My Special Place

Calla

The moment the switch snaps down, plunging the upper floor into darkness, a deafening "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" tears through the Packhouse walls. It echoes down the stairs, followed a split second later by the explosive slam of Wyatt's bedroom door crashing against the wall. Heavy, thudding footsteps stomp toward the landing.

"Who has a death wish?" he booms from the top of the stairs, his voice cracking slightly with teenage outrage. "Who did it?"

Nia and I peek out from the shadow of the pantry, suppressing giggles. Our baby brother stands there, radiating sheer fury. He is seventeen now, a towering six-foot-four mountain of muscle and awkward, growing limbs. He sports the exact same caramel highlights in his light brown hair as I do, along with our father's piercing blue eyes and sharp, aristocratic cheekbones. He is still filling out his broad frame, but his physical presence is already undeniably imposing. Not to us, though. Right now, the little soon-to-be Alpha is losing his ever-loving mind over a ruined video game, and Nia and I can only clutch our sides, struggling desperately to hold back our uncontrollable snickering.

I step out into the hallway, leaning into the teasing. "Oh, Nia, look at the little pup," I coo, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. "He seems so angry. Whatever will we do? I am terrified."

Wyatt's eyes lock onto us. He lets out a primal growl and charges down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

The chase is instantly on. We scatter in opposite directions, shrieking with wild laughter as Wyatt's massive frame barrels after us. It quickly turns into a chaotic, high-speed game of tag, dodging heavy oak furniture and sliding in our thick socks across the polished hardwood floors. Nia ducks under his reaching arm near the massive kitchen island, narrowly avoiding capture, and I sprint past the living room sofa, staying just out of his desperate grasp.

"Get back here!" he yells, swiping at my shoulder.

We weave through the hallways, our frantic footsteps echoing off the high ceilings, until a towering figure steps right into our path.

"Enough."

The command hits us with the heavy, undeniable weight of an Alpha tone. All three of us freeze instantly, boots rooted to the floor. My father, Garret, stands near the foyer with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He shakes his head, looking between his panting kids.

"You are adults," he says, his voice carrying a mix of authority and amusement. "Yet the second you reunite, you revert to acting like reckless children. Stop tearing up the house before your mother ends up yelling at me."

We press our lips together, stifling our lingering laughter as Garret expertly corrals us toward the dining room for a long-overdue family dinner. Wyatt and Nia jog ahead, shoving each other's shoulders and aggressively whispering threats about future payback. I trail slowly behind, catching my breath and fixing my messy hair. Garret hangs back, waiting patiently for me in the dim corridor. He wraps a massive, warm arm around my shoulders, tucking me securely into his side. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, his comforting scent of pine and rain washing over me.

"How are you doing, kiddo?" he softly asks, looking down at me.

I flash him a bright, practiced smile, desperate to maintain my facade. "I am good, Dad. It is nice to be home. My jewelry business is thriving, and everything is fine. Really."

He smiles back, but the lingering, piercing pain visible in his bright blue eyes makes it painfully obvious that he doesn't believe my fabricated reassurances. He studies my face for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his deep parental intuition blaring.

*He knows,* Rhea chides me sharply in my mind. *He can feel your pain through the family bond. We cannot lie to our parents. You need to finally confess.*

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, stubbornly refusing. *No, Rhea.* I mentally bargain with my wolf, pushing back against her insistence. *I just want to exist in this singular, happy moment without my overwhelming shame and sadness poisoning the atmosphere. I promise we will deal with the truth strictly after Wyatt's Heir Ceremony concludes.*

Rhea huffs, pacing inside my mind, but eventually relents. *Fine. But we are going for a run tonight. I need out.*

The family shares a deeply comforting dinner. The dining room smells incredible, filled with the mouth-watering scent of roasted meat, savory gravy, and warm, buttery bread. It overflows with easy, loving family banter that makes me feel safely anchored. Wyatt loudly complains about his lost game progress while stuffing his face with mashed potatoes, and Nia mercilessly roasts his terrible strategy skills. Between the jokes and constant teasing, Sabine hands out meticulously detailed instructions for the upcoming event, ensuring we know exactly where we need to be during the ceremony tomorrow.

