Werewolf



 

MIA

I should never have come. 

I stood in the shadows, heart beating out of my chest, my breath barely making it past the lump in my throat. My fingers curled around the fabric of my coat, trying to ground myself, trying to push away the foolish, aching hope that had taken root the moment I saw him. 

Derek. 

Even from a distance, his presence was undeniable—tall, commanding, impossibly familiar. He had always been in an anchor in the storm of my life, the force that pulled me in when I felt as though I might break free. 

And now, here I was, hidden among the mourners at my own funeral, waiting for something I couldn’t even name.

For a second—for one fleeting second—I thought maybe, just maybe, I had meant something to him. 

Then she appeared. 

Cassandra. 

She moved in behind him with the effortless grace of someone who knew exactly where she belonged. Close. Too close. 

He



 

MIA 

Six Years Later

 

The evening was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth. I stepped out onto the balcony, watching my son Aiden chase after Logan with wild laughter. 

Aiden was only five, but even at his young age, his Alpha blood was unmistakable. He was strong, fast, and fiercely protective of those he cared about. But unlike his father, Aiden was also gentle, his laughter like music that soothed the scars on my heart. 

His dark curls bounced with every step, and his golden-brown eyes—so much like Derek’s—glowed in the fading light. 

A pang of emotion tightened my chest. Over the past six years, I had built a quiet life, shielding myself from the world I had once known. My family had welcomed me home, though my memories had never fully returned. Some came in fleeting glimpses, fragmented dreams that left me grasping at something just out of reach. 

I was seeing a 



 

MIA 

I floated in darkness for what felt like an eternity.

At first, I wasn’t aware of anything—just an endless void, weightless and quiet. Then, little by little, sensations began to return. The rhythmic beeping of a machine. The scent of antiseptic, sharp and sterile. The stiffness of my limbs, heavy and unmovable. 

I fought to open my eyes, my lashes fluttering weakly as I clawed my way back to consciousness. Light seared through the darkness, blinding me for a moment before the shapes in the room sharpened. 

White walls. A dim lamp. That steady beep, beep, beep. The unmistakable hallmarks of a hospital. 

Briefly, I reached inside myself. Nox was there, but she was weak. I was alive. 

The sound of movement startled me. I turned my head in time to see a nurse gasp, her eyes going wide. 

“You’re awake,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest before scrambling for the door. “I need to get them. Your family—they’ve been waiting for so long.”

My family? 

Confusion swirled in my mind, thick and heavy. She had to be mistaken. I didn’t have a family—not one that I knew of. 

The last thing I remembered was the car, the hands grabbing me, the headlights blinding me before everything went dark. 

I pressed my palm to my stomach, trying to ground myself. And that’s when I felt it—the subtle shift, the change in my body that I hadn’t noticed before. A new warmth, deep inside me.

The door burst open before I could process it. A group of people rushed in, voices choked with emotion, eyes glistening with tears. A man, broad-shouldered with familiar storm-grey eyes. A woman, elegant and strong, who looked at me like she had found a missing piece of her soul.

An older gentleman, tall and silent. I flashed ever so briefly on his face, standing above me just after the accident, before the world went dark. 

“My daughter,” the woman whispered, stepping forward. “Oh, Elena!” 

I stiffened. “No,” I said automatically, shaking my head. “I think you have the wrong person.”

But even as I said the words, doubt gnawed at me. There was something about them—their scent, their presence—that made something deep in my bones stir. 

The younger man—Mason, they called him—spoke next, his voice thick with restrained emotion. “We’ve been searching for you for so long,” he said. “Ever since you disappeared.”

Disappeared? 

A lump formed in my throat. “I don’t remember…”

“You were attacked,” my mother—my supposed mother—said gently. “We thought you were dead. We searched everywhere, but there was no trace. And now, here you are.” Her smile was watery, and she had a look of such earnest hopefulness on her face.

It was too much. Too fast. I shrank back, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. I reached up and ran my finger along the small scar in my eyebrow, my nervous tic. 

“You’ve had that scar since you were a kid,” Mason said, smirking kindly. “You never did tell us how you got it.”

At this, the older gentleman stepped forward. The Alpha of the Moonstone Pack, my mind informed me. He reached out and held something out to me. 

Without thinking, I cupped my palm under his hand. He dropped something heavy into it. I uncurled my fingers. 

My medallion. 

“You dropped this,” he said, his voice dusky and thick. “At the accident.”

I looked up at him. And noticed, for the first time, that he wore the same emblem on a gold chain around his neck. 

“The Moonstone family crest,” he said.

My breath caught. 

“No,” I whispered, staring down at the pendant in my hand as if it had betrayed me. But the truth was undeniable. I had carried this emblem for as long as I could remember. 

