Home Again

POV: Calla

Three hours later, my tires roll over the invisible boundary line separating neutral ground from the Brierwood Pack territory. A fragile, fleeting sense of peace settles over my chest. I let out a long breath, loosening my death grip on the steering wheel. The dense trees seem greener on this side of the border, the air lighter. I actually smile.

Then, the harsh, blaring ringtone of my cell phone shatters the quiet of the car.

I flinch. My eyes dart to the dashboard display. Vane’s name flashes on the screen, glaring back at me like a warning siren. My stomach plummets, leaving a hollow, aching void in its wake. The brief joy I managed to cultivate on the open road evaporates into thin air. I reach for the steering wheel controls with a trembling finger and accept the call, forcing a light, breezy tone into my throat.

"Hello, hun. I just crossed into my family's territory. You must be watching the clock." I let out a small, hollow giggle, desperate to keep the mood bright.

"I don't need to watch the clock," Vane snaps viciously through the speakers. His voice is a dark snarl, dripping with a paranoid possessiveness that makes the hair on my arms stand straight up. "You actually think I'm going to let you run around without me knowing exactly where my property is? I don't think so."

My lungs seize. "What do you mean?"

"I am tracking your phone, Calla. And the car's GPS. I know exactly where you are at all times." His tone drops into a chilling, methodical cadence. "I just wanted to let you know before you tried anything stupid while you are away."

Disgust and terror coil together in my gut. The open highway suddenly feels like a concrete box closing in around me. He is miles away, yet his invisible chains are wrapped tight around my throat. He is watching the digital dot of my car crawl across a map. My mind screams in rebellion, but ten years of conditioning override my pride. I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force out the exact placating, submissive words I know he demands to hear.

"Babe, you have nothing to worry about; where would I go? You are my everything." The lie burns my tongue, making me feel physically sick.

"Damn right, don't fucking forget it," Vane replies with aggressive satisfaction.

The line goes dead.

The dial tone echoes through the silent car. I steer the vehicle off the asphalt, tires crunching over the gravel shoulder, and shove the gearshift into park. I drop my head against the steering wheel and break down. Sobs tear through my chest, ragged and loud. Tears stream down my cheeks, washing away the carefully applied makeup. I weep bitterly for the years I spent blindly surrendering my core identity to his absolute, tyrannical control. I weep for the girl I used to be, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of her own mate's voice.

Deep inside my mind, my wolf, Rhea, paces with frantic, restless energy. She snarls, baring her teeth at the shadows. *Turn the car around,* she demands, her voice a guttural growl in my head. *Let me out. I will tear him to pieces. I will end this reign of terror right now.*

*We can't,* I whisper back into the void of my mind, my mental voice cracked and weary. *I am so tired, Rhea. I just want to go to my dad's house and sleep.*

I fundamentally lack the strength to entertain the idea of a physical fight. The will to fight has been drained out of me, drop by drop, over a decade. I wipe my face with the back of my trembling hands and pull myself together. Reaching for the small cooler sitting on the passenger seat, I pull out a freezing bottle of water and press it against my swollen, red eyes. I let the cold numb the stinging skin, taking deep, measured breaths to hide the evidence of my crying.

Rhea whines, her pacing slowing, but her protective instincts refuse to settle. *Tell them,* she desperately pleads, her tone shifting from rage to begging. *Confess the abuse. We are heading to our family's territory. They are powerful. Let them help us.*

*No.* I rub the chilled plastic against my eyelids, strictly reminding myself of the reality we face. *I have to go back to his pack eventually. There is no escaping the mate bond without a war.*

I refuse to let my family know. I cannot risk causing a political incident between the packs. The situation is already complicated enough. My Alpha, Torin, is currently en route to the Brierwood territory. He is scheduled to act as an official witness for my brother's heir ceremony this weekend. If my father finds out what Vane has been doing to me, treaties will shatter. Torin will be dragged into the middle of the fallout. I must flawlessly wear my metaphorical mask of the perfect, happy daughter and devoted mate.

I lower the water bottle and stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I force my lips into a practiced, curved smile. I shift the car back into drive and merge onto the road.

