D.R. Dares and the torn Valentine

“Sorry, Magnus, I have something for you…” Dorothy said, softly holding out a card, “I hope you…” Magnus tore the card into pieces without a word or a look. Dorothy gasped and bolted from the lake where Magnus often hid from his friends and Alpha training when he needed space. His eyes widened with shock at her running form. Confusion gripped him until he looked down at the grass, noticing it wasn’t a note from his best friend; it appeared to be something else. He knelt down, his hands shaking as he pieced it back together. Horror washed over him as the card went back together. He swallowed hard as he put the last piece back together. It was a Valentine’s Day card she was asking for him to be her Valentine. ‘She likes me?’ He thought to himself. -It appears so.- his wolf, Timber, replied -Good job you just broke her heart just as you tore up what she had made for us. Those roses look real, but they're not.- ‘f**k, what do I do now? She’s gone, and she’s good at masking her scent when she doesn’t want to be found.’ -We need to find a way to fix this- Magnus paces around the lake, his fingers nervously running through his wheat-colored hair as he stares down at the reconstructed Valentine in his hand. The delicate paper roses had been painstakingly crafted, each fold and curve revealing the hours Dorothy must have spent creating them. He traces the careful lettering with his fingertip, the ink slightly smudged where his tears had fallen. -She put her heart into this, and you destroyed it without even looking.- Timber growls within him. 'I didn't know. I thought it was another message from her brother about Goddess knows what.' The excuse sounds hollow even to himself. Dorothy runs until her lungs burn, darting between trees and leaping over fallen logs with practised ease. She doesn't slow until she reaches the abandoned groundskeeper's shed where she keeps her art supplies hidden. Only here, surrounded by her sketchbooks and paints, does she finally allow herself to break. Her small frame crumples against the wall as silent sobs rack her body. In her mind, she replays the moment over and over, the way Magnus's hands had torn through her card without hesitation, the sound of paper ripping that seemed to mirror what was happening to her heart. Three weeks of careful planning and crafting were destroyed in seconds. Across the pack lands, Ethan feels a strange pull of distress. He pauses during his training exercises, his hackles rising as he senses his sister's anguish through their sibling bond. He doesn't know what's happened, but something isn't right. "You okay, Dares?" asks one of his training partners. "Fine," Ethan replies curtly, shaking off the feeling. "Let's go again." But the unease lingers, and his wolf growls protectively inside him. Back at the lake, Magnus carefully gathers every torn piece, placing them in his jacket pocket. The gravity of what he's done settles over him like a physical weight. It isn't just about the card, it's about Dorothy herself, the quiet girl who always watches from the periphery, whose sketchbook is an extension of her arm, whose rare smiles make something in his chest tighten inexplicably. -You need to make this right,- Timber insists. 'How? She won't want to see me now.' -Then you'd better find a way to make her want to.- Magnus stands, determination replacing his earlier panic. He knows Dorothy better than she thinks—knows her hiding places, her habits, her passions. And more importantly, he knows he can't let this mistake stand. What neither of them realises, as they struggle with their immediate pain and plans, is that this moment will alter the trajectory of their lives in ways neither could imagine. The torn Valentine is merely the first tear in a tapestry that will either unravel completely or be rewoven into something stronger than before. He makes his way back to the packhouse, knowing that if he goes after her too soon, she might bolt again, the last thing he wanted right now. That’s when he sees his father, the Alpha, coming out with her father, the Beta. “Thank you, Alpha, for accepting the build proposal for my daughter Dorothy’s coming-of-age present. Having her own home once she comes of age will be important, allowing her to work on her art in peace. Magnus freezes, his pulse quickening as he overhears the conversation between the two most powerful men in the pack. His father nods solemnly to Dorothy's father, their discussion about her future striking him with unexpected force. "The location by the eastern creek should suit her temperament," Victor says, his voice carrying the weight of Alpha authority even in casual conversation. "Quiet, secluded. A good place for an artist." Magnus's mind races with this new information. Dorothy will have her own place, away from the packhouse, away from him. The thought bothers him more than it should. -She deserves space after what you just did,- Timber reminds him, the wolf's disapproval evident in every mental syllable. "Magnus," his father calls, noticing him hovering at the edge of the clearing. "Come here, son." With reluctance dragging at his feet, Magnus approaches the two men. Dorothy's father, Ethan Sr., regards him with the customary respect due to the Alpha's son, though there's a slight furrow to his brow that wasn't there moments before. "Sir," Magnus acknowledges with a nod to the Beta. Victor claps a heavy hand on Magnus's shoulder. "We were just discussing Dorothy's coming-of-age arrangements. As a future Alpha, you should be aware of all significant pack developments." The words "future Alpha" sit like stones in Magnus's stomach. Every decision, every interaction, all of it viewed through the lens of his future role. Even now, standing before these men with the fragments of Dorothy's heart in his pocket, he's being reminded of his position. Across the pack lands, Dorothy has composed herself enough to begin sketching furiously in her journal. Each harsh stroke of her pencil releases a fraction of her pain, transforming it into something tangible on the page. A wolf, proud and tall, with familiar amber eyes, torn in half by jagged lines. The symbolism isn't subtle, but subtlety isn't what she needs right now.