Chapter 16 #2
“I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”
“Don’t be insolent,” Hudson snaps, rising with a fluid grace that belies his age. He circles the desk, each step deliberate, predatory. “You were sent to Bellandi to learn discipline—not to forget your place in my pack.”
I fight the urge to step back as he approaches. Up close, his power is overwhelming—an invisible pressure against my skin, demanding submission. My wolf bristles beneath the surface, refusing to cower despite the alpha's presence.
“The bond’s unfinished—you haven’t sealed it,” Hudson murmurs, eyes gleaming.
“The full moon is tomorrow night,” Damien says, his hand never leaving my back.
Hudson narrows his focus on me, the force of his scrutiny pressing like something tangible. “And does she agree to this arrangement? Or did you simply take what you wanted, as usual?”
“I’m right here,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You can ask me directly.”
The room goes deathly silent. Helena stiffens, her hand tightening around the edge of her chair, while Bella’s mouth twitches with what might be suppressed laughter. Damien’s fingers dig into my hip in warning, but I don’t back down. If I’m going to be thrown to these wolves, I’m not going meekly.
Hudson's expression shifts from surprise to something more calculating. He circles me slowly, like a predator evaluating prey. “She has spirit, I'll give her that, but she's not even close to what we arranged.”
“Serena DeLupo was your arrangement, not mine,” Damien counters.
Hudson completes his circle, stopping directly in front of me. He's tall—not as tall as Damien but imposing in a different way. Where Damien's power is raw and physical, Hudson's is refined, honed by decades of command.
“What pack are you from?” he demands.
“I don't have a pack.”
“Damien, really. You could have at least found someone with proper lineage,” Helena interjects, dripping with disdain.
I feel Damien tense beside me, but before he can respond, Bella steps forward. “Mom, don't be such a snob.”
“Come here, girl.”
I hesitate, glancing at Damien whose jaw has tightened to granite. His slight nod gives me permission.
I step forward, my legs trembling slightly as I move away from Damien's protective presence.
“It can’t be…” Hudson leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring as he takes in my scent.
“I'll ask you once more. What pack do you belong to?”
“I told you, I don't have a pack,” I repeat.
Hudson doesn’t blink as he steps back, his focus following me like a shadow. Then, to my surprise, he turns toward Damien. The room goes utterly still. Even Helena stills her fidgeting, her polished composure cracking as she studies me with sharp, hungry interest.
“Why do you carry Elena Rosewood’s scent?” Hudson asks.
“That’s impossible,” Helena breathes. She stares as though I’ve sprouted horns. “Elena vanished years ago. She didn’t have children. You must be mistaken.”
“Am I?” Hudson resumes his slow circle around me, every step deliberate. He stops directly in front of me. “Who are you?”
My throat locks. Every head in the room is turned toward me, their collective attention a crushing weight. There’s no wriggling out of this. No polite deflection.
“I don’t know.”
“Your parents’ names,” Hudson presses.
I swallow hard, my hands trembling at my sides. “David and Sarah Greene.”
Helena’s heels strike sharp against the floor as she moves closer, manicured fingers brushing her lips in thought. “Greene?” she repeats softly. “Elena’s mate was Marcus Greene.”
“Describe your father,” Hudson commands.
“Tall. Dark hair. Green eyes. He had a scar on his left hand from when he…” My chest tightens with the memory, sudden and raw. “From when he said he got caught in machinery at work.”
Hudson exchanges a look with Helena that sends my stomach plummeting. “He earned that scar protecting Elena during the Blackrock conflict.”
A ringing builds in my ears, drowning the room. The floor tilts beneath me, and I reach blindly for stability. My hand finds Damien’s arm, his muscles rigid under my grasp—solid and anchoring when everything else feels like it’s unraveling.
Hudson’s jaw hardens with decision. He strides to his desk, movements sharp with purpose.
Without a word, he reaches for the wall behind his chair, lifting down a framed photograph I hadn’t noticed before.
He carries it back to me with surprising care, his attention locked on me as if waiting for the final confirmation.
“Look,” he commands, holding the frame out.
With trembling hands, I take it from him.
The photograph is old, the colors faded with time, but the faces staring back at me are unmistakable.
A group of wolves stands around a campfire, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, faces bright with laughter.
And there, in the middle of the group, are my parents—younger, wilder, happier than I've ever seen them.
My mother's dark curls cascade down her back, her smile fierce and proud as she leans into the man beside her. My father. But not as the quiet hardware store owner I knew. This man stands tall, a visible aura of power radiating from him even in a decades-old photograph.
I gasp, my finger tracing their faces behind the glass. “That's my parents.”
“That's Elena and Marcus,” Hudson corrects. “Taken the summer before they disappeared.”
My mother—Elena—stands at the center of the group, clearly its focal point.
The woman in the photograph radiates power in a way that makes my knees weak.
She doesn't just stand among the other wolves—she commands them.
Her posture, her expression, the way the others seem to gravitate toward her.
..This isn't just any female wolf. This is an alpha.
There’s no denying the resemblance. The same stubborn line of the jaw. The same shape in the face I’ve seen in the mirror all my life.
It’s true. Oh god. I am Elena Rosewood’s daughter.
The photograph slips from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp crack that echoes in the silence. The truth slams into me like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from my lungs. I stumble backward, hip striking Hudson’s desk hard enough to jolt me, but the spinning in my head doesn’t stop.
Through the haze, I register Damien moving closer, his energy bristling with alarm. I lift a shaking hand to hold him off. If he touches me now, I’ll break into pieces I won’t be able to put back together.
“Get out,” Hudson orders. For a heartbeat, I think he means me. Then I realize his command is aimed at Helena and Bella.
“But Hudson—” Helena starts, only to wither under the sheer force of his stare.
“Out. Now.”
Bella lingers a second longer, uncertainty written in the tightness of her mouth, before following her mother to the door. The heavy thud of it closing behind them feels final, like the walls have locked me into a destiny I never asked for.