For Our Anniversary, I Returned His Mark

I didn’t expect him to answer right away.

In fact, I thought it would ring a few times—maybe go to voicemail. That would’ve given me time to breathe, to regret calling, maybe even hang up.

But the line connected to the first tone.

“Avelyn,” Riven Ashton’s voice came through, low and sharp, like a blade unsheathed. “You’re not screwing with me, are you?”

I stayed silent.

Sometimes silence was safer than the truth. Safer than the ache clawing at the back of my throat.

“I’ve been chasing you for as long as you’ve been wasting your soul on Darius Nightbane,” he snarled. “You—cold as a diamond for three years—and now, suddenly, you’re calling me like nothing happened? What the hell changed?”

Riven Ashton. My once-lover. My almost-mate.

Riven wasn’t just an Alpha—he was a force of nature. The rightful heir to the Ashton Pack, yet he walked alone. An Alpha of the most powerful, feared pack, carved from ancient bloodlines and forged in the wild, untamed lands. He answered to no council, swore loyalty to no throne. Unshackled by politics. Feared even by those who ruled. One of North Carolina’s most dangerous few—he ruled a rogue pack not by banishment, but by deliberate, ruthless choice.

He had hunted me for years—not with claws, but with a gaze that pierced deeper than fangs ever could. Always watching. Always waiting. A storm cloaked in the body of a man, his presence thrumming with barely restrained violence and desire. And once—just once—I almost gave in. Almost let myself be claimed.

But then Alpha Darius gave me hope.

Or rather, what I thought was hope. A cruel mirage I clung to with bleeding fingers.

So I turned from Riven. I left him behind.

Now, with his voice scraping down my spine and my heart too hollow to shield, I closed my eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forget I called.”

There was a long pause. Then a crack—the violent sound of something heavy hurled against stone or glass.

“You think I’m someone you can summon when you’re lonely and toss aside when you’re not?” His voice deepened, rough, guttural. His wolf was near the surface now—snarling just beneath his skin. “You chose me this time, Avelyn. Don’t even think about running again.”

My pulse stuttered.

“I’m giving you one month,” he snapped. “Handle that bastard. After that, I’m coming. And I’m not asking next time. I’m taking what’s mine.”

Then silence, too quiet enough to make my breath hitch.

The line went dead with a cold, decisive click.

I stared at the screen, the ache in my chest dragging me into memory. And then a bitter smile curled my lips.

He hadn’t changed. Still all storm and steel.

That night, Darius didn’t come home.

But I didn’t wait for him.

I moved through the pack house like a shadow, ghosting from room to room—my body here, my soul already gone. I packed in silence, folding his forgotten gifts one by one. Trinkets from past battles. Apologies dressed in expensive silk.

They are all useless now. Meaningless.

My wolf didn’t stir. She was tired. She didn’t cry anymore.

When the first light of dawn spilled across the hardwood floors, the front door creaked open.

He stepped in.

Same shirt. The same scent of stale lust and sweat. No shame. No guilt.

“What are you throwing out?” he asked casually, his eyes landing on the boxes stacked by the entryway.

I flinched, just barely.

Then I forced myself tall as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and said evenly, “Just some garbage.”

He approached and peered into the nearest box. His eyes darkened.

It was filled with everything he had given me.

“You call these… garbage?”

“Old clothes. Old gifts.” I kept my tone light, almost sweet. “They take up space. Thought I’d donate them under your name. Might earn you some good press—Alpha donates to winter orphans in the mountains.” I flashed him a tired, hollow smile.

His lips curved faintly. That familiar smirk. Empty as always. “You always did know how to make me look good.”

But I knew better.

He didn’t believe a word of it.

He just didn’t care enough to question me.

Then came the crash. A loud, echoing shatter behind me.

I turned, dread crawling up my spine.

And there she was.

Lexie. My sister. The golden wolf. The one everyone loved without effort.

She stood near the shelf, her eyes wide, a broken sculpture at her feet. Her expression was soft, innocent—the kind that could fool gods if she smiled long enough.

“Oops… sorry, Alpha Darius. Sorry, Avelyn. I- I didn’t mean to.”

As always, Alpha Darius didn’t even glance at the shattered marble, instead, he brushed right past me.

Straight to her.

His scent shifted—no longer sharp with irritation, but filled with concern. Urgency.

He cupped her face and looked her over. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her voice sugar-sweet. “No.”

“Good,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nothing is more important than you.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Nothing is more important than you…

Not me. Not the mate bound to him by fate and blood. Not the woman marked beneath a full moon in secret and left unclaimed in the daylight.

But Lexie wasn’t done.

She turned her eyes on me, wide with mock guilt. “You don’t mind, right, Avelyn?”

My gaze dropped.

The sculpture had been one of a kind.

A custom piece from a craftsman in the eastern mountains, commissioned after our first run outside the Nightbane borders. A rare moment of peace carved into stone.

Our faces had been etched together into the base. A memory. A symbol.

Now, just shards.

Years ago, I would’ve lashed out. Let my wolf rise. Demanded respect.

Now?

“It’s fine,” I murmured.

Just two words. But they tasted like ash in my mouth.

A flicker passed through Lexie’s eyes—victory, perhaps—but it vanished quickly beneath another smile. “Aww. You’re really so kind.”

Then, without missing a beat, she twisted the knife.

“With a sister like that,” she said to my husband, “I’m sure she won’t mind my next request either.”

Alpha Darius didn’t even glance at me. He didn’t have to.

“She just got back to North Carolina,” he said. “Her parents, the Moonveils are out of state. She doesn’t feel safe staying alone.”

I stood still. A stone. A statue.

“Let her stay here,” he said.

My stomach turned. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, he added without pause, “And your room faces the sun. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Let her have it.”

It wasn’t a request, nor a suggestion—it was a command. And in that moment, I finally understood: Darius had never truly been my Alpha. Never truly my husband. Never truly loved me, because he had always belonged to her.

But not for much longer.

Because soon, he’d learn what it meant to lose a wolf who had already died once.

To watch the one he buried rise again—with fangs sharper, spirit stronger, and fire in her bones.

One month...

That’s all he had left.