The Mysterious Black Wolf

Elara's outburst

Marcus stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him to give her privacy. The living room was full—Elara’s parents on the couch, her uncle Luke by the window, Aunt Vivian holding court near the fireplace, and various other relatives Marcus didn’t recognize scattered throughout.

No one looked particularly concerned.

“Excuse me,” Marcus said, his voice cutting through the chatter.

The room quieted, faces turning toward him.

“Clara has passed.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Aunt Vivian pressed a dramatic hand to her chest. “Oh, how terrible. Though I suppose it’s a blessing really, she’d been suffering so long—”

“Mom would want us to handle the arrangements quickly,” Uncle Luke interjected, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the funeral home, and we should probably meet with her lawyer soon. Get everything sorted before—”

“Before what?” Marcus’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Before you’ve even mourned her?”

Luke had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but Aunt Vivian bristled. “We all grieve differently, Mr… Marcus, was it? Some of us prefer to stay busy, to handle practicalities rather than wallow.”

The bedroom door opened.

Elara stood in the doorway, her face blotchy and tear-stained, visibly shaking. “She’s gone,” she said, her voice breaking. “Granny’s gone, and you’re all—you’re all just—”

“Sweetheart,” her mother started, rising from the couch, but Elara shook her head violently.

“You’re talking about funeral homes and lawyers, and she just died.” Elara’s voice rose, cracking with emotion. “She just died, and none of you even care—”

“That’s not fair, Elara,” her father said sternly. “We all cared about your grandmother.”

“Then act like it!” The words tore out of her. “She was—she was everything, and you all just—”

The front door burst open, and Elara’s siblings tumbled in—Liam, now in his late twenties with a toddler on his hip, and Chloe, perfectly put together in designer clothes, trailed by her husband and two children.

“Sorry we’re late, the traffic was—” Chloe stopped, taking in the scene. “Oh. Did we miss it?”

“Miss it?” Elara stared at her sister in disbelief.

“Well, we tried to get here in time, but—” Chloe shrugged apologetically. “Is she…?”

“She died twenty minutes ago,” Elara said flatly. “But don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything important. Everyone’s already planning the funeral and talking about the estate.”

“Elara, that’s enough,” her mother snapped. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic?” Elara’s laugh was sharp and broken. “I’m the only one who actually cared about her!”

“That’s not true,” Aunt Vivian said huffily. “We all loved Mother. But some of us are mature enough to handle grief with dignity rather than histrionics.”

Marcus watched the young woman’s face crumple, watched her look around the room at all these people who should have been her support, her family, and saw only judgment and dismissal staring back at her.

She turned and fled, the screen door slamming behind her as she ran out into the evening.

“Well,” Aunt Vivian sniffed. “Always was too sensitive, that one.”

Marcus’s hands clenched at his sides. His wolf growled low in his chest—not at a threat to his pack, but at the casual cruelty being shown to someone who deserved better.

His son’s mate deserved better.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said tightly and followed Elara outside.