Chapter 3

The funeral home smelled like cheap roses and regret—

and faint traces of wolf musk from the attendants who didn’t bother masking their scent around humans.

Only seven people came.

Mrs. Turner from next door.

Three of my mother’s church friends.

Two nurses from the hospital.

And me.

Lucien didn’t show.

He didn’t even send flowers. Not wolf lilies, not moon orchids—nothing symbolic, nothing respectful.

I stood by the simple casket—all I could afford after Lucien had convinced me to put my savings into “our” wedding fund.

“Superficial ceremonies are useless,” he'd said once.

“Real wolves don’t waste money on appearances.”

Yet he wasted my mother’s life without blinking.

“She looks peaceful,” Mrs. Turner whispered, squeezing my hand.

Peaceful.

My mother had died screaming in pain while Lucien, an Alpha-born wolf with heightened senses, hadn’t even detected the crisis.

He hadn’t tried.

My phone vibrated.

Lucien.

I’d unblocked him that morning—just long enough to see who he really was.

I stepped outside and answered.

“lara! Thank God. Where are you?”

“My mother’s funeral.”

“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did. Two days ago.”

“You hung up! I thought you needed space—”

“Are you in Montana, Lucien?”

Silence.

“Answer me.”

“We… Brielle and I decided to extend the trip. Just two more days. The slopes are perfect—”

Brielle’s laughter floated through the phone—bright, tinkling, and carrying a faint wolf resonance.

She wasn’t fully wolf-blooded, but she had enough mixed lineage for her aura to cling to him.

“Is that her?”

“lara, you’re being unreasonable. Brielle’s going through a lot right now—”

“The guilt?” My voice chilled like winter wind through a wolf den.

“Tell me, is she feeling guilty in the hot tub or on the ski lift?”

“You’re upset. I understand. But taking it out on Brielle—”

“Did you ever love me?”

The question escaped before I could stop it—

before my suppressed wolf instincts could clamp my mouth shut.

“Of course I love you. You’re my fiancée.”

“Am I? Because your fiancée is burying her mother alone while you vacation with another woman.”

“It’s not a vacation. It’s complicated—”

“You’re right,” I whispered. “I have been distant. How selfish of me.”

“lara—”

“Don’t call me again.”

I hung up.

Then blocked him.

Again.

But this time, it felt final—

like something inside me, something wolf, slammed a door shut.

Inside the funeral home, Mrs. Turner pulled me aside.

“Your mother talked about you constantly,” she said. “She was so proud. But she worried.”

“About what?”

“That boy.” Her eyes sharpened. “She said he looked at you like you were a trophy, not a treasure.”

Typical of Moreau wolves—

treating partners like status symbols instead of equals.

“She once told me,” Mrs. Turner continued, “Elara’s a star. But she’s orbiting the wrong sun.”

Elara.

My true name.

My wolf name.

The one Lucien never used because he preferred “lara”—a softer, smaller version he could manage.

“She was right,” I whispered.

Mrs. Turner squeezed my arm.

“Stars don’t orbit. They burn. Remember that.”

That night, I found my mother’s journal.

The last entry was dated three days before the attack:

“Elara called today. She sounded tired. That Moreau boy is draining her light.

I see it every time—less spark, less fire.

Wolves should shine. He’s making her dim.”

My throat tightened.

Even my mother, a human, had sensed the wolf in me—

and sensed how Lucien had been killing it slowly.

Then I found it.

A veterinary bill addressed to Brielle Vale.

Dated six months ago.

Description:

“Treatment for bite victim. Unprovoked attack by Wolfguard (third incident). Owner refused training.”

Third incident.

Three victims.

Three attacks.

And Brielle had refused proper training.

That alone was illegal under wolf-human ordinance law.

Lucien’s name was listed as the emergency contact:

“Lucien Moreau (owner’s partner).”

And there it was—his signature.

He’d known.

He’d known that creature was dangerous.

He’d covered it up.

He’d told no one.

He hadn't even warned my mother.

I felt something crack inside me—

not grief, not pain.

Something awakening.

Something wolf.

Something that had slept for years under Lucien’s subtle dominance.

I stood there, clutching the bill, feeling my breath come heavier, my pulse stronger, my senses sharper.

A wolf didn’t need claws to destroy someone.

The truth was enough.