The Return
1371 Words
_Lyric’s POV_
The wind slapped against my eyes as my bike roared down the last stretch of the mountain road. I could smell the trees, the morning dew, the light smell of fresh paint and sawdust that told me I was close. The Blackthorn packhouse was getting a face-lift. Again.
I grinned behind my helmet, twisting the throttle harder. She purred beneath me like the beast she was, my ride of choice. Cars were slow and uptight. Bikes? Bikes were for the free, brave, and crazy ones.
My AirPods buzzed and I almost groaned.
“Lyric,” came my brother’s calm, deep voice in my ear. Cyric. “Where are you?”
“Five minutes out,” I said, shouting over the engine. “Don’t get your scarred face all twisted. I’m coming.”
“Just… When you get here, try not to mess with the workers. Or cause a scene.”
“I’m a delight, Cy.”
He sighed. “It’s been two days since the renovation started. Try to stay out of it. Just… breathe for once.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The call ended, and I leaned into the final bend. The old gates of the mansion came into view, tall and brooding. I slowed, tires crunching over the gravel driveway. The mansion stood tall in the morning light like something out of a gothic painting, all glooms and pride.
I parked my bike front and center, killing the engine with a flick of my wrist. Silence rushed in and I sat for a moment, breathing it in.
Home.
Two weeks. That’s how long I’d been gone. Visiting the old folks. Playing the good son.
I pulled off my helmet and shook out my hair. Not too long, but long enough to sweep back with my fingers. My shirt clung to me like a second skin, tight and black, showing off every tattoo that lined my arms. The ink climbed up my neck like creeping vines. I had on loose black pants, and white sneakers, fresh and clean. A walking contradiction.
The front doors opened.
Out stepped Cyric, tall and calm as ever, his scar catching the light like a s***h of silver down his cheek. And with him, our Beta, Warren, grizzled, broad, and already scowling like I’d done something wrong just by existing, followed.
“There he is,” Cyric muttered. “The prodigal pain in my ass.”
I grinned and strolled up to them, tossing the helmet into my arm like it weighed nothing. “You miss me that much, bro?”
Cyric arched an eyebrow. “We enjoyed the peace.”
“Ouch,” I said, placing a hand over my heart. “Warren, still looking like you wrestled a bear and lost.”
Warren grunted. “Still mouthing off like a pup.”
“A charming pup.”
Cyric ignored us both. “Renovation team is inside. Working mostly in the eastern wing today. Don’t wander around.”
I tilted my head. “Why? Did you finally listen to me and hire actual humans instead of werewolves with hammers?”
“You have a reputation for ruining every renovation. Remember the last one?” Cyric said coldly and turned to walk back inside.
I followed behind lazily, spinning my helmet in one hand. The place already smelled like paint and sawdust. Great. The eastern wing was also filled with the sound of drills and voices, some low, while some were shouting. I stayed clear. Not because Cy said so, but because I wasn’t in the mood to play foreman today.
Not yet, anyway.
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_Kaelith’s POV_
It’s been two days since I joined the working team, and honestly? This work is only for men. My arms ached. My back ached. Even my knees complained every time I bent. I could feel the calluses forming on my palms already. And gods, the dust. I hadn’t sneezed this much in years.
But then I’d see the daily payment, and I’d remember exactly why I signed up. The pay was ridiculously generous. Enough that I’d managed to save quite a bit in just two days.
I couldn’t back out now. Not when I had twenty-eight more days to go. I could do this.
Today was supposed to be my rest day. I’d finished my assigned tasks early, and there was no more work lined up. I needed to get a phone too. Badly. I didn’t own one, which made asking for help or searching for info about the pack practically impossible. I’d also be turning twenty my midnight, and I only hoped that I wouldn't find my mate just yet, at least until I leave this place.
It would be a disaster if I found him and he saw me like this.
I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt, took a breath, and walked toward Warren. He was the Beta of Blackthorn pack, gruff, no-nonsense, and very clearly the one in charge.
I cleared my throat. “Um… sir? Beta Warren?”
He looked up from his clipboard, one thick brow raising.
“I finished my assignment for the day, and I… I was wondering if I could take a break. I need to go into town to get a phone.”
He stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to read my soul. Then he grunted, nodding.
“You’re done with your quota?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. All done.”
“Fine. Go on then. But don’t take the whole day. Be back before nightfall.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you!”
I turned on my heel and started for the front entrance of the mansion. The long corridor from the east wing echoed slightly under my boots. As I neared the double doors, I heard voices ahead.
Footsteps followed too as someone climbed down the stairs.
Then the voice came.
“You miss me already? You can come and see me, baby.”
I froze.
That voice. I knew that voice.
My heart lurched into my throat.
It was the same voice, the same man, from the sword room.
My pulse sped up. I’d been thinking about him nonstop since our strange encounter. The man with the scar, the commanding presence, the atmosphere of someone you didn’t cross. He’d ripped my charm like it was paper, left me shaken to my bones, and then vanished.
I’d tried to ask around, clumsily,hoping someone would mention him. But no one had a clue. I couldn’t even describe him properly without giving myself away. And besides, I wasn’t even supposed to be a girl.
I turned slowly, blood rushing in my ears.
And there he was.
But this time, he looked… different.
No scar on his face, but he still wore black. Still had that same terrifying, magnetic energy. Except now, tattoos crawled up his arms and neck like dark vines, twisting with meaning I didn’t dare guess. His hair was tied up at the back of his head, a few strands falling across his forehead. A silver piercing winked at me from his ear.
He was… beautiful.
Otherworldly.
My jaw dropped.
He looked up from his phone, mid-call, and his eyes landed on me. Everything stopped. My heart. My breath. Even my legs.
How did he always look like a Greek god had just casually walked off Mount Olympus and decided to torment me?
And then, before I could hold it back, I smiled.
I didn’t even mean to. It just happened. Something about seeing him again broke something open inside me.
He blinked, clearly caught off-guard, then smirked.
He ended the call with a casual, “I’ll call you back,” and slid the phone into his back pocket.
Then he walked over, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world.
I couldn’t even move.
When he reached me, he lifted a hand and gently pushed my chin upward with two fingers, closing my open mouth.
Then he tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Why are you smiling at me?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Do I know you?”
- Writer
