65 Chapter 65 Shattered Sanctuary
Elena’s POV
“It’s clearly eating at you,” he observed, his voice carrying that familiar note of concern.
“Nothing I can’t manage on my own,” I replied firmly, though the weight in my chest suggested otherwise.
The campus buzzed with morning energy as we separated at the main building. Leo headed toward the business wing while I made my way to the art studio, my bag heavy with supplies and expectations.
The art instructor embodied every stereotype of a free–spirited creative. Her flowing skirts and natural fiber clothing screamed earth mother, and within minutes of class starting, she was rhapsodizing about our connection to the natural world. Her passion for environmental themes didn’t bother me the way it might have before. Being a werewolf meant understanding that connection on a level she could never imagine. The pull of moonlight through trees, the way forest soil felt beneath bare feet during a shift, the symphony of night sounds that called to something primal within us.
But those experiences felt distant now, locked away behind the necessity of hiding what I truly was.
“Today, I want you to paint from the heart,” she announced, gesturing dramatically toward the blank canvases. “Show me something that stirs your soul, something that represents passion in your life.”
I stared at the empty white space for several minutes, brush poised uncertainly. A fresh start meant leaving the past behind, didn’t it? But as my hand began to move, I found myself abandoning caution entirely. I could always lie about the meaning later. The image flowed from memory to canvas with startling clarity. Deep forest greens emerged first, layer upon layer of towering pines and ancient oaks. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating pools of gold on the forest floor. And there, nestled among the trees like a secret, sat the broken–down trailer that had been my world for so many years.
The structure looked fragile against nature’s overwhelming presence, its metal siding weathered and windows reflecting the surrounding wilderness. It wasn’t beautiful by conventional standards, and it certainly hadn’t provided luxury or comfort. But it had
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been mine. It had been home when nothing else in the world belonged to me.
Each brushstroke carried memories. Cold mornings when the heating barely worked. Nights when rain drummed against the thin walls. The way morning light would creep through torn curtains and wake me gently. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been real.
By the time class ended, the painting was complete, still wet but recognizable. Other students had created abstract swirls of color or realistic portraits of loved ones. Mine stood apart, telling a story I wasn’t sure I was ready to share.
Photography class followed, then another mind–numbing business lecture about market strategies and consumer behavior. Pre–med proved more engaging, diving into cellular biology with the kind of detail that made my future aspirations feel tangible. The day stretched long, campus life consuming hours I hadn’t expected. When Leo suggested grabbing food before heading back, I quickly sent Damien a message explaining I wouldn’t be home for dinner. The last thing I needed was him worrying about my whereabouts on top of everything else.
“How are you finding the classes?” Leo asked as we settled into a quiet corner booth at the student union.
“Better than I hoped,” I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. “I’m actually enjoying them.”
“Good to hear. Half the students here treat college like an expensive social club.” His expression turned thoughtful. “You seem different from most people our age.”
“I’ve wanted this since I was twelve years old,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. “Some kids dream about becoming celebrities or athletes. I dreamed about lecture halls and textbooks. I’m not about to waste this opportunity.”
“What happens when the baby comes?” The question hung between us, heavy with implications.
My appetite vanished instantly. “I’m still working that out.”
“I don’t think Damien’s planning to become a full–time babysitter,” Leo said with a slight smile.
“And I wouldn’t ask him to,” I replied, perhaps more sharply than intended. “I would never expect that from him. I’ll figure out childcare arrangements, probably hire someone. I know he’ll insist on paying for it so I don’t have to work while studying”
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The bitterness in my own voice surprised me.
“That bothers you?” Leo observed.
“Independence has always been important to me,” I explained. “Relying on others for basic needs like food, clothing, or anything involving my child… it doesn’t sit well with
me.”
“You know, I think Damien sees you as the little sister he lost,” Leo said quietly.
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What do you mean, the sister he lost? Damien and Gage had a sister?”
Leo s face went pale. “Oh hell. I assumed you knew about that.”
“They’ve never mentioned a sister to me. Not once.”
“It’s not my story to tell,” he said quickly, looking uncomfortable. “You should ask them directly.”
“Don’t worry,” I said grimly. “I definitely will.”
The ride back to the packhouse was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. As we approached the building, strange sounds drifted from the fourth floor. It took me a moment to realize that both Gage and Damien had company tonight, and the nature of that company was becoming increasingly obvious.
I shook my head and headed straight for my room, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed and process the day’s revelations.
But when I opened my bedroom door and flicked on the light, I froze completely. The room was destroyed. Every drawer had been pulled out and emptied, their contents scattered across the floor. My bedding lay in a twisted heap beside the mattress, which had been dragged halfway off its frame. Even my closet had been ransacked, clothes torn from hangers and thrown carelessly aside.
“What the hell?” I whispered, dropping my bag at the doorway as the full scope of the destruction sank in.
