Chapter 3 Return To The Pack
1587 Words
Skylinda dragged her battered body through the outskirts of the village, guided only by the memory of the original body and sheer will.
Every step felt like she’d been struck by iron—her muscles screamed, her bones ached—but she had no choice.
She had to move.
She had to return.
It was still dawn, and most wolves were asleep.
That was her only chance.
She slipped through the back entrance, avoiding the main paths.
She didn’t want anyone to see her like this—a mess, skin streaked with dried blood, her scent thick with pain and exhaustion.
She looked like she’d clawed her way out of hell itself, well, she did.
First, she needed to heal.
Then rest.
Everything else could wait.
Crack.
Skylinda froze.
Her instincts flared.
In her past life as an Alpha, she would’ve drawn her blade or bared her claws without hesitation.
But now… she had no weapon.
Her claws were dull, barely sharper than a housecat’s.
What a weak body, she thought bitterly.
But she straightened anyway.
“You’ve been following me for some time now,”
Skylinda stood tall despite her frame, her voice steady despite her appearance.
“Shouldn’t you introduce yourself?”
She stood tall, her petite frame trembling not from fear but exhaustion, but she stood her ground.
Her golden eyes burned—not with rage, but with fire.
A fire that refused to die.
From the shadows, the figure stirred—taken aback. He hadn’t expected the Omega to sense him, let alone confront him.
But he didn’t hide.
He stepped forward.
Skylinda’s heart thudded like a war drum.
From behind the tree, the figure emerged—tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with red like dried flame.
Crimson eyes gleamed beneath his brow, sharp and unreadable, like the finest rubies forged in fire.
Maximus.
His posture was casual, almost lazy, but Skylinda knew better. That gaze could slice through steel.
“Pup,” He said, his voice low and gravel-edged.
Skylinda’s jaw clenched.
Pup.
The word grated against her pride.
“Why are you following me?”
Skylinda snapped, arms crossing over her chest.
Her stance was defiant, arrogant even—an echo of the original Skylinda’s swagger. Her wicked smile curled onto her lips, a mask of
confidence despite the dried blood and sorry appearance. Even in this sorry state, her beauty was undeniable—fierce, wild, and untamed.
She studied him, eyes flicking up and down with subtle caution.
From the memories she’d inherited, she knew this Beta wasn’t just any pack member. Maximus was the uncle of her so-called ex-
Alpha—the one who’d betrayed her, broken her, left her to rot.
But Maximus… he was different.
She had nothing against this man, and ever since she and that asshole were pups, he’d been there, always taking good care of them.
He’d spoiled her, protected her, treated her like something precious. The original Linda had adored him.
And somewhere deep inside, that warmth still lingered.
Still, she wouldn’t let her guard down.
Not yet.
But Skylinda wasn’t about to let it go.
Just because Maximus had once been kind didn’t mean he got a free pass.
Not now.
Not when she’d been dragged through hell and back.
Maximus didn’t answer her question directly.
His crimson gaze swept over her—taking in the sorry state, the dried blood, the way she stood tall despite the tremble in her limbs.
His voice came low, almost hesitant.
“Linda… are you hurt?”
He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, but stopped short—leaving space between them. Space she could retreat into if she needed.
“I’m not,”
Skylinda denied, arms still crossed, chin raised in defiance.
Her voice was firm, but the exhaustion clung to it like a shadow.
Her body screamed in pain, but her pride refused to let it show.
Maximus didn’t push.
He knew her too well.
She’d always been like this—stubborn, proud, impossible to tame. Even as a pup, she’d bite back tears just to prove she could stand on her own.
“Did Zander pick on you again?” he asked, his voice softening. “I know you two have history… misunderstandings. But if he’s done something stupid—if he’s hurt you—you can tell me. Your Uncle will take revenge for you.”
His tone was gentle, almost cautious, like he feared she might vanish if he raised his voice. There was frustration in his eyes, but also something deeper—concern, guilt, maybe even helplessness.
Maximus was at a loss.
