Chapter 6 Meeting Him Again

Stella pov

The car slowed to a stop before a house that looked more like a world of its own. High stone walls rose against the horizon, their tops crowned with climbing roses and creeping ivy. The gate closed behind us with a sound that made my stomach tighten. The silence here wasn't ordinary. It was the kind that listened back.

I stepped out slowly, the air cool and rich with the scent of pine and something faintly metallic - power, maybe, if power had a smell. The driver said nothing as he carried my bags toward the grand staircase. Every step I took echoed in the courtyard like a small trespass.

The front doors opened before I could reach them. A woman stood framed in the golden light spilling from inside. She was older, with silver hair pulled neatly back, wearing a soft smile that didn't match the cold elegance of the house. Her eyes, however, were kind-bright, assessing, alive.

"You must be Miss Beilingham," she said. Her voice carried the soft authority of someone used to being obeyed. "Welcome, my dear. You've had a long journey."

"Yes, ma'am," I murmured, my voice small in the vast hall.

"Oh, don't call me ma'am." She waved her hand as if brushing away the title. "Call me Grandmother Calum, or just Grandmother if you prefer. I don't stand much on formalities. You must be tired. Come, child."

I followed her inside, my shoes tapping against marble floors so polished I could see my reflection in them. The hall stretched endlessly, with portraits lining the walls - men with sharp eyes and wolfish features, women cloaked in mystery and pride. The air felt old, heavy with stories.

Grandmother Calum moved gracefully, though age had clearly slowed her. She guided me past tall windows draped in velvet and chandeliers that shimmered like captured stars.

"You'll be staying in the east wing," she said warmly. "It's quieter there, and you'll have the best view of the gardens. You'll be caring for me, but truthfully, my dear, I suspect you'll end up brightening this whole house. It's been far too empty lately."

Her words loosened something tight in my chest. For the first time in weeks, I felt seen,not pitied, not judged, just seen.

"Thank you," I said softly. "This place is beautiful."

She smiled. "It's old. Older than most of the families in this region. But beauty can be a curse if left without laughter. I have a feeling you'll bring that back."

A maid appeared to carry my bags upstairs, and I followed. The guest room she led me to looked like something out of a dream - wide bed, white curtains, sunlight spilling across antique furniture. I sat at the edge of the bed and touched the soft quilt, still unsure if any of this was real.

"Rest, dear," Grandmother Calum said. "We'll talk more over dinner. You've arrived just in time. My grandson should be home tonight."

Her voice softened on the word grandson, as if it held equal parts pride and pain. I smiled faintly and nodded, unaware that the name she didn't speak was the one that haunted my dreams.

After she left, I wandered to the window. The estate stretched out below, acres of wild garden, the forest pressing close, the faint glow of lanterns flickering at the edge of the trees. Something about it made my heart beat faster. It felt familiar, like stepping into a memory I didn't know I had.

As twilight deepened, exhaustion pulled at me. I changed into something comfortable and lay down, meaning only to rest for a few minutes. The bed seemed to cradle me in warmth. My eyes drifted shut before I realized it.

****ALEXANDER'S POV

The scent of pine and smoke clung to me as I stepped inside, the quiet of the hall wrapping around me like a living thing. The house always felt like this-old, vast, watching. My boots barely made a sound, but my presence filled the space all the same.

My jaw was tight, my thoughts still tangled with the day's troubles, territorial disputes, pack politics, and the endless prattle of those who thought they understood leadership.

None of it compared to the irritation I'd felt when my grandmother's summons arrived, written in her sharp, slanted hand, demanding I come home because she had something important to discuss.

"Grandmother?" My voice echoed softly through the hall.

She appeared at the foot of the stairs, leaning on her cane, her gaze sharp as ever. "Alexander, my boy. You're late."

"I had matters to settle," I said evenly.

"Matters," she repeated, with that knowing look that made me feel twelve again. "The kind that never end. Sit, dear. We need to talk."

I sighed but followed her into the sitting room. The firelight flickered against the walls, throwing gold across my reflection in the window. For a fleeting moment, I saw the boy I used to be-before the curse settled on our bloodline, before fate started writing my life for me.

"You've been restless," Grandmother said, pouring tea as if it were a ritual. "I can see it in your eyes. Tell me the truth, Alexander. Have you found her?"

I froze. "Found who?"

"Your mate."

I kept my face still, but the tension in my shoulders betrayed me. "I don't have a mate, Grandmother."

Her gaze sharpened, the way it always did when she smelled a lie. "Every alpha meets his fated one eventually. The Moon does not make mistakes."

I met her eyes, my voice low. "Maybe she did this time."

"Careful with your words," she warned, her tone firm. "You sound like your father when you doubt destiny."

"I'm nothing like him," I said flatly.

She sighed, setting her cup aside, then rested a hand on my shoulder. "You deny it because you're afraid. Afraid of what she might awaken in you."

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Come," she said at last, turning toward the staircase. "You'll have dinner with us. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Reluctantly, I followed her up the stairs. My steps were heavy, my thoughts darker with each one. I wasn't in the mood to entertain anyone-especially not someone she'd chosen. My heart still ached with the memory of that night, the sight of a girl with trembling hands and eyes that had no place in my world.

We reached the east wing. The door to the guest room was slightly ajar, soft light spilling from within.

"Stella," Grandmother called gently, pushing the door open. "Dear, I thought you might like to meet my grandson."

The words had barely left her lips before I froze.

She was there.

Stella lay on the bed, turned slightly toward the light, her hair a soft spill across the pillow. For one suspended breath, neither of us moved. Her eyes fluttered open-slow, hazy with sleep-before widening in disbelief.

Our gazes locked. The air thickened, pulsing with something I couldn't name but could feel deep in my bones.

Grandmother's voice cut through the silence, curious and sharp. "Do you two know each other?"

It took a heartbeat too long for me to answer.

"No," I said quickly, my voice rougher than I intended. "We've never met."

Stella forced a smile, faint and trembling. "No, ma'am. Never."

Grandmother smiled faintly, though I caught the narrowing of her eyes. "Interesting," she murmured. "Very interesting."