Chapter 8
Later, those rival Alphas followed the ancient pack custom of returning a gift.
They wired a large sum of money into my account.
I did not refuse.
I used that money to open a small herbal shop in a human town in northern Vermont.
It was not big.
But it was quiet.
The sunlight there was good every day.
I dried chamomile in the sun with my own hands. I ground dried bay leaves myself. I greeted the
travelers who came through the door.
Most of them were human.
Occasionally, a few passing Rogues came in too.
They could no longer scent my aura.
The pine incense burned strongly in the shop, strong enough to cover the traces of the last ten
years.
Life slowly became peaceful.
Later, I heard that Damian Ashford had sold off the last of the Pack’s assets and wandered from
place to place, only wanting to see me one more time.
Some said he knelt through an entire blizzard outside the stone manor where I had once lived.
Others said he had already gone mad.
Every day, in the half-ruined Pack Leader’s hall, he repeated the same sentence to the empty air.
“I was wrong.”
“Selena… I was wrong.”
But I never looked back.
Chapter 8
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Some mistakes cannot be repaired just because regret finally arrives.
As for me, on clear afternoons, I would brew a pot of chamomile tea.
The wind chime at the shop door would ring softly.
Sunset would spill across the floor-to-ceiling window.
Sometimes, a wild little orange cat would jump onto the sill.
I would reach out and stroke its head.
It would purr beneath my palm.
As if it were living well for me.
And for the little one who never got to see the first ray of sunlight in this world.
The End.
Prologue
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