Chapter 3: Breaking the Silence
1175 Words
Some silences aren’t broken with words. Some are shattered with wheels on gravel.
That’s what I told myself as the road to Shadowridge unfurled in front of me like a slow, deliberate noose.
It had been six years since I touched that soil. Six years since I turned my back on a pack that once called me theirs. On a mate who broke me without drawing blood.
Now I was driving straight back into it.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I had no choice.
The sun hadn’t risen yet. Just a smear of pale light on the horizon, casting the trees in grey and gold. The forest around the territory border was exactly how I remembered—dense, old, and watching.
I didn’t slow down.
The ward lines should’ve triggered the second I crossed them. Shadowridge had defenses, and most of them were scent-based. Any wolf with rogue blood was flagged and hunted within minutes.
But I was more than rogue.
I was Blackthorn.
I still carried the bond in my blood. Even if Lucien had broken the mate link, the connection ran deeper. I’d tried everything to sever it completely, but the magic wouldn’t let go. Not entirely.
So when my tires rolled past the threshold and no one came tearing through the trees to rip me apart, I knew two things:
One—Lucien hadn’t scrubbed me from the land’s memory.
Two—he had no idea I was back.
Yet.
I pulled off the road and killed the engine. The cabin was gone now—torched, for all I knew. I’d left it standing when I ran, but Shadowridge had never been fond of loose ends.
Didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to revisit ghosts.
I was here for answers.
And I only knew one place to get them.
I started walking.
The packhouse was miles ahead, tucked behind a rise and half a dozen hidden guards. If things hadn’t changed, I’d hit the lookout trail in twenty minutes. From there, I’d have eyes on everything.
But even that plan depended on one thing.
No one seeing me first.
I moved through the woods like shadow—quiet, light on my feet, ears tuned to the smallest break in rhythm. My wolf pulsed beneath my skin, alert, breathing with me.
This wasn’t hunting.
This was *homecoming.*
And it made me sick.
My stomach turned as the path widened and the first flickers of the packhouse appeared between the trees.
It was bigger than I remembered. Reinforced walls, new guards stationed higher. Not just upgraded—fortified. Like Lucien was preparing for war.
Maybe he was.
Maybe he always had been.
Just thinking about it made my jaw tighten, teeth grinding together.
I dropped down behind a fallen pine, keeping myself low to the ground. From where I was, I could just make out the eastern side of the place, the empty courtyard, and yeah—that balcony. Couldn’t stop staring at it.
The one I’d stood on the night he said the words.
“You’re not Luna material, Ayla. You never were.”
Back then, I’d thought pain was something you could outrun.
But it followed.
In that way, I hadn’t trusted anyone since. In the way I checked every door twice. In the way I taught my kids to run before they learned to read.
And now?
Now that silence was knocking again.
And I had to knock back.
I stood. Stepped into the clearing. Walked straight toward the front gate like I belonged there.
And when two guards shifted their stance, I didn’t flinch.
“Name,” one barked, his voice clipped.
I didn’t stop walking. “Tell Lucien his past just came home.”
They looked confused for half a beat—until one of them caught my scent.
His eyes widened.
The gate opened without another word.
And then I was inside.
Just like that.
The moment I stepped over the threshold, everything hit me at once. Sounds. Scents. Memory. Pain.
I kept moving.
The halls looked just like before. Same old carvings on the walls. The farther I went, the more it felt like my ghost was tagging along, right at my side.
The grand hall? Empty. For now.
But that wasn’t gonna last. I could feel him there, even before he showed up.
Lucien.
Alpha.
Mate.
Yeah. Mistake.
He stepped out from the corridor, tall and unreadable in dark clothes, eyes locked on mine. Midnight hair tousled like he hadn’t slept, a slow tension radiating from his frame.
And then, he froze.
“Ayla.”
Just that.
My name.
Like it still belonged in his mouth.
Like it hadn’t been the blade that gutted me.
I didn’t give him time to collect himself.
“They took my children.”
His jaw flexed. “What children?”
Of course he didn’t know.
“You had three,” I said flatly. “You just didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”
Silence.
Not shock.
Not even denial.
Just… stillness.
Like the weight of the words had landed, and he hadn’t decided whether to hold them or let them crush him.
“Where—” He tried again, but I cut him off.
“They’re gone. Last night. Someone took them. Left a note.”
I pulled it from my coat and tossed it to him.
He caught it. Read it.
His eyes darkened.
“You should have told him,” he murmured.
His voice had dropped, low and rough. “They know. Someone knows.”
“Congratulations, Alpha,” I said, voice sharp. “You’re a father. With enemies. And three missing children.”
He came closer. I just stood there. Didn’t back up, didn’t flinch. Just waited.
“Why didn’t you come back sooner? What kept you? Seriously. All this time and nothing.”
“Why didn’t you choose me?” I shot back.
That shut him up.
His eyes flicked away. Guilt. Or maybe just memory.
Either way, I wasn’t here to unpack our history.
I was here to rip the lid off it.
‘’I need your help,’’ I said. ‘‘We don’t have time for games. If you care at all—just a little—come on.’’
“I care,” he said immediately.
Too fast.
Too raw.
It caught me off guard.
But I didn’t let it show.
“Then we find them. Together. No politics. No past. Just action.”
He nodded once. “Deal.”
And that should’ve been it.
Except behind him, another figure stepped into view.
Female. Tall. Ice-blonde. Red lips.
Selene Vale.
The future Luna.
Lucien’s arranged mate.
She looked at me, real slow, like she was dragging a blade across my skin but making it sweet somehow. All soft and sharp at the same time.
“Well,” she smiled, but it never touched her eyes, not even close, just one of those smiles people wear when they’re hiding something or maybe just tired of pretending
. “This just got interesting.”
- Writer
