If regret had a smell, it’d be wet pine, nostalgia, and my brother’s cologne choking the backseat of my car.

‎Wolfwater Ridge looked exactly like the kind of small town that whispered secrets into the trees. The same rickety “Welcome Home!” sign leaned at the town border, still missing an “e,” so it read, W lcome Home. Fitting. Even the forest seemed to sigh as I rolled past, like it knew I didn’t belong here anymore.

‎I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and muttered, “Population: Regret.”

‎Out loud. To myself. Because apparently I talk to myself now. Great start.

‎The GPS pinged like it was trying to mock me. Destination reached.

‎Yeah, thanks, traitor.

‎The Quinn family cabin sat at the edge of the woods same faded blue shutters, same creaky porch that used to double as my escape route during teenage rebellion phases. Jamie, my older brother, was standing there waiting for me, grinning like the sun itself had kissed his dumb face. His Beta aura buzzed faintly in the air, warm, steady, dependable. Typical Jamie.

‎“River! You actually came!” he shouted, bounding down the steps like an overexcited golden retriever in human form.

‎I opened my car door with the grace of someone walking into a crime scene. “Don’t sound so surprised. You invited me to your mating ceremony, remember? Kind of hard to ignore the pack’s royal wedding.”

‎Jamie hugged me before I could dodge. “Still dramatic, huh?”

‎“Still marrying a guy who thinks howling at the moon is romantic?” I shot back, but hugged him anyway. Because as much as I hated this town, I didn’t hate him.

‎He laughed, smelling faintly of cedar and happiness. I smelled like coffee and resentment.

‎Inside the cabin, the air buzzed with chatter. Old pack members greeted me with thinly veiled curiosity, their smiles polite but their noses twitching. Omegas weren’t exactly rare in Wolfwater Ridge but unmated ones who ran away to the city? That was gossip gold.

‎“River Quinn,” came a smooth, feminine voice. I turned to see Grandma Quinn perched at the kitchen counter like some witchy oracle in a cardigan. Her gray curls were pinned up, and her eyes glittered with mischief. “You look pale. Have you been eating properly?”

‎“Define properly,” I said, eyeing the spread of food she’d already laid out. “And no, caffeine counts as nutrition.”

‎She clicked her tongue. “City life made you thinner and snarkier. Both are crimes in this household.”

‎I grinned, but it faltered when she added softly, “The Moon always brings back those who still have something left to face.”

‎Something cold trickled down my spine. “That sounds vaguely threatening, Grandma.”

‎She just smiled. “Good.”

‎---

‎Later that night, after dodging endless pack introductions, I slipped outside. The moon hung heavy and full, casting silver through the pines. The forest smelled like rain and memory. Somewhere deep in the woods, a howl broke the silence, low, commanding, impossible to ignore.

‎I froze. Every Omega instinct in my body went rigid.

‎No.

‎No way.

‎That sound was impossible to mistake.

‎Rowan Blackthorn.

‎The last time I’d heard that voice, it was followed by the slam of a janitor’s closet door and the words, “Maybe this’ll shut you up, Quinn.”

‎My pulse quickened. I hadn’t seen him since high school. The rumor was that after his father died, he’d taken over as Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack, the same pack that merged with ours years ago. Which meant that now, technically, he was my Alpha.

‎“Perfect,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Just what I needed. Emotional trauma in wolf form.”

‎Behind me, the sound of footsteps on gravel made me turn.

‎“River Quinn,” a voice said deeper now, roughened with time, but unmistakably his.

‎I turned to see Rowan standing there, tall and broad-shouldered, the moonlight carving silver edges along his jaw. His black hair was shorter than I remembered, his eyes still the color of storm clouds right before rain. He looked older. Sharper. And, annoyingly, hotter.

‎My heart did an unhelpful flip.

‎“Alpha Blackthorn,” I said with a forced smile. “Long time no closet.”

‎His mouth twitched almost a smirk. “Still got that mouth, I see.”

‎“Still got that ego, I see.”

‎The air between us shifted, thickening with something electric. My wolf stirred uneasily, recognizing something I didn’t want to acknowledge. His scent cedar smoke and iron hit me like a punch to the gut, warm and sharp all at once.

‎Rowan took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You shouldn’t be out here alone during the full moon.”

‎“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “What’s the worst that could happen? You gonna lock me up again?”

‎That earned a quiet, humorless laugh. “Not this time.”

‎Something flickered in his eyes, something that made my wolf push forward, curious, yearning. I took a step back.

‎“Good,” I said, voice tighter than I intended. “Because I didn’t come here to relive bad memories. I came for my brother’s wedding, and then I’m gone.”

‎“Right,” he said softly. “We’ll see about that.”

‎Before I could snark back, the wind shifted. Our scents tangled, mine and his. And suddenly, my wolf howled inside me, claws scraping, recognition burning through every nerve.

‎No.

‎No, no, no.

‎This couldn’t be happening.

‎Rowan’s eyes widened just slightly, his pupils dilating. He inhaled sharply, scenting the air.

‎“Oh, Moon above,” I whispered, heart hammering. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

‎Rowan’s voice came out low, almost reverent. “Fate’s got a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t she?”

‎My vision spun, every part of me screaming in denial. “No. Nope. Return to sender. I refuse”

‎But the bond thrummed between us, undeniable and ancient.

‎Rowan stepped closer until his breath brushed my cheek. “River Quinn,” he murmured, almost gently, “you’re my mate.”

‎And just like that, my world tilted on its axis.