Chapter 4

Elara Thorne POV:

The smell of roasting venison filled our small cabin, a rich, savory scent we hadn't enjoyed in years. I ignored Freya's wails from outside, focusing on seasoning the meat with the wild herbs I had gathered. This meal was a reward-for me, and for Magnus, the son who had stood by me.

Freya's crying, however, had attracted attention. I saw a few neighbors peer out of their windows, though none dared to approach. The Stones were known for their violent tempers.

Then, a vehicle I recognized pulled up-an old truck belonging to the pack administration. Silas Croft, the pack's deacon, stepped out. He was a stern, middle-aged man on his regular patrol to collect pack taxes. He frowned when he heard Freya's sobs.

Seeing him, Freya scrambled to her feet as if he were her savior. "Uncle Silas! Help me! My mother's gone insane!" she cried, running to him.

Silas caught her, his expression concerned. "What's going on, Freya?"

She launched into a dramatic, tear-filled story, claiming I had attacked her for no reason, refused her food, and locked her poor, innocent grandparents away.

I heard the commotion and stepped outside, wiping my hands on a cloth. I met Silas's suspicious gaze with a tired, long-suffering smile. "Deacon Silas. I apologize for the scene."

I knew how to handle men like him. I had dealt with their condescending pity my entire first life.

"Elara," he said, his tone accusatory. "Is what Freya says true? Where are Gideon and Astrid?"

I let out a heavy sigh, a perfect picture of a weary mother at her wit's end. "It's just family trouble, I'm afraid. Gideon drank too much again last night, got into a terrible fight with Astrid. They're both so stubborn, they've locked themselves in their room and won't see anyone."

I twisted the truth, turning my act of rebellion into a common domestic dispute.

Then, I looked at Freya with heartbreaking disappointment. "And this one... she gets more spoiled by the day. She threw a tantrum because I wouldn't buy her the latest dress from town, and now she's telling lies that I won't feed her."

I pointed to the piece of meat still lying in the dirt near her feet. "You see? I cut that for her myself. She threw it on the ground because she said it wasn't good enough."

Silas's gaze flickered from Freya's fancy clothes to my own simple, patched tunic. His expression softened. He was already believing me.

"No! She's lying!" Freya protested desperately.

I spoke over her, addressing Silas directly. "Her grandparents have spoiled her rotten. In fact, I was just thinking it's time she went to the pack's Youth Training Camp. Learn some discipline, some responsibility."

This was a smart move. The pack elders were always complaining about the laziness of the younger generation.

Silas's face cleared completely. He nodded in approval. "You're right, Elara. A little hard work would do her good." He turned to Freya. "Your mother is thinking of your future."

He then looked back at me. "About the pack tax..."

"Of course," I said, quickly fetching a small pouch from inside.It was filled with rare healing herbs, found by the hardworking and devoted me of the past. "Here is our contribution for the season. I believe this should be more than sufficient."

Silas's eyes lit up. The herbs were far more valuable than the few coins we were expected to pay. My status in his eyes instantly shifted from a troubled Omega to a resourceful, responsible pack member.

"Thank you, Elara," he said, taking the pouch. "I'll leave you to your family matters."

He got in his truck and drove away without a second glance.

Freya stared after him, her mouth agape. Her one chance at rescue had not only failed but had backfired spectacularly.

I walked over to her, my voice low and cold. "You have two choices now. One, you pack your things and report to the training camp tomorrow. Or two, you stay here, and you learn how to hunt and earn your keep."

She looked into my emotionless eyes and, for the first time, she felt a sliver of true fear.

I left her there and went back inside. "Come, Magnus," I said to my son, who had watched the entire exchange in silent awe. "Dinner is ready."

The crisis was averted. And in solving it, I had also dealt with the problem of my daughter.