The flight only takes forty-five minutes.
It feels longer.
I spend most of it pretending not to stare at Samantha from my seat near the front of the plane. She's tucked into the back with the other females, knees drawn slightly inward, body angled toward Cameran and Mayla as they talk animatedly about something I can't hear.
But I see her. She looks lighter, relaxed a bit.
I see the way her hands move when she laughs. The way her head tilts when she listens. The way her attention drifts—subtle, unconscious—back toward me every few minutes, her gaze flicking up before she realizes she's doing it.
She always catches herself a second too late.
So do I.
That kiss back at the castle—
I shift in my seat, jaw tightening as the memory resurfaces, uninvited.
'Glorious,' Cade hums, smug and satisfied.
Fuck yeah.
Glorious doesn't even begin to cover it.
The heat. The way she grabbed me like she'd decided something in that instant and refused to back down. She was done hiding, done running, done pretending she didn't want me. The way her body fit against mine like it was designed there. The way she kissed like she was starving.
'Our mate wants us,' Cade continues, practically vibrating. 'She chose us. Gods, I can't wait to meet Emma properly. Her voice alone is exquisite. In person? She must be… tremendous.'
I blink.
Wait.
"You can talk to Sam's wolf?" I ask internally.
Cade snorts. 'Unlike you, I know how to talk to my female.'
Bastard.
I glance back at Samantha again, unable to help myself. She's laughing now—really laughing—head tipped back fingers brushing Cameron's arm as she says something outrageous. The sound doesn't reach me, but the sight of it hits anyway.
Goddess.
I want to mindlink her. Tell her how dangerous she looks right now, all unaware of what she does to me. How the way she's sitting—relaxed, unaware—makes my hands itch to touch her. To pull her close. To remind her of that kiss.
Watching her smile feels like watching something sacred.
She looks up suddenly.
Our eyes meet.
Her cheeks flush instantly, like she felt the weight of my attention before she ever saw it.
Fuck.
I grip the armrest harder.
I want to mark her.
No—need to.
I need that bond. That certainty. I need her heart braided with mine, her presence held fast inside me, so doubt never haunts me again—never makes me wonder if she's pulling away or frightened of how close we've become. Try using ai for rewording for ideas.
I need her officially mine, my Queen in truth and law.
I want her to feel exactly what she does to me.
Someone clears their throat.
I look up to find Callen standing beside my seat, arms crossed, mouth tilted into a knowing smirk.
Raising an eyebrow, I wait.
"Pilot says we'll be landing in five minutes," he says.
I stare at him. "Why the fuck did you feel the need to tell me that again?"
He smirks. "Because I needed to distract you. Mayla keeps pestering me about you staring at them like a creep."
I narrow my eyes. "You can tell Mayla—"
"Kieran," he cuts in quickly, holding up a hand, "I'd rather not. Those three together back there?" He glances over his shoulder. "Terrifying. Especially the blonde."
"Hey," Enoch interjects from across the aisle, offended. "Leave my female out of this. She's sweetlike un dulcecito."
Callen scoffs. "Yeah. Fucking black licorice."
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Guards are waiting for us at the private airstrip when we land.
The air smells different here—cleaner somehow, sharper. The kind of place where old magic has sunk deep into the land and never quite faded.
The moment my boots hit the ground, I sense it.
Something's off.
Samantha fidgets beside me, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her gaze keeps drifting—not toward the guards or the cars—but around, like she's searching for something she can't quite identify. Her breathing is a touch too fast. Her skin is warm.
I tell myself it's nerves.
Still, I stay close.
Very close.
Eventually, without even thinking about it, I reach for her hand.She inhales sharply, like the contact surprised her even though she didn't pull back.
"Can I?" I ask softly, watching her face.
She nods. "Yes."
Relief settles in my chest as our fingers lace together, and we move forward as one.
The pack house is massive—brick and stone, solid and old, built to last for generations. At the top of the steps stands a petite she-wolf with fiery red hair and a stance that radiates authority far beyond her size.Luna Melanie.
"It took you forever to answer the invitation," she calls down, hands on her hips.
She's a year or two younger than me, but there's steel in her spine. You don't survive being mated to two Alphas without it.
"Oh, you know Kieran and his theatrics," Callen replies easily.
Melanie descends the steps to greet us—and Samantha's grip tightens.
She's shaking.Subtle. Barely noticeable, I feel it.She's sweating too, her palm damp against mine, shoulders tensed.
Something is definitely wrong.
"Where are they?" Mayla asks. "Too busy to greet us?"Melanie sighs, rolling her eyes. "Training. Sword fighting in the back."
Samantha's breathing stutters.
I slow, holding her back just enough to look at her. "Sam. Are you okay?"
