Meredith.
The door to the van hissed open on its own, and I instinctively shifted upright. Three men stood outside—two of Draven’s guards, flanking a tall man in a green-and-brown camouflage uniform. Human. Tanned skin, clean-shaven jaw, stern gaze.
He peered into the van and offered a formal nod. "Good afternoon."
His eyes scanned the interior quickly, like he was searching for something—or someone. Then he said, "Welcome to Duskmoor," and stepped away without further comment. The two werewolf guards followed him, and the door shut again with the same soft hiss.
Just like that, the search was over. No threats, no tension. Not that I was afraid of the human. I wasn’t. I just didn’t know what to expect from Duskmoor’s security systems. But now that it was behind us, I let myself relax. For real, this time.
Moments later, the van vibrated softly as the engine roared back to life. We were moving again.
I leaned back into the seat, glad to be in motion. Just two more hours. And then... wherever ’home’ was.
---
Exactly two hours later, I was still awake—too tense to take another nap—watching the van’s screen flicker through a local Duskmoor travel program when Kira reached across and tugged her curtain closed.
"My lady," she said with a small grin, "we have entered Duskmoor city."
Quickly, I snapped my curtain open and pressed closer to the glass. My breath caught in my throat.
Towering buildings glinted in the distance, made of steel and glass, reflecting the pale sky. Flashy cars of all shapes and sizes zoomed past. Nothing like Stormveil. No one here seemed to care about shifting or speed—they just drove.
The streets were alive. Horns blared faintly in the distance. Streetlights blinked in perfect sync. Massive billboards lit up in reds and blues. Humans walked in clusters, dressed in colorful layers, moving with purpose.
They looked like us—walked like us—but I could tell... they weren’t us. There was no inner aura to sense, no instinctual energy. Just people.
"Do you like it?" Deidra asked, her tone light.
I didn’t look away from the window. "It’s impressive," I said. "The development, the energy. But..." I finally glanced back at her, "I still prefer Stormveil. It’s quieter. Calmer. It is home."
Everyone murmured in agreement.
I left the curtain parted, unwilling to miss a second. But the deeper we drove, the more the scenery began to change—less concrete, more greenery. The road turned narrow and private. The traffic fell away. Trees flanked the path on either side, tall and stately.
"We are home," Kira clapped softly.
Deidra added, "The Alpha’s estate is secluded, east of Duskmoor. Not within the city itself."
That made sense. A werewolf wouldn’t be able to breathe freely among all that human bustle. I, for one, was already craving quiet again.
The van eased through a large metallic gate and began rolling slowly up a well-paved path flanked by manicured trees and flowering hedges. It smelled... clean, untouched, like morning dew clinging to fresh leaves.
The van stopped.
I couldn’t see much ahead. The windshield view was still blocked. My curiosity gnawed at me, but I had to wait.
A few seconds later, the van door whooshed open. Kira and Deidra stepped out first, turning to face me, hands extended with mirrored smiles.
"My lady," they said in unison.
I unfastened my seatbelt and rose. Taking their hands, I stepped down onto solid ground. Azul, Cora, and Arya followed behind.
And then—I looked up. My breath caught once again.
The house wasn’t a modern concrete box like the ones I saw in the city. It was vintage—stone and timber, with iron-wrought railings, ivy trailing along its facade. A sprawling compound surrounded it, so wide and green it looked like a dream.
Birds chirped from nearby trees, and a soft breeze whispered through the leaves. It felt alive here. Sacred.
I was still lost in awe when a high-pitched voice shattered the moment.
"Daddy!"
My head whipped toward the voice, eyes locking on a small figure dashing across the lawn—white top, pink skirt, hair bouncing behind her as she ran.
And Draven... crouched down with open arms.
My heart slammed in my chest.
He smiled—an actual smile—and caught her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her. Her delighted squeal echoed across the property. My skin went cold.
She wrapped her little arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I missed you," she said with a giggle.
"I missed you more, pumpkin," Draven replied, setting her gently down.
She looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Did you bring me a gift from your trip like I asked?"
Draven nodded. "Of course, I did. It’s in the car."
Her squeal made me flinch.
And then—Wanda appeared from the Maybach.
She walked toward them with the kind of smile I had never seen her wear. Soft. Warm. Familiar. She reached them and placed a hand atop the child’s head.
"Xamira," she said sweetly. "Is it only your father you missed?"
’Xamira.’ I quickly noted her name.
The little girl turned toward her and hugged her waist tightly, face still lit with joy. But there was a stillness in her gaze that didn’t quite belong to a child
That scene... that moment—it hit me like a punch to the gut.
They looked like a family.
A perfect, picture-frame, storybook family.
And I couldn’t move.
Draven had a daughter?
No one in Stormveil had whispered a word. No rumors. No gossip. Nothing.
How?
Was she Wanda’s? Is this what Wanda meant, two days ago, when she confronted me with all that smugness? Was this the reason for her confidence? For her constant assertion that Draven belonged to her?
I felt the threads of my thoughts start to unravel.
Was this why Draven didn’t marry anyone from any of the noble royal pack? Because he already had someone? Because he had a child—and needed a wife who wouldn’t cause a scandal about it?
A wife like me?
If this little girl was his—if Wanda was her mother—then why wasn’t she the one wearing this ring?
None of it made sense.
But more than that, as I stood there trying to collect myself, my gaze flicked back to the girl, Xamira.
There was something about her. Not just her sweetness, or her joy, or her unnatural beauty—but something else. Something... not quite right.
I couldn’t place it. But I felt it.
She didn’t feel like one of us. She didn’t feel like one of them, either.
She felt... different.