Chapter 1

It's been ten years since I followed my fated mate, Grace Murphy, into the human world. Her childhood friend, Fred Williams, is dying. His one last wish? To experience marriage. Grace said yes.

She told me she wanted to give her wedding to Fred. I didn't cry. I didn't fight. I just smiled, slid the ring off my finger, and handed it back to her.

She brought Fred home and said she wanted to give him a home. I said, “Okay,” softly, and stepped aside—clean, neat, no fuss.

She wanted to take Fred to Hawaii—the honeymoon destination I'd been dreaming about for years. I still helped her book everything, calm and composed.

The day she boarded that plane, I finally answered the summons from my pack.

Three days from now, I'll be gone.

Chapter 1

An hour to go before the wedding.

I sat at the vanity, staring at my phone—endless photos of Grace and me, crammed together in a grid of memories. My chest gave a sharp, ugly twist.

None of them were overly intimate. Just her arm looped through mine, or her head tipped against my shoulder, laughing. Street corners we'd wandered, sunrises we'd watched, subway cars we'd squeezed into. Most of them were snapshots, nothing posed.

But in every single one, her eyes sparkled like they'd caught starlight.

I flicked back to her message from half an hour ago:

Thorne, I'm sorry—I can't let Fred die with regret. It's just a ceremony, just to give him that one last wish before he goes. After it's over, you and I will get our papers sorted. You understand, don't you?

A year ago—hell, a month ago—if Grace had asked me to hand over my own wedding because Fred's cancer diagnosis came in on the big day, I would've been gutted. Torn apart.

But now I'm leaving. Going back to my pack.

To a world they'd call "primitive"—where wolves haven't blended into human society, where nothing runs on electricity or Wi-Fi. Before I go, I want to learn as much as I can. Take it all back with me. There's too much to absorb, and no time left to bleed over what's already dead.

The makeup artist pushed the door open just as I was adjusting my tie in the mirror.

"Looking good today, sir," she chirped. "You don't seem like a groom at all—more like you're heading off on vacation."

I gave her a polite nod. Tried to smile. Didn't quite make it.

The man in the mirror wore a crisp white tux. His features were carefully composed—steady, calm. Only the faintest red at the corners of his eyes gave away something he'd rather keep buried.

Ten years.

Ten years since I'd followed Grace into the human world, wearing roughspun rags, jumpy as a stray dog, terrified of everything. Now I could swipe through a smartphone with one thumb, hold my human form for days on end, dress like I belonged. I'd gotten used to it all.

Except for Grace. She was the deepest mark this world had left on me. And right now, the hardest thing to let go of.

"Darling? You ready?"

Her voice came through the door—soft, but with a tremor underneath.

I pulled in a long breath and pushed it open.

She stood there in white lace, beautiful as a painting. But those eyes that once held stars—they wouldn't meet mine.

Next to her, a pale man in an identical white tux. Fred. Her childhood friend, the one who'd been there long before I ever showed up.

"Thorne… thank you," Fred said, voice thin and weak. "I know this isn't fair to you, but—"

"Don't." I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Grace. "I know the wedding rundown. You two follow the schedule. If you need anything from me, just ask."

A pause. Then, flat and quiet: "If he makes you feel more secure after I'm gone, I don't mind."

Grace's composure cracked. Her voice went sharp with panic. "Gone? Thorne—where are you going?"

Before I could answer, Fred cut in. His tone dripped with mock pity, but his eyes—those were pure sneer.

"I knew it. I knew I made Thorne upset. I'm sorry, Grace—you should go comfort him. After all, in this day and age, he's got no one but you."

He coughed delicately into his fist.

Grace yanked him into her arms, her eyes swimming with tenderness.

But his words had done their job. They reminded her: Thorne didn't belong here. Without her, where could he even go? He was just throwing a tantrum because he was jealous—pathetic, really.

Her expression curdled with disgust.

"Thorne! I knew you'd pull this again! I told you—it's just a gesture for Fred, one wish before he dies. Do you have to make such a scene about it?!"

She let out a sharp laugh. "Fine. If you're so set on leaving, leave. Let's see how far you actually get."

I stood there, frozen. A cold draft snaked through the window, biting into my skin.

Watching the two of them walk away, I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Just a gesture for Fred, she said. But that fresh red mark on her neck, Grace—was that also just a gesture?

Whatever.

Two more days. That's all. Then I'm out.

Same destination. Same plan.

Chapter 2

I woke the next morning to the sound of moving boxes in the living room.

My internal clock had me up early anyway, but today the dull ache in my chest seemed to have faded another notch. I walked out to find Grace directing a crew of movers, hauling cardboard boxes stamped with Fred's Personal Items straight into the master bedroom.

