Loving Young

Chapter V

As I crossed into the new pack's territory, the atmosphere thickened, wrapping around me like an unseen force. The air was heavier here, not just in the way it clung to my skin, but in the way it seemed to pulse with unspoken tension. Towering trees lined either side of the path, their gnarled branches twisting upward as if they were clawing at the sky. The fading sunlight barely penetrated the canopy, casting long, spindly shadows that danced across the forest floor in eerie patterns.

The narrow road I was driving on eventually opened up to a wide clearing. The heart of the pack's territory lay just ahead, but what stood before me was not the pristine order I had seen on my last visit. Now, the heart of the pack's territory bore the marks of struggle and hardship. Half-built homes stood amidst the rubble, makeshift scaffolding clinging to wooden frames as wolves worked in silence. The rhythmic thud of hammers against timber broke the stillness, but there was no idle chatter, no laughter—just the grim determination of a pack trying to rebuild.

My throat tightened at the sight, a slow ache spreading through my chest as I took in the devastation. This wasn't just about rebuilding structures; it was about survival. Each strained movement from the wolves carried the weight of their collective grief, as if the loss they had endured clung to them like an invisible fog. I could feel it pressing down on me, heavy and suffocating.

I parked the car near the packhouse and let the engine fall silent. For a moment, I sat there, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel, trying to steady myself. There was no room for hesitation today, and yet... I smoothed down my cargo pants, glancing in the rearview mirror. The reflection that stared back at me was calm, composed—low-waist pants, a dark blue tank top, nothing fancy. But beneath that façade, I felt the simmering tension, the nerves I was working hard to ignore.

I wasn't here for him. There were more important things at hand. But still... I had made an extra effort with the faint shimmer of mascara, the soft tint of lipstick that I told myself wasn't a big deal.

 Nyx stirred within me, restless. She paced, the anticipation bubbling beneath her fur as sharply as it did in my own gut. I pushed her down gently, reminding us both that this visit was about the pack's safety—not about him.

Stepping out of the car, I straightened my posture, tugging at my clothes one last time. The packhouse loomed ahead, imposing and resolute despite the surrounding chaos. Even in its worn state, it stood tall—a guardian of the broken land, a symbol of what they were still fighting to protect.

Alpha Cyrus was waiting at the entrance, flanked by a few pack members. He hadn't changed much—broad-shouldered, his presence commanding despite the subtle weariness in his golden eyes. As I approached, our gazes locked, and there was something in the way he looked at me, something measured.

"Beta Alexandra, welcome." His voice was deep, with a weight that matched the air around us.

I shook his hand firmly, feeling the strength in his grip. "Alpha Cyrus, it's good to see you again."

He nodded his head, the formality hanging between us for a moment before he motioned for me to walk with him. "I imagine the drive was long. Let's get you settled."

There was a curt edge to his tone, an indication that pleasantries weren't going to last long. I didn't let it faze me. "I'd prefer to see the pack first," I replied, meeting his gaze directly. "I need to understand what we're up against before the meeting."

A flicker of surprise crossed his features before he nodded. "Very well. Follow me."

We began walking through the territory, and the scale of the damage unfolded before me in grim detail. The skeletal frames of homes stood stark against the forest backdrop, reminders of what had been lost. Wolves moved with purpose, but beneath their determination was a quiet desperation—a subtle edge in the way they carried themselves.