Chapter 3

Haley's POV:

I stood at the threshold of my former marital bedroom-the Alpha's den.

In wolf culture, the den is sacred. It's where the Alpha and Luna solidify their bond and find peaceful rest.

Trespassing into another wolf's den without permission is a direct provocation. Leaving your scent there is a fight to the death.

The scent was overwhelming. It was everywhere. On the curtains, on the rugs.

On the bed, it was the strongest.

I walked over to the massive, king-sized four-poster bed.

I saw a long strand of blonde hair resting on the pillow.

My wolf, the white wolf I had hidden and suppressed for five years just to make Jackson feel powerful, clawed at the inside of my ribs. She wanted blood.

Burn it, she hissed in my mind. Burn it all.

I didn't need to be told twice.

I grabbed the corner of the mattress.

Werewolves are strong. Even a healer is stronger than ten normal humans.

Right now, fueled by the rage of a betrayed mate, my strength was on an entirely different level.

I let out a primal roar and ripped the heavy mattress clean off the bed frame.

I didn't stop there. I grabbed the pillows, the duvet, and the sheets.

I marched straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the front lawn and kicked the glass open. The glass shattered, but I couldn't care less.

I hurled the mattress out the window. It crashed onto the manicured lawn three stories below with a satisfying thud.

Then went the pillows, then the sheets.

I turned back into the room. The closet door was ajar.

I stepped inside. Jackson's clothes were on the left, mine on the right.

But shoved right in the middle, carelessly hung on my hangers, were cheap, gaudy clothes that didn't belong to me.

Leopard print skirts. Faux fur coats.

Amber had moved in. She wasn't just visiting; she had already started replacing me before I even left.

I grabbed massive handfuls of the clothes, not bothering with the hangers, just ripping them down.

I walked back to the window and tossed them out. They fluttered down like cheap confetti.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

I spun around.

Standing in the doorway was Jackson's younger sister, Jordan. She had been grounded for failing her exams and missed the summit.

She stood there, a bag of potato chips in hand, her mouth hanging open in horror.

"Spring cleaning," I said coldly.

"That's... that's Jackson's room! You can't just throw things out the window! Mom is going to kill you!"

"Your mom is currently stuck in some airport in Kansas, eating crackers from a vending machine," I said, walking over to the nightstand.

I saw a framed photo. It was me and Jackson on our wedding day. He looked smug; I looked hopeful.

I picked it up.

"You're crazy," Jordan sneered. "I always knew you were mentally unstable. Amber will be way better than you. She's fun. And she let me borrow her car."

"The car that I paid for?" I asked.

I dropped the photo. It didn't break on the carpet, so I drove the heel of my shoe into it, crushing it. The sound of shattering glass was incredibly satisfying.

"Get out, Jordan," I said. My voice was low, raspy, laced with a growl that made the girl take a step back.

"You can't order me around! My brother is the boss!"

"Your brother is a broke loser holding a deed he can't afford," I snapped. "And this Packhouse? My name is on the deed, not his. Mine."

Jordan paled. "That's not true. This is the Packhouse."

"This house was foreclosed by the bank when I met him," I said, stepping closer to her. "I bought it, I renovated it, and right now, I'm allowing you to live in it. That's it."

I picked up a bottle of perfume from the vanity-Amber's cheap vanilla body mist.

I walked to the window and tossed it. It smashed onto the driveway below.

Then, I did the forbidden.

I summoned my magic. But not the gentle, soothing blue light of a healer.

I dug deep, tapping into the bloodline I had always kept hidden.

The blood of the White Wolf.

A cluster of silver flames ignited around my hands. It was the fire of purification. An ancient ability lost to most modern wolves.

Jordan screamed, "What are you?!"

I touched the curtains. The silver flames engulfed them instantly, burning away the fabric and the intruder's scent, leaving nothing but ash. It didn't burn the wood; it only incinerated the filth.

"I am the one who's done being used," I said.

I looked around the empty room, now covered in ash.

"Tell your brother," I said to the terrified girl, "if he wants his den back, he can sleep on the lawn with his mistress's trash."

I walked past her, deliberately ramming my shoulder into hers, sending her stumbling into the hallway.

I had a flight to catch.