Bonus Chapter 6

***Wren***

I wake up with a gasp.
The ceiling above me is high, painted cream with golden details along the molding. There’s no poster of the Diamond Claw’s lake on the wall, no familiar shelves, no tiny vase of peonies on the windowsill. The bed beneath me is massive, draped in thick wool blankets. It's luxurious but it doesn’t belong to my big room in my parents’ house.
This is the packhouse.
I sit up fast, too fast, and the spinning starts. My head swims. My heart pounds.
And then it all rushes back—
The slap. The crack of pain. The hate look in Stephen’s eyes.
The blur.
The blood.
My hand flies to my neck. “No, no, no—”
I scramble out of bed, legs tangled in the covers, and fall hard to the floor with a graceless thud. I don’t care. I crawl to my feet, ignoring the sting in my knees, it will fade soon. I stumble across the thick rug to the full-length mirror on the far wall. The dress I’m wearing is cream and soft.
I grip the edges of the mirror, leaning in, breath fogging the glass.
My neck is clean.
No claiming mark. No trace of Stephen’s bite. The place where it used to be—where I let him mark me—is smooth. Untouched. Whole.
My lip trembles.
I touch the side of my face, my fingers grazing the spot just below my cheekbone. The skin isn’t tender, or swollen, or red. But I feel it. 
My soul remembers. 
I remember. 
The argument. 
His voice, sharp and demanding. The way I tried—*really tried*—to explain. To calm him down. To fix it.
*“Of course you are! I’m trying to make things right—”*
The slap that cut me. Literally and figuratively.
It lingered under my skin, like shame. Like something I earned. Like a punishment I deserved for failing to be what he wanted.
That’s when the sob breaks free.
Quiet at first. Then another. Shaky. Helpless.
What have I done?
What did I let happen?
The door creaks open.
I turn sharply, and I yank my hand away from my face and hide it behind me like it’s something dirty. Like I need to keep it out of sight so no one will know where it touched. No one will see what I let happen.
I twist around, wiping my cheeks fast.
And then I see him.
A tall, broad man steps in, tailored in black. The man is breathtaking in a way that makes my breath catch. Elegant. Powerful. Regal.
And his eyes.
Dark blue. Almost violet under the warm light. They pin me in place.
He takes one step closer.
I don’t know this man. I’ve never seen him before.
But something *in me* knows him.
And I don’t know why…
…but I’m not afraid.
Not of him.
Just of what this means.
My wolf gasps.
*Mate*.
My heart warms, jumps. I feel it. Deep in my bones. Not like it was with Stephen. This is different. Immediate. Devastating. Real.
My wolf whimpers.
He moves slowly, like approaching something breakable. His voice, when it comes, is rich and low, layered with a Londoner’s cadence, rough around the edges but smoother than velvet. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
My lips part. I don’t know what to say.
The tears come faster. I shake my head.
“Where’s Stephen?” I ask, my hands already tucked beneath the folds of my dress like I’m hiding a crime.
His jaw tightens. Then, he tries to step forward.
Something shifts in his eyes.
“Gone,” he says. One word. Clipped. 
Everything about him is perfectly composed—his clothes, his movements, even the way he exhales, like every breath is an order given.
“Was I hallucinating? Did you… did you really...” I whisper. “Please. I just… I need to know. Was it real? Was it…” I swallow hard, not wanting to finish the question.
His dark blue eyes don’t look away. “Yes,” he says. Doesn’t hesitate. “Too fucking right killed the bastard. After what he did to you—fuck, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
I step back like his words are physical. 
My breath catches. I drop my eyes to the floor. 
He saw.
He saw Stephen *hit* me.
The heat floods my cheeks like a firestorm. My chest tightens, my hands trembling where they’re hidden in the fabric. I feel sick with it.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, barely audible. “You shouldn’t have had to… because of me—”
He tilts his head, expression darkening. “*Don’t.* Don’t apologise for him. Don’t carry the weight of his filth.”
My eyes sting again.
He adds quickly, “No one, *no one*, gets to touch you like that and walk away. Not while I breathe.”
My knees nearly give out.
I made him kill someone.
Because of me.
The tears come harder now, and I turn my face away. I can’t bear for him to see me like this—messy hair, puffy eyes, and shame blooming deep in my chest.
He takes a cautious step closer.
My eyes drop to his chest. I can’t meet his gaze. “Please… could you give me a moment alone?”
He stills. Then, slowly, he nods.
“Of course.” His voice softens. “But you don’t have to be.”
“I want to be,” I whisper, more desperate this time.
Silence stretches between us.
Then he speaks again, gentle but steady. “Rhys. That’s my name. If you need me, I’ll come.”
I nod once, even though I can barely see him through the tears.
And then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
Just before it shuts, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
But he’s gone.
I slide down the wall to the floor, the silk of the dress pooling around me, and I let the weight of everything crash down at last.