He knew that there was something wrong between Skylinda and his nephew, seeing the state of Skylinda, but the girl was just too
stubborn.
Skylinda was like a fortress, and he didn’t know how to breach her walls without breaking her.
Maximus sighed.
He knew he couldn’t talk her out of it.
He’d seen the fights—Skylinda and Zander clashing more often than not, the tension thick enough to choke the air.
And always, it came back to that other Omega.
But what could he do?
The matebond was sacred. Immutable.
An Alpha for an Omega. An Omega for an Alpha.
Nothing could ever sever it—unless…
Maximus shook the thought away.
That kind of severance came with a price.
A backlash so violent, it could shatter a young Omega’s soul. Skylinda wouldn’t be able to survive it if it ever happened.
“There’s no need to worry about me, Uncle,” Skylinda said, her voice clipped but steady. “I can handle my own thing.”
Skylinda did not elaborate.
She didn’t explain what had truly happened between her and Zander. She did not want to be pitied today by a stranger, even if he’d
once been her protector.
“I have somewhere to be. I’ll go first.”
She turned, swift and decisive, her silhouette retreating into the morning haze.
“Wait…”
Maximus reached out instinctively, his hand hovering in the air—but he stopped himself. He let his hand fall back; he did not have
the right to stop her if she wants to leave.
Skylinda didn’t stop.
She moved quickly, her steps light but urgent, not wanting Maximus—or anyone else—to see her in this state.
But she knew the truth: her scent gave her away. The dried blood clung to her like a second skin, sharp and metallic, enough to make even her stomach churn.
Maximus watched her vanish into the distance, powerless. His hand, once outstretched, now hung useless at his side.
He clenched his fist, jaw tight.
He didn’t speak.
He couldn’t.
Skylinda arrived home without incident.
Relief washed over her when she saw the house empty—her parents and brother had already gone for their pack duties.
If they’d seen her like this, in this state, questions would’ve followed. And she wasn’t ready to answer any of them.
She climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, until she reached the original Linda’s room.
It was… simple.
Cozy.
Not the lavish, princess-like space she’d expected from someone so pampered.
No glittering chandeliers or velvet cushions. Just soft colors, warm light, and furniture that felt lived-in. Grounded.
It surprised her.
Despite the wealth and status, the room felt humble.
Real.
Without hesitation, she peeled off her bloodied clothes, tossing them straight into the trash. No point in salvaging them.
They were a reminder of something she didn’t want to relive.
She stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over her bruised skin. It stung at first, but then it soothed. The steam
curled around her like a protective veil.
“Hm…”
A soft sound escaped her lips—not quite pain, not quite relief. Just… release.
Skylinda groaned softly, a sound of relief as the warm water soothed her aching body.
It had been too long since she’d felt anything close to comfort. She scrubbed herself from head to toe, washing away the blood, the
dirt, the grime—the remnants of a night she didn’t want to remember.
She didn’t linger long in the shower.
Once clean, she stepped out, dried herself quickly, and slipped into a loose shirt and shorts. The fabric was soft against her skin, unfamiliar in its gentleness. She collapsed onto the bed, limbs heavy, heart heavier.
Her eyes closed, but her mind refused to rest.
‘I was supposed to be dead.’
She didn’t know how long it had been—years, maybe decades. But now she was here, alive again, in a body that wasn’t hers.
A stranger’s body.
A stranger’s scent.
She raised her hand and stared at it.
Smooth.
Pale.
Delicate.
Like the peel of an eggshell.
This wasn’t the hand of a fighter.
Not the calloused, sun-darkened skin she’d earned through years of training and battle. This hand had never held a blade. Never clawed through dirt. It would bruise from a pinch.
“Am I going to live as an Omega now?” she whispered.
The thought unsettled her.
She was used to the grunt and grit of an Alpha’s life.
The strength.
The command.
The freedom.
Now she was fragile. Bound by a role she didn’t choose.
She lowered her hand and draped her arm across her eyes, blocking out the light. The disbelief still lingered, but something inside her had already begun to accept it.
‘Skya,’ she thought.
A free bird.
- Writer