Which meant they were telling me the truth. 

I was Elena. 

And I was the lost daughter of the Moonstone Pack—the very pack that had been enemies with Derek’s for generations. 

I should have felt something—relief, joy, grief for the life I had forgotten. But all I felt was numb. 

“How—how long?” I asked. 

“Since the accident?” asked Mason, my brother. “A couple of weeks.” 

I shook my head, feeling stunned, my thoughts fragmented. 

And then came the revelation that shattered me completely. 

When the doctor came in, he nodded respectfully at my father, and then asked if he could talk to me alone. 

I had spent so long believing I had nothing, that now that I had everything—a family, history, a place I belonged—I was loathe to let it go. I told the doctor that my family could stay. 

“Elena,” he said, the name still sounding foreign to me. “There’s something you should know.”

My fingers curled into the sheets. “What is it?” 

He hesitated, then said, “You’re pregnant.”

The air left my lungs. My mind went blank, my body numb. 

My family was talking, their voices urgent, but I couldn’t process a single word. All I could think about was Derek. The mate I had rejected. The father of my child. 

Mason stiffened. My father’s expression darkened, while my mother let out a soft, pained sound. 

“Who’s the father?” Mason demanded. 

I stared at the wall, pulse hammering. I could lie. But something inside me snapped. 

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of my new reality. Or maybe I just didn’t have the strength to hide anymore. 

“It’s Derek,” I whispered.

The room seemed to turn to ice.

“Derek who,” my father asked, though I could tell by the look on his face that he already knew. 

“Derek King,” I said. “The Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack. We are…we were…fated mates.”

Their reaction was immediate. 

Mason’s fists clenched. My father’s jaw locked. My mother’s expression turned cold. 

“You will cut ties with him,” my father said firmly. “Completely.”

Mason nodded. “You’re coming home, Elena. You’re a Moonstone.”

Tears burned the back of my eyes. I wasn’t even sure why. I had rejected him already, rejected our bond. 

And wasn’t this what I wanted? To be found? To be loved?

But there was a part of me that still ached, a wound that hadn’t healed. 

“Fine,” I said, as I pressed a hand to my stomach, my decision forming before I even spoke. “But I’m keeping the baby.”

My father exhaled sharply, and Mason looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. But my mother—she searched my face, and after a long moment, she nodded. 

“She’s made her choice,” she murmured. 

Silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding. Then, in the corner of the room, the TV caught my attention, and a newscaster’s voice filled the space. 

“…the funeral for Mia, Derek King’s mate, is set to take place this Friday. Sources say the Alpha has yet to make a statement…”

The world spun. 

“They think I’m dead,” I whispered. 

My father shut off the screen. “Good,” he said. “He’s moved on. Now so can you.”

After a shared look, he and my mother rose and left the room. 

I turned to Mason, my voice barely above a whisper. “Take me there.”

“Where?” 

“The funeral.”

Mason’s expression darkened. “Elena, no.”

“I need to see,” I insisted. “I need to know if I ever meant anything to him.”

Mason shook his head. “You don’t need closure, Elena. You need to forget.”

I’d forgotten so much already. 

“I have to do this,” I said, voice firm. 

Mason muttered a curse but relented. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

I shook my head. “No. I can’t be seen.”

“Then I’ll drive. You’re not going alone.” To this, I agreed.  

On the day of, he was true to his word. I was dressed in black, my red hair tucked into a scarf, sunglasses hiding my face. We parked a short distance from the ceremony, and I slipped into the crowd, my heart racing. 

The whispers reached my ears instantly. 

“Alpha Derek isn’t even here.”

“She was a rogue. This is just for appearances.”

“What a disgrace.”

I made my way to the back of the gathering, heart pounding as I listened to the relentless talk. 

A sharp pain lanced through me. I turned to leave. 

Then, just as I stepped back, a hush fell over the crowd. 

Derek had arrived. 

 

 


MIA
I should never have come. 
I stood in the shadows, heart beating out of my chest, my breath barely making it past the lump in my throat. My fingers curled around the fabric of my coat, trying to ground myself, trying to push away the foolish, aching hope that had taken root the moment I saw him. 
Derek. 
Even from a distance, his presence was undeniable—tall, commanding, impossibly familiar. He had always been in an anchor in the storm of my life, the force that pulled me in when I felt as though I might break free. 
And now, here I was, hidden among the mourners at my own funeral, waiting for something I couldn’t even name.
For a second—for one fleeting second—I thought maybe, just maybe, I had meant something to him. 
Then she appeared. 
Cassandra. 
She moved in behind him with the effortless grace of someone who knew exactly where she belonged. Close. Too close. 
Her hand brushed against his arm as she leaned in, whispering something against the shell of his 

#Chapter 7: A Funeral for the Living