Ten minutes later, the grand Brierwood Packhouse looms into view, its massive stone columns and sprawling porches offering a familiar comfort. I guide the car up the long, winding driveway and park near the front steps. I barely cut the engine and open my door before a blur of motion rushes across the lawn.

"Calla!"

Before I can step fully out of the vehicle, my younger sister, Nia, suddenly and enthusiastically tackles me. The impact knocks the wind straight out of my lungs. She wraps her long arms around my shoulders in a bone-crushing hug, lifting me onto my toes. Even though I am eleven years older, the beautiful nineteen-year-old is significantly taller than my small frame. She squeezes me until my ribs ache, burying her face in my shoulder.

"I missed you so much," she exclaims loudly, pulling back just enough to beam down at me with pure, unadulterated joy. Her bright blue eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun. "Why don't you visit us more often?"

Hearing those simple, affectionate words washes over me like a warm tide. A lump forms in my throat. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I feel genuinely, unconditionally loved. There are no strings attached to Nia's embrace. There is no hidden agenda, no looming threat. Just my sister, thrilled to see me.

I blink rapidly, fighting back happy tears, and clear my throat to shift the focus.

"I missed you too," I say, patting her arm. I glance toward the massive front doors of the packhouse. "Now tell me, where is our bratty baby brother? I need to know where Wyatt is hiding."

Nia's grin widens, her eyes flashing with mischief.

"We need to knock his massive ego down a peg or two before he officially becomes the Heir," I insist jokingly as I grab my overnight bag from the back seat.

Nia enthusiastically thrusts her fist into the air, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "It's time for a brother hunt!"

We leave the car doors open and rush inside the bustling packhouse. The familiar scent of pine and fresh baking fills my nose, grounding me further into the present moment. Pack members move about the halls, carrying supplies for the upcoming ceremony, but Nia and I weave through them with chaotic energy.

As we sprint down the main corridor, we pass my father, Alpha Garret, and my stepmother, Luna Sabine. They are standing near the grand staircase, reviewing a stack of guest manifests. Sabine looks up, catching sight of our plotting faces, and simply laughs at our chaotic energy.

My father leans over the banister, calling out warmly down the hall. "Don't hurt his pride too severely, girls! He is going to be the next Alpha soon!"

We don't actually need to hunt. We both know exactly where the soon-to-be Heir spends his free time. We follow the muffled sounds of gaming down the hallway, stopping safely in front of Wyatt's locked bedroom door.

I pound my fist against the thick wood. "Wyatt! Open up!"

Through the thick door, Wyatt shouts his refusal, his voice booming out. "Hell No! You two are going to mess up my stats! I will come down later!"

Nia and I freeze. We slowly turn our heads to look at each other, sharing a devious, knowing look. We do not need words to communicate our next move. We pivot away from the locked door on our heels and sprint back down the hallway, taking the back staircase two steps at a time.

We skid past the massive kitchen island and dive into the dim, cool storage space tucked near the pantry. I push past a tower of canned goods to reach the heavy grey metal panel mounted on the back wall.

Nia grabs the metal latch and throws open the fuse box panel. Rows of black switches line the metal casing, controlling the power grid for the massive estate. We immediately zero in on a specific switch located in the second row.

Unlike the other dull, uniform plastic toggles, this specific switch is deliberately painted with a thick coat of bright blue nail polish.

This is Luna Sabine's legendary secret weapon. Utilized specifically for cutting the power to Wyatt's room whenever he stays up too late gaming, Sabine simply marches down here and flips the switch to force him to sleep.

Nia takes a dramatic step back into the dusty storage aisle. She crosses one leg behind the other and offers me an exaggerated, mocking curtsy, sweeping her arm toward the metal box.

"The honor of luring the beast from its lair belongs to you, sister," Nia declares in a hushed, theatrical whisper.

I stand tall, placing a hand over my heart, and bow back in silent, dramatic thanks. The heavy, suffocating dread that plagued me in the car feels miles away, replaced by the thrilling, infectious joy of harmless sibling mischief. I am safe here. I am home.

Unable to contain the bubbling laughter rising in my chest, I reach out, press my thumb against the blue-painted switch, and firmly flip it down.