Bonus Chapter 2

*Two Years Later*

She stirs, opening those beautiful dark blue eyes to stare up at me sleepily.
“Li!”
I love the way she says my name. Like it’s something sacred. A soft whisper and a smile. Desire and love tangled together like vines.
“Hey, angel,” I murmur, brushing her cheek with the back of my fingers. “It’s time to wake up.”
She stretches under the thin quilt, her body warm and small beneath it. Less warm than mine. And so damn soft. It should annoy me—how easily she loves me without being a werewolf, how gentle she always is—but instead, it makes my chest ache in a way I don’t have words for.
Her hand reaches for mine, tiny fingers wrapping around two of mine. “Ugh. I don’t want to go, Li.”
“I know, angel. But you still have a shift today,” I remind her, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I’ll make coffee.”
She hums, eyes drifting closed again for just a second. She looks like a dream in this filthy house. Too good for it. Too good for me.
I wish I could provide her more comfort. I hate myself for not being able to give her the best.
The floor groans beneath me as I step off the mattress. No bed frame. Just a pile of blankets on cracked wood. The room’s cold, thin curtains do nothing against the morning chill. I slip on her hoodie—it’s mine, but she stole it, and now it smells like her—and pad barefoot to the kitchenette.
It’s barely a kitchen, just a rusty sink and a dented mini-fridge, with a single electric burner and chipped mugs that never come clean no matter how much I scrub. 
So fucking different from the comfort of the Blackmoon’s packhouse.
This little house is the kind of place you hide in, not live in.
Which is exactly what I’m doing.
I flick the switch on the water boiler and yank open the cupboard. 
Instant coffee, stolen sugar packets, and something green growing on the side of the cupboard. Lovely.
I mutter under my breath about fungus and health codes. This fucking place. Then, I rinse my hands and pull out the last two slices of bread. Stale, but still soft enough. I slap together a peanut butter sandwich—generously, because she loves it.
I mix the coffee. Two sugar for her, one for me.
I do eat more than my angel; after all, I’m a she-wolf. But my eating habits have changed because I don’t have as much food available anymore as I have before. And, of course, I always feed her first.
When I bring her mug in, she’s sitting up now, rubbing her doe eyes with her knuckles, black hair wild and cheeks pink. She blinks at me like I just stepped out of a dream.
Her face lights up when she sees the coffee and sandwich balanced on the chipped plate. “Oh my Spirits,” she whispers dramatically, eyes shining. “You *do* love me.”
“Stop being so damn cute,” I mutter, setting the plate on the crate we use as a nightstand. 
She giggles, all curls, and wraps her arms around my waist before I can sit. “I knew I picked the best mate.”
“You didn’t pick me, angel.” I roll my eyes, stroking her hair. “Moon Goddess did. Poor Goddess was probably drunk.”
She laughs again, muffled against my hoodie. Then she pulls back just enough to sip the coffee and take a dramatic bite of the sandwich.
“Perfect,” she mumbles with her mouth full, looking up at me with love written all over her face.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go instead, angel?” I sit by her side.
“No. You’re staying home today,” she says firmly. It’s adorable, really. “It’s your one sacred day off, Li.” She leans her head on my shoulder, sipping slowly.
I tighten my lips together. 
She looks up at me and grins with peanut butter on her lip. “This is really good.”
“When you arrive, we will do something fun. What about that?”
“Yeah!” She nods, excited.
I glance around. The mildew on the wall, the gap under the door that lets in spiders, the half-dead houseplant she insists on keeping alive. It’s still alive just because of her, if it depended on this place, it would already be dead months ago. 
“I know you want to make this place feel like a home.” I rest my head on hers. “But I’m not sure that’s in the cards, baby.”
Her silence is loud.
After a moment, she sets her mug down and starts getting dressed. I watch her shimmy into her cheap black work jeans, folding the waist down because they’re too long on her. She throws on a high-vis jacket, brushing her hair back into a ponytail.
I grab the canister from under the sink and shake it. “Don’t forget the spray.”
She groans. “Li, I hate that stuff. It smells like a hospital.”
“And being hunted smells worse.” 
She rolls her eyes, but I see the flicker of fear behind the blue. She turns around, lifts her hair, and I spritz the back of her neck. Then my own. Then the walls, the floor, the doorframe.
Scent blockers aren’t easy to make. But my mate knows the right herbs, the right oils. The right spell.
I wouldn’t have survived two years without her.
Stepping outside, her lips barely brush mine in that teasing peck—not nearly enough for me. That’s why, before she can pull away, my hands lock around her tiny waist, yanking her back against me. My fingers tangle in her ponytail, tightening and tilting her head just how I like it.
Goddess, I love her.
The second my tongue slides into her mouth, she melts into me with a whimper, her moans vibrating against my lips. I swallow the sound, devouring her—slow, deep, and filthy—until her fingers claw at my shoulders for balance.
I draw back, and she’s breathless. Looking at my lips, she says, “I’ll be back by six.” She smiles, dark blue eyes shifting up to mine. “Be nice to the plant.”
“I’ll consider it,” I mutter, locking the door behind her after making sure she gets inside the bus.
And then I’m alone.
I hate it. Because without my angel around, the weight of everything crawls back in.
I start with the dishes. There’s only four, but scrubbing them gives me something to do. Something to control.
Soap suds cling to my wrists. The water’s lukewarm, the sponge is on its last leg, and the faucet drips like it’s mocking me. 
My hands move, but my mind doesn’t stay here. That bitch wanders.
It drifts—like it always does—back to her.
My mother.
She used to say I was beautiful. But then I used to look exactly like her. Back when we were bonded by more than blood and bad choices until everything changed.
