Sarah pulled me aside while Lina caught up with her employees, her grip on my arm surprisingly strong for a woman her age.
“Listen closely,” she said, voice low enough that only I could hear. “That girl is my daughter in every way that matters. She’s been through enough. You hurt her again, and I’ll find a way to hurt you back. Wolf or not.”
I blinked, startled by her casual mention of my nature. She must have seen my surprise because she snorted.
“Please. I’ve lived in Pine Valley for forty years. I know what prowls these woods. I know what killed her parents. And I have a pretty good idea what you are, especially seeing those babies shift their hands when they think I’m not looking.”
“You knew about the twins?”
“Of course I knew. Helped deliver them when they came a month early and Lina was too stubborn to go to the hospital. Watched them grow. Loved them like my own blood.” Her eyes hardened. “Which means if you break her heart again, you’ll have more than just me to answer to. This whole town loves that girl.”
“I’ll spend my life making sure she never regrets giving me another chance,” I said solemnly, meaning every word.
Sarah studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “See that you do. Now go help her with those boxes. Girl never could pack light.”
After surviving the coffee shop gauntlet, we headed to Lina’s house. I’d never been there before, only knew the apartment above her parents’ bookstore from that night five years ago. This was different, a small two-story house on a quiet street, the kind of place you’d raise kids.
Tiny shoes lined up by the door. Crayon drawings covering the fridge. Height marks on the doorframe showing four years of growth I hadn’t witnessed. Photos everywhere of my children at every age, their faces changing from babies to toddlers to the amazing kids I’d just met.
“I wish I’d never pushed you away,” I said suddenly, holding one of Rowan’s dinosaur shirts. The fabric was so small in my hands. “I wish I’d been here from the first moment. The pregnancy test, the morning sickness, the first kicks. Sleepless nights, changing diapers, first words...”
I trailed off, overwhelmed by the weight of all I’d missed. Four years of firsts, of moments that could never be recaptured.
“I don’t know anything about you, Knox,” Lina observed from where she was folding clothes. “I don’t even know your full name.”
The observation stung because it was true. She’d had my children, worn my bite, felt our bond, but she didn’t know basic facts about who I was.
“Let me cook dinner,” I offered, desperate to fix this gap between us. “And I’ll tell you everything.”
She agreed, probably more curious than hungry. I raided her kitchen, finding frozen salmon in the freezer that I could work with. Cooking had always calmed me, gave my hands something to do while my mind worked.
Over salmon and wine, we traded stories like new lovers instead of whatever complicated thing we were.
“Knox Marcus Raven,” I started, pouring her more wine. “Alpha of the Ravenshollow pack since I was twenty-five. My parents are... traditional, power-focused. They see people as currency, including their own children. I have twin brothers. Noah and Blake. Had.”
My voice caught on the past tense, even after all these years.
“Blake died in an attack seven years ago. It was my fault. I’d just become Alpha, thought I could handle a simple patrol with just the three of us. Noah, Blake, and me, like old times. But there were more rogues than our intel showed. Blake saved a visiting family, held off three ferals alone while I got them to safety. By the time I got back to him...”
I couldn’t finish. Some wounds never fully healed.
Lina reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. I was the Alpha. Every decision, every death, it’s on me.” I turned my hand over, catching hers. “That’s why I left you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you ending up like Blake. Because of me. Because loving me seems to be a death sentence.”
She squeezed my hand but didn’t argue, which I appreciated. Empty platitudes wouldn’t change the past.
“Your turn,” I said, needing to shift focus before I drowned in old guilt.
“Basilinna Marie Winters,” she said, and I couldn’t help but smile at the formal name. “My parents were professors. Mom taught literature, Dad taught history. They moved to Pine Valley when Mom was pregnant, wanted the quiet life away from city chaos. They opened the bookstore downstairs.”
Her voice softened, taking on the quality of cherished memory.
“They died when I was fifteen. We were camping, and there was an attack. I think it was a rogue, actually, knowing what I know now. They made sure I had time to run, told me to hide in the old hunter’s blind and not come out no matter what I heard.”
She showed me a scar on her palm, faded but still visible. “Cut myself climbing the ladder. Sat there for six hours, bleeding and terrified, listening to...” She shook her head. “The police found me the next morning. Sarah raised me after that. She was our neighbor, my mom’s closest friend. I reopened the shop at twenty-three, added the coffee side with the insurance money. Wanted to honor them somehow.”
“Basilinna,” I said softly, tasting the name. “I should’ve known.”
