Howls of The Outcast

CHAPTER FOUR

The Place That Holds Me Together

Evelyn POV

As the switch flips, and all of a sudden, Owen made a scream so loud that even the dead could rise. “Noooooo!” The door to his room banged heavily that I swear it would splinter. He walked down the stairs growling, “Who dares does that? WHO DID THIS?” I crane my neck to see him, and holy hell, my little brother’s not little anymore.

He’s a gangly 6’5”, all elbows and knees, with messy brown hair that’s got the same sun-bleached streaks as mine. Those blue eyes, sharp like Dad’s, are blazing with gamer rage. He’s 17, still a beanpole, but you can tell he’s gonna be a tank someday. Can he outsmart a pack like Dad, though? That’s the million-dollar question. Right now, he’s losing it, and Lily and I are eating it up, smirking like we’ve just pulled off the heist of the century.

“Aw, Lily, check out the pup,” I drawl, channeling my inner truck-stop waitress. “He’s all huffy. Should we be scared of this big bad nerd?” Owen barrels down the stairs, and we scatter, cackling like we’re 12 again. It’s a wild chase through the Packhouse, dodging couches, vaulting over a stray ottoman, yelling insults. We’re tearing up the place until Dad steps in, his Alpha voice hitting like a brick wall. “That’s ENOUGH!”

We skid to a halt, guilty as sin. Dad’s got his arms folded, looking like he’s debating whether to laugh or send us to our rooms. “You’re supposed to be adults,” he says, “but you turn into a pack of gremlins the second you’re together. Quit trashing the house before Sarah skins me alive.” Everyone knows Sarah’s the one who runs this show. Lily and I clamp down on our giggles, while Owen mutters something about “ruined stats” like it’s a war crime.

Dad sighs, waving us off. “Dinner’s ready. Move it before it’s cold.” He hangs back, waiting for me, and slings an arm around my shoulders, his beard scratching my cheek as he kisses my forehead. “You doing alright, Evie?”

“Yeah, Dad,” I lie, plastering on a grin. “Just glad to be back.” His eyes narrow, like he’s sniffing out the truth, and it takes everything not to c***k. “I’m good, promise. Business is booming, life’s great.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, but his tone screams he’s not fooled. We head to the family dining nook, the small one we use when it’s just us, not the fancy hall for pack shindigs.

Ember’s growling in my head. “He knows you’re full of it, Evie. He feels your pain through the bond. Stop bullshitting him.” She’s got a point, but I’m not ready to unload. I just want to soak up this warmth, my family, their chaos, their love without Lucas’s shadow ruining it.

“Ember, I know,” I think. “But let’s hold off ‘til after Owen’s ceremony. I’m here for him, not to air my dirty laundry. Besides, I’m mated, Dad’s bond with me’s weaker now.” She grumbles but lets it go. “Wanna hit our spot tonight? Run it out?” Her excitement buzzes through me, and I’m already itching for the woods.

Sarah’s at the table, wrapping me in a hug that smells like cinnamon and mom vibes. “Hey, sweetheart,” she says, smacking a kiss on my cheek. “Drive treat you okay?”

“Loved every second of those twisty roads,” I say, squeezing her back. Dinner’s a riot Lily’s roasting Owen, Dad’s telling bad jokes, and Sarah’s handing out jobs for tomorrow’s ceremony like a drill sergeant. I’m on guest-greeting duty, Lily’s wrangling decorations, and Owen’s stuck with dishes, which he whines about like it’s torture. I’m grinning so hard my face hurts, my heart swollen with love I know I can’t keep.

After we clear the plates, I swap my jeans for black leggings and a ratty hoodie, the kind you wear when you don’t care who sees you. I slip out the back door, the night air sharp against my skin, and head for the woods. At the tree line, I kick off my clothes and let Ember loose. Shifting’s a b***h, bones snapping, muscles tearing, fur punching through like a million tiny knives. I don’t do it much anymore; Lucas says it’s “too wild” for a proper mate.

Screw him and his rules. I grit my teeth through the pain, and soon Ember’s standing tall, her dark brown fur catching the moonlight, flecked with gold like a starry night. My gray eyes are gone, replaced by her glowing amber. “Take it away, girl,” I think. “Let’s hit our spot.”

She tears through the Black Hills, paws pounding, dodging pines like a pro. The wind’s her playground, and for the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe. We hit our clearing, a hidden meadow I’ve been tending since I was a kid. I shift back, butt-naked and not giving a single damn.

This place is my soul. I used to scavenge seeds from the woods wild mint, chamomile, coneflowers, lavender and plant them here. Now it’s a jungle of color, buzzing with bees and smelling like freedom. I wander through, toes sinking into the dirt, brushing my hands over the flowers. No Lucas, no Diane fling around here.

Just me, my plants, and the South Dakota sky, stars so bright they’re showing off. I flop onto the grass, trying to name constellations, but I’m useless at it every cluster looks like a wonky spoon. Thank God for Google Maps, or I’d be wandering Montana by now.

Ember nudges me. “Time to head back, Evie. Tomorrow is going to be hell, and knowing fully you have got some family duty.”

“Yes, Of course,” I muttered, moving to my side. “This place, though. Can’t we just live here?” She hums, feeling the same pull. This meadow’s our safe haven, the one thing we’d bottle up if we could. I stand, brushing dirt off my thighs, careful not to squash the mint patch. Ember shifts, and we sprint back to my clothes.

I tug on my hoodie, the chill creeping in, and spot a shadow by the Packhouse door. It slips inside when it sees me, Dad, no doubt. He’s always done this, watching from a distance to make sure I’m okay. My chest aches.

Back in my room, it’s like a time machine, same creaky bed, same faded Smashing Pumpkins poster. It’s home, but it’s also a reminder of everything I lost when I chose Lucas. I shower, the steam loosening the knot in my chest, but then I remember my phone. I haven’t checked it since I got here. My stomach lurches as I grab it. Six missed calls. Fifteen texts. The latest one’s a gut-punch: “Ghost me for hours? You’ll regret it.”

“f**k,” I hiss, my hands shaking. It’s only 10:15 p.m. hardly the crime of the century. I type a frantic reply: “Hey, sorry! Got swept up with family stuff. I’ll call tomorrow, promise. Love you!” I hit send, praying it’s enough to keep him off my back. My phone pings almost instantly.

“Don’t pull this s**t again.” That’s it. I dodged a bullet, but only just. I plug in my phone, crawl under the quilt, and let the hum of the woods crickets, owls, the rustle of leaves sing me

to sleep. Lucas can wait. Tonight, I’m home.