two boys she had seen in the vision were sitting on a wooden bench. They looked so much like Duncan it hurt to look at them, but they had her small, elegant hands.
Then, she saw him.
Duncan was kneeling in the grass in front of them. He wasn't wearing his Alpha cape or his armor. He was in a simple black shirt, his sleeves rolled up.
One of the twins was crying softly, holding a scraped knee. Hazel watched, frozen, as the "monster" who had ordered her execution reached out.
Duncan didn't growl or command the boy to be a man. Instead, he pulled both boys into his arms, tucking their heads under his chin. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against theirs. His face wasn't full of cold stone; it was lined with a deep, broken tenderness—a look of pure, agonizing love.
"I’ve got you," Duncan whispered, his voice cracking. "I’m here. I’ll never let anything happen to you. I promise."
Hazel felt a surge of confusion so strong it made her dizzy. This wasn't the man who had laughed while she burned. This man looked like his soul had been ripped out a long time ago.
‘Don’t let it fool you,’ she hissed to herself. ‘He is a murderer.’
Just then, Duncan’s ears twitched. He stiffened, his Alpha instincts catching a new scent. He stood up slowly, turning his head toward the pillar where she stood.
"Who’s there?" he demanded, his voice returning to that terrifying, low rumble.
Hazel stepped out from the shadows, her red dress swirling around her legs. Her eyes met his, and for a second, the world went dead silent.
Duncan froze. His golden eyes widened, and he took a shaky step forward, his face turning as white as a sheet.
"Hazel?" he breathed, the name barely a whisper.
- Writer