After the meal wraps up, I quietly slip out the backdoor. The cool night air hits my face as I step into the dense tree line bordering the property. The second I am concealed by the shadows, I shed my clothes, dropping them onto the damp soil. I close my eyes and relinquish control to Rhea. My human bones crack, snap, and twist rapidly. Fur pushes through my skin, muscles expanding and reforming. A moment later, Rhea stands tall in her magnificent, chocolate-brown glory, her gold undercoat shimmering faintly in the moonlight.

Together, we sprint freely through the darkened woods. Her paws tear up the soil, muscles bunching and releasing with explosive power. The wind rushes past our ears, carrying the scent of pine. We navigate the familiar terrain, pushing higher and higher up the mountain until we reach our favorite destination: a secluded, high-mountain clearing.

I shift back into my human form, standing naked in the crisp, cool South Dakota mountain air. This sanctuary is a space I have carefully and lovingly cultivated with vibrant wildflowers and fragrant herbs since my early childhood. I walk slowly through the delicate violets, yellow yarrow, and pale echinacea, letting the soft petals brush gently against my bare legs. The potent scent of wild thyme, fresh rosemary, and sharp mountain mint fills my lungs with every deep breath. Under a brilliant, uninterrupted canopy of glittering stars, I feel like I have found my own perfect little slice of heaven. It is the solitary place on earth where I feel at peace, devoid of heavy expectations and blessedly far away from Vane's suffocating, manipulative control.

Hours pass. The moon tracks across the sky, casting silver light over the blossoms. Eventually, Rhea gently nudges my consciousness.

*Tomorrow will be a long and exhausting day,* she reminds me, her voice softening. *We will be needed. We need to head back.*

Reluctantly, I shift back into my human form, dress in the cool night air, and quietly return to the Packhouse. As I approach, I notice the distinct, protective silhouette of Garret standing watch by the backdoor. He silently ensures my safety while respectfully granting me the space I needed. Once he sees I am safe, he turns and heads inside. The silent gesture tightens my chest with guilt.

I retreat to my childhood bedroom, flicking on the lamp. I take in the space that serves as a frozen time capsule of the vibrant, hopeful girl I used to be before Vane entered my life. Posters still hang on the walls, and old trophies sit on the shelf.

Suddenly, a jolt of pure, icy panic shoots straight through my nervous system. I realize I haven't checked my cell phone for hours. I snatch the device from the nightstand, my hands trembling as the screen lights up.

Five missed calls and twenty unread texts wait ominously for me.

The notification bubbles mock me, each one a ticking time bomb. I open the thread, scrolling past the missed calls to read his messages. The very last message sends a freezing chill directly down my spine.

*"Don't answer my calls and texts for hours; there will be consequences."*

My breath catches. The peace of the mountain sanctuary vanishes, crashing back into paralyzing, domestic terror. I glance at the clock. It is ten-thirty. My heart hammering against my ribs, my fingers fly across the keyboard. I quickly type out a sickeningly sweet, apologetic reply designed solely to stem his mounting anger.

*Hey babe! I am so sorry for the late text. I was spending time with the family and lost track of time. I promise I will call you first thing in the morning as soon as I wake up. I love you! Goodnight.*

I hit send and stare at the screen, my chest rising and falling in erratic gasps. I breathe a heavy, trembling sigh, praying to the goddess that my submission is enough to calm his rage.

A minute passes. Then two. The silence in the room is deafening.

A moment later, the phone buzzes one last time. I flinch, bracing myself as I look at the screen. A final, chilling decree glares back at me.

*"Don't let it happen again."*

Realizing I have narrowly averted disaster for the night, I plug my phone into the charger. I collapse into my old bed, pulling the familiar quilt up to my chin. I utilize every ounce of my mental fortitude to push Vane and my fear out of my mind, allowing the gentle, natural sounds of the surrounding woods to finally sing me into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.