I ascended the remaining steps toward Father. His face unreadable, carved from stone. Five years of silence stretched between us like an entire kingdom.
Then his features softened. The hard Alpha lines eased, his eyes crinkled, and a smile—rare, real—broke through.
He pulled me into a firm embrace, his familiar scent of ironwood and storm magic surrounding me. The pat on my back felt like absolution.
“Took you long enough, Isolde.” His voice was still gruff, still protective, still his.
He kept an arm around me as we entered the stronghold’s grand hall. Moon-crystal chandeliers cast shimmering patterns across the marble floor. Nothing had changed.
“Do you realize, Isolde?” Father said as he guided me toward his study, “our kind doesn’t treat legacy lightly. It’s blood. It’s magic. It’s destiny.”
His hand tightened on my shoulder. “No wolf escapes it. Never truly. My father taught me this, and so did my grandfather to him.”
“I know. I finally do.” The words came easier as we reached the study. Mother settled beside me on the plush fur-lined couch, her hand finding mine.
“Tell us everything,” Father said, lowering himself into his ironwood chair. “In past five years…”