I chose wrong.
And someone paid the price for it.
And now the man who saw it all—the man who saved me—is the mate I was always meant to have.
And I let him see me broken.
And he’s my fated mate. My real one. The one I should have waited for.
But I didn’t. I was so desperate to take control of my own life, to prove I wasn’t just the perfect daughter, the model student, the well-behaved she-wolf with flushed cheeks and polite smiles. I wanted to *choose*. I didn’t want to wait.
So I chose Stephen. And now he’s dead.
At almost this exact hour yesterday, Stephen marked me. I stood in front of a mirror and tried to convince myself I was proud. That I had finally done something bold.
And now, at the same hour on a different day, he’s gone. Because of me. Because I was foolish and headstrong and—
The door opens again.
I jerk upright, swiping at my cheeks. “I—I’m fine,” I blurt, my voice trembling, already putting on the smile, even though my lips can’t quite manage it.
But it’s Lily.
Lily, with her don’t-mess-with-me eyes, strides into the room like she owns it. She doesn’t say anything right away. Just walks up, plants her hands on her hips, and looks at me.
“Finally did something stupid, huh?”
That gets a watery laugh out of me, and she grins, that familiar crooked grin that always says *I see you* even when I don’t want to be seen.
I nod, my tears slipping free again. “I did. I messed up so badly, Lily. I just wanted to be brave. I wanted to do something *my* way for once.”
She walks over and drops down beside me on the floor, her shoulder bumping mine. “Wrenny, I’m an expert in screwing up. Like, PhD level.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, it is,” Lily says with a soft chuckle. “But you know what makes the difference? The people who love you don’t throw stones. They stand by you. Help you grow.”
I sniffle. “Even when you do something this bad?”
“Especially then.”
She wraps her arms around me, and I cling to her like I did when I was little, when she was the one who scared away monsters under the bed, even though she was the one who made the monster stories in the first place.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“Yeah, well, I missed you too. Even if you are the golden child.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. I’d fight a bear to protect you, Wrenny. You’re my annoying, sweet baby sister.”
The door flies open again.
“Auntie Wrenny!”
A flash of energy launches at me. I barely brace myself before Peter wraps his little arms around my middle.
“Why are you sad?” He frowns. “Don’t be sad! I’ll protect you!”
My hand flies to my mouth, and the sob that bursts from me this time is joy. I pull Peter close, kissing his forehead.
His warmth, his fierce little presence—it melts something in me. “Aww! You’re my brave little warrior, Pete.”
Lily ruffles his dark curls with one hand, pride glowing in her eyes. “That’s *my* little warrior, thank you very much.”
Peter puffs out his chest proudly, his chin lifted. “Mama trains me every day! I know moves and flips!”
My breath catches, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Do you now?”
“He does,” Lily says, smug. “I even learned techniques I hated just because he said he liked to learn. Now look at me. Teaching toddlers.”
I laugh, a real laugh, soft and full.
Her voice is dry, as usual, but I remember—back when she was learning those things, she told me through gritted teeth how boring and repetitive some of the drills were, how she’d rather be doing literally anything else. But she did them. Every day. And when I asked why she didn’t quit, she shrugged and said that it was because Peter had asked her to and she wanted to be someone he looked up to. 
Lily shows love with action, I think to myself as my gaze lingers on the way her hand settles instinctively on Peter’s shoulder, protective and gentle all at once. She always has.
“Don’t tell anyone, though,” Lily murmurs just then, catching my expression. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
I smile, my cheeks warm.  
Too soon, Lily rises. “All right, kid. Let’s let Auntie Wrenny rest.”
“Can I stay?”
“Later. She needs a nap.”
Peter gives me one more fierce hug before following Lily to the door. She glances back at me, eyes softer than usual.
‘You’re going to be okay, Wren. You always were,’ my sister mindlinks me.
The door closes, and not even a full minute passes before it opens again.
“Wrenny?”
Mom. And Dad.
I try to stand, to greet them properly, but Dad rushes forward and kneels, pulling me into a hug like I might vanish. “You’re safe. You’re *safe*.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice barely a whisper. “I’ve caused so many problems in just a few hours.”
“Stop,” Mom says, her voice stern but gentle. She comes to sit on the bed beside me now, her hand stroking my hair back, always making sure I’m polished. “You didn’t cause anything.”
“I chose Stephen. I didn’t wait like I should have. Like Aunt Allie said.”
Dad pulls back and cups my face between his hands. “You don’t owe us perfect choices, baby girl.”
I shake my head. “But someone *died*.”
“Because he laid a hand on my daughter,” Dad says, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “And I will never fault another man for protecting you when someone hurts you.”
I can’t stop the tears again. They fall without permission, without pause. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
Mom wipes my cheek with her thumb. “Oh, Wrenny! You could never.” She looks around. “If you want to go back home, say the word. We’ll take you. But it might be easier to talk to your fated mate from here. When you’re ready, of course.”
