Chapter 496
My thumb woke the screen, but instead of opening the ride-share app, I froze. The wallpaper glowed in the overcast afternoon light—the garden at Moonpetal Lake Manor, awash in the ethereal silver glow of blooming moonpetals. It was a fragile, digital relic of a time when I had believed the Moon Goddess had truly blessed me with a true mate.
Before I could even process the ache in my chest, a blur of motion ripped the device from my trembling hands.
Chelsi hadn’t left. She had circled back through the alleyway, her she-wolf speed easily overpowering my wolfless reflexes.
“Let’s see who the little stray is crying to,” she sneered, her manicured fingers tapping the screen.
I lunged for it, but she sidestepped me with supernatural grace, holding the phone out of my reach. Then her eyes landed on the glowing wallpaper, and her triumphant smirk melted into a mask of pure, venomous disgust.
“Moonpetal Lake Manor?” she mocked, her voice shrill enough to cut through the city noise. “Are you insane? He rejected you on that very ground! He chose a Warrior over you, and you still worship it like some pathetic shrine?”
“Give it back, Chelsi,” I demanded, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“Oops. My hand slipped.”
She raised her arm and hurled the phone directly onto the concrete. The sickening crunch of shattering glass echoed through the quiet street. The screen went black, taking the moonpetals, the memories, and my last fragile connection to the past with it.
I stared at the spiderweb of cracks on the ground. Something inside me—a dam built of patience and fear—finally snapped.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t flash fangs or claws I didn’t possess. I simply moved.
Chelsi was laughing, off-balance in her stilettos and drunk on her own malice. I closed the distance in a heartbeat and grabbed the lapels of her pristine designer blazer. Using her own momentum and lack of coordination against her, I twisted my weight and shoved her backward with every ounce of adrenaline left in my veins.
Her heels caught the concrete lip of the massive decorative planter outside the building. With an undignified shriek, she toppled backward, plunging waist-deep into the wet, mulchy soil and crushed petunias.
I stood over her, my breathing heavy but my voice eerily calm. “You shatter my memories, I shatter your pride.”
“Well. That is certainly one way to handle a pest.”
The deep, resonant voice carried the unmistakable, heavy cadence of an Alpha. I spun around. Stepping out of Hyde Industries’ revolving doors was Anson Fowler, the Alpha of the Silver Creek Pack. He watched the scene with the cool amusement of a man who had witnessed far bloodier spectacles.
Chelsi thrashed in the mud, her face smeared with dirt and mulch. “Alpha Fowler!” she gasped, pointing a trembling, filthy finger at me. “Arrest her! This wolfless bitch just attacked me, unprovoked!”