Morning light spilled across her busy profile. Everything looked so natural—like this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

"You're up?"

She didn't even glance at me. Her tone was flat, like she was commenting on the weather.

"Fred's health is fragile. The doctor says keeping his spirits up might actually give him a fighting chance against the cancer, so I'm having him move in. Give him a home first."

"What about me?" I asked. My voice came out steadier than I expected.

She finally stopped and turned, a tiny crease forming between her brows—like my question was an inconvenience.

"Guest room. You're always in the study anyway. Besides, Fred needs care—it's easier if he's close."

I didn't argue. Just nodded and headed to the study.

The shelves were stacked with books I'd collected over the years—hunting techniques, survival skills, tool-making, everything about how wolves lived in the old world. I'd planned to compile them into something useful after Grace and I settled down. Maybe one day they'd actually matter.

Now they were the only comfort I had left. The only place that still felt like mine.

By afternoon, Fred arrived.

Still pale, still fragile, draped across the sofa like a wilting flower—and Grace hovered over him like a devoted wife, fussing and feeding and tending.

"Thorne, I'm really putting you out, aren't I? Taking over yours and Grace's bridal suite," Fred said with a weak little smile—but his eyes gleamed with quiet victory.

I didn't answer. Just kept sorting through my things.

Not that there was much to pack. Most of what I owned belonged to this world. Belonged to her. Nothing I could take with me.

Still, I found myself pulling out the few items that were mine—the ones from before. I didn't want him touching them. Didn't want them dirtied by this farce.

Grace caught me rifling through drawers and finally frowned.

"Thorne, what is this now? Fred's already moved in—can you please act like an adult for once?"

I stopped mid-motion and looked at her.

For the first time, I looked at her like a stranger.

No love. No hurt. No resentment.

Just... nothing.

"I'm not acting out," I said quietly. "Just sorting things."

"Sorting things for what?" Her voice sharpened with suspicion. "Don't tell me you're still thinking of leaving. Thorne, be real—you leave me, you've got nobody in this city. Absolutely nowhere to go."

Fred let out a mocking laugh from the couch. "Oh, don't tell me—Thorne here's going to say he can just go back to his own time or something? That fairy tale might work on Grace, but come on. If you've got a problem with me, say it to my face. I'll leave. Just drop the act."

Grace's expression went cold. "Thorne! How long are you going to keep spinning these ridiculous stories? Fred is sick—can't you just let him have some peace?"

I looked at her and almost laughed.

Ten years together, and she'd never once believed me. Now she was using my honesty as ammunition—painting it as attention-seeking, as excuses, as lies.

Good. Maybe that made this easier.

That night, I slept in the guest room.

Through the wall, muffled voices drifted from the master bedroom—soft, intimate, gentle. Every syllable was a quiet verdict on what we'd had.

And none of it mattered anymore.

Chapter 3

Day three. Dawn had barely cracked when I woke.

The guest room bed was hard and cold—nothing like the plush mattress Grace and I had picked out together in the master. But somehow I'd slept better than I had in months. Like a weight I'd carried for ten years was finally about to lift.

I'd just finished washing up when I heard the drag of suitcases across the living room floor.

I pushed the door open and found Grace dressed in casual travel gear, two oversized suitcases parked beside her. She was leaning down, fixing Fred's collar, her voice dripping with intimacy.

"Flights are booked. I picked that oceanfront hotel in Hawaii specially—great views, perfect for relaxing. Maybe the change of scenery will even help you heal faster."

Fred grinned and slid an arm around her waist—but his eyes found mine over her shoulder. Barely concealed triumph.

I stood at the end of the hallway, watching the whole pathetic scene. It was almost absurd.

Grace heard me and glanced up, her tone as natural as if she were addressing a hired hand.

"Thorne, perfect timing—come check if I forgot anything. Fred and I are heading to Hawaii for a while."

Hawaii.

Those two syllables hit my ears, and my fingertips twitched, barely noticeable.

I'd told her about Hawaii more times than I could count. How in the old wolf territories, we stayed hidden, never crossed the ocean alone. But I'd always dreamed of seeing that mysterious, elegant island chain. Told her that once we were settled, we'd walk Waikiki Beach together—warm sand under our feet, green Diamond Head in the distance, drinking coconuts in the shade.

I'd even looked up hotels. Saved itineraries. Marked the dates on the calendar like it was our honeymoon.

And now she was taking him to live out the dream I'd built for us.

I walked over, lowered my gaze to the suitcases, and packed everything carefully. Piece by piece.

