CHAPTER FOUR
1570 Words
Morning did not arrive gently.
It crept through the trees in thin strands of gold, filtering through tangled branches and brushing against Amaris’ closed eyelids like an unwelcome memory. The forest floor was cool beneath her cheek, damp with dew.
For a moment, she did not remember why she was there.
Then she did.
The kiss.
Rin’s hands in Luka’s hair.
The way her name had sounded so small in her own mouth.
Her chest tightened, but the storm from last night had burned itself out. What remained was not fury not even heartbreak but a hollow exhaustion. A silence where something sacred had once lived.
She pushed herself upright slowly. Every muscle ached from her run, from the half-transformation she barely remembered. Leaves clung to her hair. Her dress was torn at the hem.
Dirt streaked her arms.
She looked like something that had survived the night.
And perhaps she had.
The forest no longer felt like a place to hide. It felt like a place that had witnessed her unraveling and now demanded she stand.
“I will not break,” she whispered to no one.
The words sounded fragile. But they were hers.
She began walking.
Each step toward town felt heavier than the last, yet with every breath she took, something steadier formed inside her.
Luka’s betrayal would not define her. Rin’s jealousy would not consume her. The pack’s whispers would not cage her.
If her heart had shattered then she would rebuild it herself.
When the tree line finally thinned and the rooftops of town came into view, relief slid through her like warmth after winter.
At the entrance, just off the curved roadside, stood a wooden sign carved deep and bold:
WELCOME TO EVERWOOD
The town rested between rolling hills, its cobblestone streets still quiet beneath the pale spill of morning light. Flower boxes leaned from cottage windows, heavy with dew.
A bakery door stood propped open, the scent of warm bread spilling into the air. Somewhere, a bell chimed lazily, as though time itself had stretched and decided not to rush.
Life moved on here.
No mating bonds.
No pack politics.
No ancestral expectations whispered beneath the moon.
No destiny carved into bone.
Just people.
People who woke because their alarms rang not because their wolves stirred.
People who chose their lovers not because some ancient force snapped invisible threads between souls.
People whose heartbreak did not echo across miles in the form of a howl.
Amaris stepped forward slowly, boots brushing dust from the edge of the road.
The forest behind her exhaled like something alive, watching her leave. For a moment she almost felt it tug at her that invisible tether of pack and blood and birthright.
But the town did not pull.
It welcomed.
The windows reflected her in fractured glimpses: tangled hair, dried tear tracks, the faint shimmer of gold still lingering in her eyes from the night before.
She looked less like an Alpha’s daughter and more like a girl who had run too far and not far enough.
A car rolled past, music low and ordinary. A woman laughed somewhere down the street. A newspaper stand clattered as it was stocked for the day.
Normal.
The word felt fragile.
Normal meant no one could scent betrayal on her skin.
Normal meant no one knew she had been chosen and discarded in the same breath.
Normal meant she could pretend her heart was not still raw and pulsing beneath her ribs.
For the first time since she had fled the clearing, her lungs filled without burning.
Here, she was not the Alpha’s heir.
Not the rejected mate.
Not the twin who lost.
She was simply a girl standing at the edge of something new.
And for one dangerous, hopeful second
She allowed herself to believe she could stay.
Amaris stood at the edge of it, feeling strangely displaced like a creature stepping into a world that had never known her kind.
Going home was not an option.
Facing her sister? Impossible.
Facing her parents? Worse.
Her phone buzzed faintly in her palm. Several missed calls from her mother. From her father.
Guilt pricked her chest.
She turned the screen dark.
Instead, she scrolled to a different name.
Dante.
Her thumb hovered only a second before pressing call.
The ringing felt louder than it should have.
He answered on the third ring.
“Amaris?” His voice carried alertness immediately. No hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
The concern in his tone did something dangerous to her composure.
“I…” She swallowed. “I need help.”
Silence on his end, but not the empty kind. The focused kind.
“Where are you?”
“Near the south forest exit. By the old gravel road.”
“I’m coming. Don’t move.”
No questions. No pressure.
Just certainty.
She lowered the phone slowly.
For the first time since last night, she felt something close to safety.
Minutes later, the low growl of an engine cut through the quiet road. A sleek black car turned the corner, sunlight glinting off polished metal.
Dante always drove something understated but expensive quiet power, like everything else about him.
The car stopped beside her. The door opened.
And there he was.
Tall. Composed. Dark hair swept back with deliberate ease. Crisp white shirt beneath a tailored jacket. Not a strand out of place in brutal contrast to her own disheveled state.
His eyes moved over her slowly.
The torn dress.
The dirt on her hands.
The way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
He didn’t ask anything.
He just stepped forward.
“Come here.”
She blinked. “Dante, I”
“Come here,” he repeated, softer this time.
She didn’t argue.
He pulled her into him, one hand firm at her back, the other settling at the base of her neck. Solid. Warm. Steady.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She let out a small breath against his chest. “Don’t make it a thing.”
“I’m not,” he said quietly. “Just letting you know I can feel it.”
Silence stretched between them.
He didn’t push.
Didn’t demand.
Didn’t interrogate.
He just held her.
Her fingers slowly curled into his shirt.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For not asking.”
He exhaled faintly. “If you want to tell me, you will.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll still be here.”
She pulled back slightly, searching his face. “You’re not even curious?”
“Of course I am.”
“And?”
“And you look like you barely made it through the night,” he said evenly. “That matters more.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’ll tell you,” she said quietly. “Just… not here.”
He nodded once. “Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re not going to pressure me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever happened,” he said, brushing a piece of tangled hair away from her face, “you came to me.”
Her voice softened. “Yeah.”
“That’s enough.”
She swallowed. “Can we go somewhere?”
“My place,” he said immediately.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Then don’t.”
“I look terrible.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he said lightly.
She almost smiled. “You’re lying.”
“Probably.”
She shook her head faintly. “Dante…”
“Hmm?”
“Just drive.”
He opened the passenger door for her.
“Get in,” he said gently.
As she settled into the seat, he leaned down slightly.
“You’re safe,” he told her.
And this time, she didn’t argue.
Dante moved around the car and opened the passenger door for Amaris, one hand resting lightly against the frame as if shielding her from the world itself.
She slid into the seat without meeting his eyes.
He closed the door gently not with the sharp thud of impatience, but with the quiet precision of someone afraid that even sound might break her further.
When he settled behind the wheel, the engine purred to life, low and steady. The road stretched ahead in a long ribbon of early morning light.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Dante glanced sideways.
The dried leaves tangled in her hair. The faint scratches along her collarbone. The way her fingers twisted restlessly in her lap.
“Amaris,” he said softly, careful, “are you okay?”
The question hovered between them.
She forced a small smile the kind people wear when they don’t want to be seen.
“I’m fine.”
The lie was thin. Fragile.
Dante’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He had seen injured soldiers lie better than that.
“I just need a shower… and then we go to school.”
School.
As if normalcy could be stitched back together that easily.
Dante nodded slowly. “Alright.”
He didn’t tell her school could wait.
He didn’t tell her she looked like she had survived something far worse than a bad night.
He didn’t tell her that the sight of her torn clothes, hollow eyes, trembling strength ignited something dangerously protective inside him.
- Writer
