Chapter 0293

The Tenth Winter

"Look at my radiant princess," my father's voice boomed as I descended the grand staircase of our packhouse on the morning of my tenth birthday.

"Morning, Papa." I beamed, skipping the last few steps. "I'm perfect. Today's the day I meet my wolf!"

For a decade, I'd been the center of my father's universe. He paraded me through every gathering, introducing me as the future Alpha of Blackthorn Pack with unmistakable pride. I threw my arms around his waist, inhaling his familiar cedar scent as he pressed a kiss to my crown.

"Happy birthday, my heart." My mother appeared, cupping my face to leave a strawberry-scented kiss on my cheek. "Any tingles yet? Any whispers?"

"Nothing." My brows knitted together. "Should there be?"

"Patience, Isolde." My father's chuckle rumbled through me as he tilted my chin up. "The Moon Goddess works on her own schedule."

The entire packhouse buzzed with preparations for tonight's celebration. I secretly hoped my wolf would emerge before the festivities - how magnificent would it be to make my grand entrance in wolf form? As the Alpha's sole heir and a natural-born leader, the pack would erupt in cheers.

Every pack member I encountered showered me with birthday wishes and hopeful inquiries about my wolf. Their admiration wasn't just obligatory respect - I'd earned their loyalty through years of leadership training and genuine care for our people.

As twilight painted the sky, anxiety clawed at my throat. "Mama," I whispered while she braided my hair, "what if she never comes?"

Her fingers stilled. "Darling, your wolf isn't some tardy guest. She'll arrive precisely when she's meant to." The emerald gown she'd helped me into whispered against the floorboards as we descended to the ballroom.

My mother moved like royalty beside me, every inch the perfect Luna. She carried the weight of our pack's wellbeing with effortless grace, her compassion as legendary as my father's strength in battle.

The crowd parted as we approached the dais. I caught the fleeting disappointment in my father's eyes before he masked it with a proud smile, pressing a crystal flute of cherry soda into my hand. "To our future Alpha," his toast rang out, "may your reign be as glorious as your spirit."

Days bled into weeks with no sign of my wolf. Each morning began with the same question from my father, each evening ended with my same ashamed denial. The warmth in his gaze cooled to frost, as if I were deliberately withholding his heir.

"Mama," I sobbed into her lap one night, her fingers carding through my hair, "why won't she come? Did I offend the Moon Goddess?"

"Shhh, my brave girl." Her voice trembled slightly. "This isn't punishment. Some wolves simply take longer to wake."

The seasons changed. So did my father. His accusations now included my mother. "This is your failing," he snarled one evening, shattering a vase against the wall. "Weak blood producing weaker offspring. I should have chosen a true Alpha female."

My eleventh birthday dawned with his customary question. "No, Father," I whispered, watching his lip curl like he'd tasted something foul.

"No celebration tonight," he declared. "Nothing worthy of celebration exists."

The violence came weeks later.

I woke to crashing sounds, sprinting toward my parents' chamber expecting intruders. The scene froze my blood - my father had Mama pinned against the wall, his hand around her throat, her cheek already purpling.

"OUT!" he roared when he noticed me.

My limbs locked in terror.

He turned back to Mama, his free hand tearing at her nightgown. "Unless you want her to watch while I plant a proper heir in you, make her leave."

"Go to bed, darling," Mama mouthed, her eyes screaming apologies. I fled, shutting the door on my father's growls.

Dawn revealed only Father emerging from their room. After my usual denial, he spat something about "useless females" before storming off.

I found Mama limping toward the bathroom, her body a canvas of bruises and blood. "You shouldn't see this," she rasped.

"He's gone." I steadied her trembling frame. "Let me help."

While she soaked in the tub, I stripped the bloodied sheets, replacing them before the omegas could witness our shame. Returning to the bathroom, I sank beside the tub.

"This is my fault."

Her wet hand grasped mine. "Never," she said fiercely. "Your worth isn't tied to your wolf. You are my greatest joy, Isolde."

The next year became a nightmare of daily interrogations - "Wolf?" for me, "Pregnant?" for Mama - until my twelfth birthday changed everything.