I’m a walking mistake for her.
I consider Cedar—her fated mate—as my real father, whether biology agrees or not.
Because the piece of shit of mine couldn’t care for me one day in his useless life.
But Cedar... I miss him. He’s treated me like his daughter since the day I met him. 
*He could’ve been my dad. If my mother wasn’t so selfish and narcissistic.*
Not the waste of oxygen she let climb into her bed and ruin both our lives. He couldn’t even be bothered to *pretend* to love his daughter, and she didn’t care. 
But sure, let’s all keep pretending Violet King had no choice. Like the Moon Goddess herself tied my mother’s hands and then flipped her the bird.
I wipe my wet hands on my pants and catch my reflection in the streaky microwave door and wince. It’s greasy and smudged, but not enough to blur the truth.
That *aunt’s* face stares back at me.
The same hair as my Aunt Kelly. The same sharp jaw. The same ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ eyes. The same damn expression.
I bare my teeth at it. I swear my reflection smirks.
They all looked at me like I was her.  
Even the pack members.
Like their mistakes were my mistakes. And not hers. Not the perfect Violet King.
I grab the broom and start sweeping harder than I need to. Dust clouds rise around my feet, catching in the sunlight like ghosts.
I don’t blame Wren. Not really. Not her fault she was born like her daddy and sweet and spun from the right DNA. She didn’t choose to be perfect. My mother *chose* to worship her. Gave her everything I begged for as a child. Praise. Protection.
Her fucking presence.
From the second Wren cried her first cry, she became Saint Violet the Devoted. Suddenly, there was patience. Endless bedtime stories. Tears wiped, scraped knees kissed. A presence so warm it could’ve raised the dead.
Where was that presence for me?
I scoff.
It was never there.
And every time I dared to ask why it felt so uneven, why my name never dripped from her mouth the way Wren’s did, she’d smile like I was the crazy one for proposing she treated me differently than sweet Wren.
*“You’re too intense, Ana. Watch your words.”*
*“She’s just delicate, not like you, honey.”*
No. She’s *loved.* That’s the Goddess damn difference.
I sweep harder. Dust bites at my throat.
The last time I saw Wren, she offered me this stupid bracelet she made—tiny beads and bright colors. I wanted to take it. It reminded me of the ones Cedar and I did when I was a kid to my mother.  
I left it behind.
I left everything behind.
Even Az.
*Maybe sins are contagious through blood.*
He didn’t deserve that. But I couldn’t stay—not with them breathing down my neck, watching me like I might snap and prove them all right. Like cruelty was coded into my bones.
Maybe it is. Maybe they made sure it would be.
But here, in this tiny house with too thin walls and cold tile floors, I don’t have to face them or explain. I just *am*. 
A female with two mates—one too far away, one still sleeping in my bed. 
A monster, maybe. 
A survivor, definitely.
And I’ll burn this whole damn world down before I ever let them find me.
I drag a chair to the front of the kitchen  window and rip the threadbare curtain down. Sunlight floods the room. The filth looks worse now, but I don’t care.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
Az.
My fated mate.
The one I couldn’t reject before I fled.
Something always felt *missing.* Even with the bond. Even with his steady touch and the way he was always so easy to love.
And now I know what that missing piece inside me was.
My angel.
When I met her, the bond struck me like lightning. Not the wildfire Az made me feel—but rain in a drought. Safety. Wholeness. I hadn’t felt the mate bond snapping like that since I was a kid. 
My wolf howled so loud that day.
She has been the calm after the storm for me.
But some nights, when the dreams creep in, I swear I feel Az’s pain. A sharp echo in my chest. Like he’s still calling for me.
Still searching.
Still waiting.
And I wonder if I made the right choice. But I can’t come back.
I mop the floor with hot water, letting the scent chase the ghosts away. I open more the window, air the place out, and beat the pillows outside.
Then I sit. Just for a second.
And in that second—
The knock comes.
Three taps at the door. Sharp. Intentional.
My heart slams into my throat.
My blood turns to ice.
My angel’s already gone. I’m alone.
No one knocks. No one even *knows* we live here.
My spine straightens before my mind even catches up. I dart across the room in silence, grabbing the tiny vial of scent-blocking spray from the counter and shoving it into my hoodie pocket.
Another knock. Heavier this time. 
Then another. A single, slow *thud* that ripples through the floorboards and grabs me by the spine.
Every sound feels louder now. My breath. My pulse. The wind nudging the warped windowpane above the sink.
I don’t check the peephole—whoever’s out there *isn’t* welcome here. I don’t breathe. I’m sure as shit I’m not going to answer it.
Instead, I move. Quick, quiet. I slip into the bedroom.
Another knock. Louder this time. Closer to a demand.
I crack the window without a sound, twist my body through it in one fluid motion, and land on the cracked back step. Gravel crunches beneath my boots. I don’t even stop to grab my phone—I just run.
My feet hit the dirt path behind the shed.
I try to hear again. The door stays closed behind me, just like it should.
I don’t run yet. Not until I’m sure.
No creaking hinges. No footsteps following.
I exhale, barely, and make for the shed. Then, I dart for the narrow dirt path that snakes past the fence line—my pre-planned exit route. I’ve memorized every turn, every tree root around here.
I round the last bend, but before I reach the fence—
I see someone blocking the only gap wide enough to slip through.
Tall. Familiar. Still as stone. One foot forward like he’s been waiting. Like he knew *exactly* where I’d go.
My heart slams against my ribs as I freeze, eyes locking with his. And for a second, the world tilts.
Summoned straight from the thoughts I’ve tried to bury for two Goddess damn years.
“Az!”