Grace watched me cooperate and let a flicker of guilt cross her face. "Thorne, once Fred's feeling better, I'll make it up to you. I'll take you to Hawaii, I promise."

Fred chimed in from the side, his tone oozing false warmth—but the malice underneath was unmistakable. "Thorne's so understanding. Anyone else would've thrown a fit by now. No wonder Grace likes you—so obedient. So easy."

That word like stung worse than any insult.

But I didn't flare up. I just asked, quiet and steady:

"Grace. If I really left today—walked away from you—what would you do?"

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then her brow furrowed with impatience.

"Seriously? You're bringing this up now? Fred's sick—Hawaii has good weather, it's good for him. Can you stop being so petty for five minutes?"

"Good for him?" I repeated softly, my gaze drifting to Fred's neck, his wrists—no signs of illness. Not a single mark. "Is his condition really so dire that you have to drop everything and take him on a honeymoon?"

Fred's face went rigid. He clutched his chest and coughed theatrically.

Grace snapped. She stepped in front of him, face cold, voice sharp. "Thorne! What the hell is that supposed to mean? Fred is dying, and you're still making snide comments?"

"Dying?" I let out a laugh—quiet, but bone-cold. The question I'd held back for days finally broke free: "Grace, do you actually believe he's dying?"

"Look at him. He eats. He drinks. He's got color in his cheeks. He doesn't even need help walking. Now look at me."

I stepped forward, locking eyes with her.

"Ten years. I learned your language. I learned the rules of this world. I worked my ass off. I made you my everything—my only family, my only anchor in a world that wasn't mine."

"And you?"

"You trashed our wedding for a friend whose illness doesn't even hold up to scrutiny. You moved him into our home. And now you're taking the trip I dreamed about—using it to win him over."

"His regrets matter. His illness matters. So who matters to you, Grace? Who's left to care about me?"

"The one who spent ten years in a world that didn't belong to him—holding on to you."

Chapter 4

Grace stumbled back half a step, her eyes darting. But she still held her ground, voice sharp with denial.

"Thorne, stop with this nonsense! 'A world that didn't belong to you'—you're just some small-town kid who makes up wild stories for attention!"

"Fred's diagnosis is real. The doctors said it's critical. Why can't you just accept that?"

"And don't forget—I took you in. I fed you. I gave you a life."

Every word hit like a sledgehammer against whatever warmth I had left.

Ten years of devotion. Ten years of sacrifice. In her mouth, it was nothing but charity handed down from on high.

Fred tugged at Grace's sleeve, his voice dripping with manufactured tenderness. "Don't be mad, sweetheart. Thorne's just upset he's losing you. We'll talk it out when we get back from Hawaii."

His words were framed as comfort—but they cut deeper than any insult.

I stopped talking. I tucked the last piece of luggage in place, zipped the suitcase shut, and stepped back.

"There. All packed. You won't miss your flight."

Grace seemed surprised I'd backed down so quickly. She huffed, gave me a look that said finally, you're being reasonable, and guided Fred toward the door.

She didn't look back. Not once. Just tossed over her shoulder:

"I'm changing the locks. We'll deal with you when we get back."

The door slammed shut.

It closed on ten years of dreams. Ten years of blind hope. Ten years of chasing someone who never really saw me.

My pack's voice echoed in my head again:

It's time. Let's go, Thorne.

I walked to the window and looked down.

Grace helped Fred into the car with practiced care—then paused.

She turned. Looked up. Her eyes met mine through the glass.

For one fleeting second, I thought I saw something there. Something that might have been love.

Then she shouted up at me:

"Thorne! Pay the utilities before they cut them off! And don't forget to water the flowers on the balcony—Fred loves that gardenia pot best! If anything happens to it, you'll hear from me!"

I searched her face desperately for one sliver of affection.

But the car was already pulling away.

The woman I'd loved for ten years disappeared from sight.

And her last words to me weren't take care of yourself.

They were water the flowers.

Ridiculous. What the hell was I even hoping for?

I lifted my head and answered my pack in the old tongue—quiet, clear, final.

Ten years ago, I'd met Grace at the edge of our territory. I'd believed she was my Luna—the one I'd protect and cherish forever. So I'd left everything behind to follow her into her world.

Ten years later, she'd shoved me out with her own hands—in the cruelest way possible—and told me the dream was over.

Fine.

I took one last look at the place I'd called home for a decade. One last look at the road where her car had vanished.

No regret.

No longing.

Just lightness. And clarity.

"I'm ready to go back with you. Tell me where you are—I'll leave right now."

Thorne. Wake up.