Chapter 8
A month after my move, Harper picked me up from the Training Grounds and immediately hit me with, “Wow, you’ve changed.”
I blinked at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“When we first met, I thought you were just this dull, emotionally wounded woman. But now…” He gave me a once–over. “You’re kind of lively. Charming, even.”
I smirked. “Charming? Careful, Harper. Compliments like that might go to my head.”
Maybe people here were just more generous with their praise, or maybe all this sunshine and sea air really had worked some magic
1/6
on me. Whatever it was, I felt different- confident, even. I’d traded in my brooding Red River Pack vibes for a whole new outlook.
Life here was… light. Easy. My evenings were spent at the beach bar with my colleagues, where we drank, laughed, and sometimes argued over who had to pay the tab. Weekends were reserved for swimming in the ocean or sunbathing on the shore, where my skin had taken on a healthy, sun–kissed glow. Even my hair had gotten in on the transformation–it was wild and colorful now, thanks to a lost bet.
One evening, as we huddled around a barbecue, dissecting the latest Fighting Competition, someone nudged me and pointed toward the distance.
“Hey, Felicia. Looks like someone’s searching
2/6
for you.”
I squinted through the golden haze of the sunset and froze. Walking toward us was Alpha Kendrick, looking as out of place as a sheep in a wolf pack. His usual confidence seemed to have been left behind, replaced by exhaustion and… was that hesitation?
“Felicia, I finally found you,” he said, stopping a few feet away, his voice rough.
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, long time no see, Kendrick.”
“I checked flights, your parents‘ packhouse, asked around…” His words trailed off as he glanced at my friends, who were already smirking.
“Visitor from the Red River Pack,” I
announced, turning to my crew. “I’ll be back
3/6
in a bit.”
“Not so fast!” one of them called. “You’re not going anywhere until you finish your drink!”
Challenge accepted. I grabbed my glass, ready to down it in one go, but Kendrick stepped forward, snatching it from my hand.
“Do you even know how to drink?” he asked, like a disapproving parent.
“I think I’ll manage, thanks.”
Ignoring me, he took a swig. Big mistake. His face twisted, and he coughed like he’d just chugged poison.
“You were saying?” I deadpanned, taking the glass back and draining it with ease. My friends cheered, and I joined in their laughter, leaving Kendrick standing awkwardly off to
4/6
the side.
“We’ve been together how many years, and you still don’t know I can drink?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shuffled his feet. “You never drank much around me.”
That made me laugh. “Yeah, because Elena didn’t like drunks. You stopped drinking for her, remember?”
The mention of her name made him wince. “That’s not-”
“And I wasn’t about to reek of alcohol around you, either,‘ I cut him off.
Back then, I rarely drank either, but for a different reason: to avoid his judgmental
glares.
5/6
Memories surfaced–times when I’d had too much to drink at business meetings, and colleagues had dragged me home. Alpha Kendrick’s look of disapproval always lingered, so I’d scrub the scent of alcohol off my skin and crash in the guest room to avoid him.
No wonder he thought I didn’t drink. He didn’t know me at all.
He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but I wasn’t done. “Trust me, Kendrick, I can drink anyone under the table if I want to. You just never bothered to notice.”
He hesitated, his voice almost apologetic. “I just thought… is it like Elena? You can’t stand it?”