She blinks rapidly, chest rising and falling too fast.
"Yes," she says, then hesitates. "I just… I feel a pull. To this place. Ever since I heard the name."A chill slides down my spine. "A pull? What kind of pull?"Concern must have been itched on my face because she quickly adds."I don't know," cupping my face gently, kisses me softly, trying to reassure me. "But I'll be okay. Let's go."
I don't like it. If this place is making her uncomfortable, I want to leave as soon as possible.
But I just nod.
The training ground is enormous—a wide circle of packed earth bordered by grass. The twin Alphas stand across the field, shirtless, swords discarded, laughing and shoving each other like boys instead of rulers.
The twins are tall, burly, robust men—solidly built, all muscle and sharp edges. Warriors in their own right, though that's hardly surprising when almost everyone in the Alpha family is bred and trained for it. They pride themselves on some sort of ancient knighthood nonsense I've never fully understood. Rituals, honor codes, dramatic vows—typical male-wolf behavior. I suppose, by male standards, one could call them handsome. They have slightly long blond hair, the kind that falls loose and wild around their shoulders, reminding me of old human Vikings from history books. For some reason, they're always walking around half-naked, like shirts are an optional inconvenience rather than actual clothing. If they weren't mated, I would absolutely demand they wear proper clothes in front of my mate, because honestly—it's excessive.
Both of them bear a family mark on the left side of their chest, a strange, uneven shape that looks suspiciously like a dirty coffee stain. Apparently, it's their revered "mark of knighthood," though I only ever heard them brag about it after they'd had far too much to drink. Slurred speeches, exaggerated gestures, dramatic declarations of honor. So, in reality, no one really knows what the fuck they're talking about half the time—and I'm not convinced they do either.
Samantha suddenly shivers.
I tighten my grip on her hand trying to relieve some tension she might be feeling.As we get closer I notice the twins become wary, as if they also sense the strange shift.
I go on guard instantly. When they are about ten feet away…
Everything stops, there is a shift in the air. Wind blows slightly towards our direction.
The twins go still - unnaturally still
Their laughter died abruptly, expressions emptying as their gazes unfocused, like something unseen had reached inside them and taken hold.
"Dawson? David?" Melanie calls.
Nothing.
She repeats it with urgency in her voice.
Still nothing.
Samantha lets go of my hand and begins to step forward.
The twins follow in her lead, as if all three are being led in a trance.
"What the fu—" I stop cold when I see it.
Her eyes are glowing, like the other day in the dining room.
Silver flames dance within her irises as she walks toward them, movements slow and deliberate, like she's not entirely here.
I reach for her. "Sam—"
She shrugs me off without looking at me.
Rage spikes hot and fast.Why is she looking at them like that? Why are they just staring at her like that?
"Samantha." I growl out, possessive jealousy taking over.
Cade snarls, furious.
"Dawson, David. Enough." Melanie snarls, her wolf riding her too. Probably feeling the same emotions I am.
When Samantha is right in front of them, looking up–
She does something unexpected, she lifts her hands—
—and presses them to the left side of their chests.
All hell nearly breaks loose.
Melanie lunges forward with a snarl, Cameran grabbing her just in time. I'm half a second from tearing the twins apart myself, before Callen steps in, grabbing me by the arm.
'Emma isn't responding,' Cade growls. 'Something's blocking her.'
I'm nearly on the verge of tossing Callen when…
Samantha speaks.
Two words.
Soft.
Ancient, but full of power.
"Lumera Purgete."
The air explodes.
The wind picks up speed around us, leaves blowing and trees howling. Silver flames flare–on the twins' chests, beneath Samantha's shirt– perfectly synchronized. Marks. The family marks they are always bartering about. They no longer look like a dirty coffee stain, it has reshapen. On the upper left side of each twin's chest, just above the heart, something faint, but unmistakable begins to surface. At first it looks like light trapped under flesh, a soft silver glow seeping outward- thin, branching lines. Not carved. Not inked. Burned in by something ancient and alive.
A crescent moon glows, curving protectively around a wolf. No, a white wolf; Its head lifted, muzzle angled slightly upwards, eyes glowing. Above and around it bursts of sparkles, maybe shining stars. Under it branches of light unfurl–delicate, vein-like tendrils resemble roots of frosted laced antlers. They spread outwards around the upper left side of their chest.
Lowering her hand she takes a step back.
They drop to one knee.
Heads bowed.
Hands pressed over their hearts, over the sigil imprinted on them.
In unison:
"Lumera Purgete. We have awaited your return, our Queen."
Silence.
My world falters at their words.
And then Melanie's voice shatters it—
"Holy shit," she breathes. "You're a White Wolf?"