The Thorn Pack gates hadn't changed
Same iron lattice. Same wolves stationed at the post with steel-gray eyes and suspicious glances. Same carved crest mounted at the top—two wolves entwined in a crescent moon, jaws open in mirrored howls.
But I had changed.
And I wasn't certain if that strengthened me. or simply more adept at concealing the flaws.
I gripped Rowan's little hand tighter as we got closer to the front checkpoint. The remains of a candy I had bought him on the way in left his fingers warm and sticky. He looked up at me, blue eyes wide, sleepy, confused.
"Are we really staying here now, Papa?"
I forced a smile. "Just for a little while."
His lower lip poked out. "Do they have wolves?"
"Yes," I said. "Lots."
He nodded seriously. "Then I'll be brave."
Gods, this child.
My child.
His child.
I looked past the checkpoint to the sprawling compound beyond it—the village, the training fields, the Alpha's hall perched like a crown at the top of the valley hill.
He was here.
And he didn't even know his son was standing at his gates.
The guard at the front narrowed his eyes at me.
"Name?"
"Quinn Vale," I said, squaring my shoulders. "Omega."
The man blinked. Then his brows shot up.
"Vale? As in—"
"Yes. That Vale."
He examined my worn boots, leather satchel, and faded jeans. I'm definitely not who I was before. I used to walk through these gates in pack robes. With status. With a place. With a youngster and a ghost behind my ribs, I was now simply another roving wolf.
The guard tapped his headset and scowled. "We've got a Quinn Vale at Gate A. Omega status confirmed."
A pause.
Then: "Yes, sir. Copy that."
He turned back to me. "Alpha's orders. Straight to the house."
Of course.
Straight to the lion's den.
Rowan stared out the window of the jeep that carried us up the hill. His nose wrinkled at the pine trees, the wolves running training drills, the distant howl of someone mid-shift.
He didn't ask questions. He never did. Smart like that.
We passed the old stone wall that surrounded the Alpha's estate. The house loomed beyond it—glass and slate, modern and sharp, a glaring contrast to the rustic beauty of the rest of the pack's territory.
I hadn't seen it in years.
Not since the night everything fell apart.
Not since he
"Papa?" Rowan's voice was small. "Why do the trees here feel… different?"
I blinked. "Different how?"
"They're loud," he whispered. "Like they remember stuff."
I swallowed hard.
He didn't know it, but five years ago, I ran through these trees in the middle of the night, heart broken and body trembling, a fading mate mark on my neck and a new life already forming in my belly.
The trees remembered.
So did I.
The jeep stopped.
A pack enforcer opened the door, nodded once, and stepped aside.
I cautiously went outside and looked around the area. I was struck in the chest by the smell.
Alpha.
Strong.
Unmistakable.
It was familiar enough to cause my throat to tighten and my lungs to lose their ability to breathe.
He was here.
Inside this house.
The Alpha of Thorn Pack.
Jace Thorn.
My mate.
My mistake.
My almost.
Rowan clung to my side. I kept my chin up as the enforcer opened the front door.
"Alpha will see you now."
Of course he would.
He summoned me, after all.
The scent grew stronger as we walked through the hall—earth and ash and pine bark, sharp with dominance, laced with something warmer underneath.
My skin prickled.
My wolf curled inside me, unsure whether to run or howl.
We stopped at the office door.
The enforcer opened it.
And there he was.
Jace Thorn.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Golden skin kissed by years of patrols under moonlight. Jet-black hair knotted carelessly, a little longer than I remembered. Behind the desk, his amber eyes shone like coals, and his face had become slimmer and sharper at the corners.
He didn't stand.
He didn't smile.
He just looked at me.
And I knew, instantly.
He didn't remember.
"Quinn Vale," he said, his voice deep, smooth, and carefully neutral.
My throat tightened.
He used to say my name like a promise.
Now he said it like a report.
"Alpha Thorn," I returned.
He motioned to the chairs. "Have a seat."
I sat. Silently, Rowan slipped into my lap while his gaze swept the room.
For a moment, Jace's eyes shifted to him, intrigued but not suspicious.
Yet.
"You received my summons," he said.
"I did."
"You were difficult to track down."
"That was intentional."
Jace's lip twitched.
A flicker of something. Amusement? Irritation?
Gods, I couldn't read him anymore.
"I need your help," he said.
"I'm surprised you remember I exist."
That earned a pause.
He scowled a little, but he didn't answer the question.
"There's been increased rogue activity near the northern border. You grew up on that land. You know its terrain better than anyone."
"And you trust me to return after five years?"
"I trust your loyalty to this pack," he said coolly. "Regardless of your... absence."
My wolf growled softly inside me.
You made me leave.
I remarked in a voice that was almost audible above a whisper, "You want me to work for the Alpha who turned me down in front of the entire council?"
His eyes narrowed. "I've never rejected you."
A beat.
Silence.
Even Rowan froze.
"I watched you do it," I said. "The morning after the last full moon. I still have the scar where your mark used to be."
His eyes searched mine.
Something in his expression faltered.
Confusion.
Pain.
But not recognition.
Not the way it should've been.
Not from a bonded mate.
"I don't remember that," he said slowly.
My blood ran cold.
"You don't remember what?"
"Anything from that night."
It felt like the air had been knocked out of me.
Five years.
I spent five years wondering how he could forget me so easily.
How he could use me, mark me, take everything—and then toss me away.
And now he was saying…
He didn't remember at all.
"I thought…" I whispered. "I thought you were lying. That you wanted it to mean nothing."
He blinked. "What happened that night, Quinn?"
"No," I said, rising to my feet. "You don't get to ask that."
He stood too. "I deserve to know."
"Do you?" I snapped. "Because I deserved to not be left bleeding in the dirt, pregnant, with your scent still all over me."
Rowan made a soft sound, confused.
Jace went still.
As the room changed, his nostrils slightly flared.
His eyes dropped to Rowan.
And something inside him clicked.
He took a step forward. "Who is he?"
I backed up.
"Quinn."
"Don't," I warned.
But he was already staring at Rowan—brows drawn, chest rising fast, scent changing.
Recognition.
Not from memory.
From instinct.
"You brought my son into this house without telling me?"
Rowan clutched my shirt.
I bared my teeth.
"You don't get to call him yours."
"I'm his father!"
"You forgot me," I said coldly. "You forgot the night we bonded. You forgot everything."
Jace stepped closer.
But this time, I didn't retreat.
"I didn't forget," I whispered. "I survived."
And that's when Rowan's eyes turned gold.
The same shade as Jace's.
The same glow that only appeared during instinct spikes.
Jace stared.
Jaw slack.
Breath caught.
"Moon above," he whispered. "That's… impossible."
"No," I said softly. "That's our son."