“I’m so ashamed,” I whisper. “That he saw me like that. Weak. Reckless. Boken.”
“You are none of that,” Dad bites, his meadow green eye flashing something dangerous, like he can’t fathom the idea of me in that way. 
They hold me a while longer, wrapping me in the kind of love that doesn’t falter, even under the weight of my worst decisions.
Eventually, they stand, both lingering by the door holding their hands in a loving way.
“Rest now,” Mom says softly. “You’re allowed to fall apart for a little while. To make your own choices. We’ll be here when you’re ready to start putting yourself back together.”
The door shuts again.
And I breathe.
For the first time in what feels like days, I let my body sag into the mattress, my hands resting over my chest. I close my eyes.
*Rhys*.
That’s his name.
If I need him, he’ll come.
But right now, I just need time. Time to grieve the choices I made. Time to forgive myself.
Time to believe that maybe—just maybe—I still deserve the kind of love I was born for.
The kind that doesn’t break me. Or my hand.
The kind that saves me.

🐺 🐺 🐺

I don’t sleep. Not really. I drift in and out, staring at the ceiling for hours while the snow outside whispers against the windowpane. My thoughts coil and twist like ivy, never still, never quiet.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Stephen’s face. 
The moment he marked me. 
The moment he squeezed my hand hard until it broke. 
The moment he raised his hand and slapped me. 
The moment his head fell onto the ground, his dead eyes still full of rage. 
By dawn, my pillow is cold and damp.
I get up quietly, not wanting to stay in bed anymore. 
The hot shower helps a little. Steam curls around me, loosening the tension in my shoulders. I wash my hair, dry it, then braid it loosely, and put on a pale lilac sweater dress from my suitcase that someone kindly got to the room for me when I was unconscious. 
Boots. Simple, polished, warm.
I open the door slowly, hesitating just a little.
Rhys’s close.
My wolf stirs the moment the scent hits me. Fresh forest, like after the rain and old whisky and... something I can’t name it.
I don’t even get halfway down the corridor before I stop dead.
He’s standing right across from me. In front of the room opposite mine.
Rhys.
He’s talking to Ava and Edward. 
My best friend sees me first.
“Wrenny!” Ava exclaims, hurrying toward me in a flurry of snowy pajamas and messy blonde curls. She wraps me in a hug that squeezes all the air out of me. “How are you? Are you okay? I was going to come in after breakfast, but then Rhys said you might still be sleeping—and—oh Stars, your eyes.”
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly, the words automatic. I smile up at her, hoping it reaches my eyes. “I promise. Just… tired. But I’m okay.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.
“Wren, this is Edward,” Ava says, stepping aside. “My mate.”
Edward offers a polite smile and a nod. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Ava can’t stop talking about you.”
“You too. She can’t stop talking about you,” I say, my cheeks flushing with a real smile this time as I glance up at him, then at Rhys—who hasn’t said a word yet.
He’s watching me. Intently. Dark blue eyes unreadable.
Suddenly, I’m wondering if my dress is too simple. If I look tired. If I should’ve done something different with my hair. I press my hands together in front of me, smiling again, this time at him. A little awkward. A little hopeful.
His gaze softens just a fraction. And I see a hint of dimples.
Ava squeezes my arm. “We’re going down for breakfast. Az, Mum, and Dad want to talk to Edward again. You okay if I leave you here for a bit?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Of course. Go ahead.”
She gives me another hug before tugging Edward away, whispering something in his ear that makes him chuckle and my cheeks flush.
And then it’s just me and Rhys.
The silence stretches.
My fingers twist together.
He clears his throat. “You look better this morning.” 
I feel the weight of his gaze on my body. My wolf howls in my mind.
“Thanks,” I say softly, looking down. “I… I feel better. A little.”
He shifts his weight. “Did you sleep at all?”
I shake my head.
He mutters something under his breath—a soft, frustrated, British sort of swear. It’s strangely comforting. Familiar. Honest.
I glance up at him, and for the first time, I really look.
He’s taller than I remember. Broader. His dark hair is tousled, damp at the ends like he’s just showered. There’s a tension in his jaw he doesn’t bother to hide.
And those dark blue eyes.
They pull me in.
My cheeks heat.
There’s a flicker in his eyes, but he doesn’t press it.
“Rhys,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Can I ask something?”
“You can ask anything you like.”
I hesitate. Then, I step closer, lifting my gaze to his.
“Are you…” I begin, then falter. My heart is hammering. I try again. “Are you an Alpha?”
I can feel his strong aura, but it’s... *different*.
He tilts his head slightly, amused.
Then he smiles.
Slow. Dangerous. Regal.
“I’m an Alpha King,” Rhys says. “In my country.”
My breath catches.
*Oh*.
Oh, Stars.