his wolf's desire

Chapter four

The air in the spa hung thick with the cloying sweetness of lavender and the soft thrum of the massage chair. It was a manufactured peace, but gods, I was desperate for it. Just yesterday, my father and I had gone at each other, not with teeth and claws, but with words sharper than any blade. He'd looked at me like I was a rebellious pup, and I’d snarled back, telling him his old ways were wearing thin. I walked out, letting the silent treatment do my talking. I told myself I deserved this. I’d earned a few hours of quiet from the weight of the pack.

Curled up on that plush chair, with the blankets cocooning us, I was a different being entirely. Here, I was just Haiden. Fiona's fingers traced patterns on my arm, and I buried my face in her hair, inhaling her scent—not the damp forest floor of my pack, but sunshine and something uniquely hers. She kissed my neck, a gentle, almost hesitant brush of lips, and for a breathless moment, the entire world narrowed down to her. The anger, the frustration, the gnawing anxiety faded into the background.

Then my phone, a cold, foreign rectangle, began to vibrate against my chest. Hard. Insistently. My chest seized. I tried to ignore it, to pretend it was just a nuisance, but Fiona pulled back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Don't you dare," she whispered, a challenge in her voice.

I let out a low groan, part annoyance, part pure human stubbornness, and pulled the thing out. My blood ran colder than a winter stream. Fifteen missed calls. All from my father. My stomach twisted into a hard knot of panic. He never called. Never. He was a presence, a command, a hand on my shoulder, not a voice on a line. The frantic rhythm of the vibrating screen pulsed a message I didn't want to hear: This wasn't a warning. This was a scream.

The playful moment, a perfect bubble of human normalcy, shattered into a million sharp pieces. All the calm evaporated, and a brutal, gut-wrenching guilt took its place. I had a choice. And I chose to be here. I chose to hide from my responsibilities. My family was in trouble. I could smell the fear and the coming storm in my mind, even as I still smelled lavender in the air. I had made my world small, and now the world was breaking in to remind me just how big my duties were. And I was miles away, covered in blankets, with my heart in my throat.

The scented air of the spa felt like a manufactured peace, a world away from the constant tension of the pack. I was curled up on a massage chair with Fiona, her head resting on my shoulder. She was talking about her art, about the way a single brushstroke could convey a whole world of emotion, and for a fleeting moment, I was just a person. Not an heir. Not a future alpha. Just me. It was the escape I'd craved since my last blazing argument with my father. My phone was on silent, and I'd buried it deep in my pocket, a physical representation of the world I had chosen to ignore.

A sharp, almost violent vibration broke the spell. It wasn't a call, just a series of insistent pulses against my thigh. I pulled the phone out, my skin crawling with a sudden sense of dread. The screen lit up with a single, unblinking message from a number I knew instantly: Outside. Now. Urgent.

I flinched, the quiet moment shattering. Fiona pulled back, her smile fading into a look of concern. “Everything okay?” she whispered.

“I have to go,” I said, the words feeling flimsy and inadequate. I was already on my feet, the scent of lavender and human comfort dissolving, replaced by the faint, coppery tang of dread. I didn't even bother to put my shoes on.

I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped into the cold night air. The parking lot was empty save for a single black SUV. Leaning against the hood, a shadow among shadows, was Dwayne. My personal bodyguard. His face, usually a mask of calm patience, was a grim portrait of urgency.

"Haiden, what in the name of the goddess were you doing in there?" His voice was a low growl, devoid of his usual respectful tone. The question wasn't about my location; it was about my choices.

The knot of guilt in my stomach tightened. "Don't. Just tell me."

Dwayne pushed off the car, his massive frame radiating an unfamiliar tension. "It happened a few hours ago. Just after dark. They hit the archives."

My blood went cold. The archives. The heart of our pack's history, the repository of our most sacred secrets. "How?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"It was a feint," he said, his eyes filled with a terrifying mix of fury and despair. "A diversion on the western edge. While everyone was tied up, they went in." He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes. "They didn't take anything. They went straight for the scrolls, Haiden. They read the records. And they know. They know your weakness."

My breath caught in my throat. I stared at him, my mind scrambling to connect the dots. But I already knew. The very human connection I had been cherishing, the one I had been so desperate to hold onto, was now a weapon. It wasn’t just a secret anymore; it was a target. And with my own careless, stubborn hands, I had just given it to the enemy.