Chapter 176

Chapter 176
Third person POV
The sound of rain had always made it easier to think.
It was coming down steadily outside, drumming against the wide windows of the Silver Fang packhouse. It felt like it had been raining steadily all fall. The gray light softened the room, making everything feel quieter.
Lance stood in the doorway, soaked through and restless, his usual cocky charm dimmed beneath a flicker of uncertainty.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. No preamble. No attempt at his usual grin. He just walked in like he always did.
Nolan set aside the file he’d been pretending to read. “You came through the storm for that?”
Lance’s lips twitched. “Didn’t feel like waiting for an invitation.”
“Fair enough,” Nolan said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s on your mind?”
Lance hesitated, which in itself was strange. His brother was rarely uncertain about anything—except, apparently, this. “It’s about them,” he said finally. “Our parents.”
Nolan stilled. “What about them?”
“I want the truth,” Lance said. His voice was low but steady. “All of it.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was filled with the sound of rain and the faint hum of the old ceiling fan overhead.
Nolan rose from his chair and walked to the window. The forest outside blurred into gray and green, his reflection faint in the glass. “The truth,” he repeated quietly. “You sure you want that, Lance?”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Lance said. “I think I can handle it.”
Nolan’s mouth curved, humorless. “No, you’re certainly not a kid.”
He turned, crossing the room to pour them both a drink. He handed one to Lance, who took it without a word. For a moment, they stood like that-two men connected by blood, divided by memory.
“They were ambitious,” Nolan said finally. “That’s the word everyone liked to use. Ambitious. But what they really were was afraid.”
Lance frowned. “Afraid?”
“Of weakness,” Nolan said. “Of losing control. They believed the pack needed to be strong above all else. And that meant their sons had to be stronger.”
He took a slow sip, the burn of whiskey grounding him. “I was the firstborn. Their experiment. Every decision they made came down to one question: how do we make him the perfect alpha?”
Lance’s knuckles tightened around his glass. “I remember the training,” he said. “At least, some of it.”
“You remember the parts they wanted you to see,” Nolan said. “The rest-they kept behind closed doors, so to speak.”
He moved to the desk and set his glass down. “When I was twelve, they decided pain built endurance. They called it ‘conditioning.’ I called it what it was-punishment. Every time I made a mistake, they made sure I remembered
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Chapter 176
1. They thought they were making me strong.”
Lance’s voice was barely a whisper. “You never said anything.”
+25 Bonus
“What would I have said?” Nolan asked quietly. “That our parents were breaking me in the name of pride? You were a child, Lance. They kept you out of it for a reason. You were their proof that they weren’t monsters.”
Lance looked away, guilt flickering across his features.
Nolan continued, his tone steady but distant. “When they died, I knew that it was my fault. I was so selfish, running away like a coward because the weight of their expectations was too much to bear. I convinced myself that Felicity and I could run away together and start our own life. That if I just didn’t have to be alpha, the pressure would disappear. All I managed to do was get them killed.”
Lance didn’t speak. His throat worked, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“I told you once that Felicity and I were bound by history,” Nolan said after a moment. “That wasn’t the full truth. She was everything to me when we were young. She was the only one who was,” he swallowed thickly and shifted his weight, his embarrassment over his confession obvious. “She was the only person who was ever gentle with me. Then they died, and dad said what he said. I convinced myself that it had to be her, that maybe I could make their deaths mean something if I made things work with her. Maybe I could fix what I broke.”
Lance looked up slowly. “So you stayed with her out of guilt.”
“Yes.” Nolan’s voice was quiet. “For years, I convinced myself I loved her. And
maybe, in some small way, I did. But not enough. Not the right way.”
“Then why did you banish her?” Lance asked. “If you felt that much obligation to be with her.”
Nolan’s jaw tightened. “Because guilt has limits.”
Lance frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
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