Without Alaric's presence, Benjamin could no longer hold back. The abuse began, quiet at first, then escalating.
The house smelled of alcohol long before the shouting began.
Anya sat at the small desk in her room, trying to focus on her homework, when the door slammed open so hard it hit the wall. Her body tensed instantly.
Benjamin stood in the doorway, unsteady on his feet, a belt hanging loose in his hand. His eyes were glassy, his face twisted with anger that did not belong to the moment, or to her.
"Where is it?" he demanded.
Anya swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."
He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight.
"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "Your mum gave you money. I know she did. Hand it over."
"I don't have any," Anya said, her voice shaking. "Mum needs it for groceries."
That was enough.
The sound came first. Then the pain.
Anya cried out, curling in on herself as tears blurred her vision. She tried to protect herself, arms raised, body shaking. She did not fight back. She never did.
"Useless," Benjamin muttered. "Just like her."
The door burst open.
"Stop!"
Margaret rushed in, pushing herself between them without hesitation. She grabbed Benjamin's arm, forcing him back with a strength born of desperation.
"Get out," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "Get out of this room. Now."
Benjamin stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, then laughed bitterly.
"You think you can tell me what to do in my own house?"
"Yes," Margaret said. "I can. And I will."
He cursed under his breath, turned, and staggered away, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Margaret dropped to her knees beside Anya, hands shaking as she reached for her.
"Oh my baby," she whispered, pulling Anya into her arms. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't stop him sooner."
Anya pressed her face into her mother's shoulder, tears soaking through the fabric.
"I tried," she sobbed. "I really tried."
"I know," Margaret said, her own tears falling freely now. "None of this is your fault. None of it."
She helped Anya sit on the bed, gently checking her arms, her back, her hands lingering with care and guilt in every touch.
Margaret took a deep breath, then another, as if steadying herself for something she had been holding inside for far too long.
"Anya," she said quietly. "We cannot stay here anymore."
Anya looked up, eyes red and swollen.
"What do you mean?"
"I have been saving," Margaret continued, lowering her voice. "Not much, but enough. There is another city. Far from Westbridge. Far from him."
Anya's heart skipped. Fear mixed with hope in a way she did not know how to process.
"You want to leave?"
"I need to," Margaret said firmly. "For you. I should have done it sooner, but I promise you, I will not let him hurt you again."
Anya stared at her mother, emotions crashing into each other. Leaving meant fear. Leaving meant the unknown. But staying meant this.
"I don't care where we go," Anya whispered. "As long as it's away from him."
Margaret pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her like she might never let go.
"We will start over," she said softly. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere you can breathe."
Anya closed her eyes, clinging to her mother.
For the first time in a long while, she felt something fragile but real.
Hope and a new beginning.
*****
Anya and Margaret left Westbridge before dawn.
There were no goodbyes. No explanations. Just two suitcases, a few boxes of essentials, and everything Anya could not bring herself to throw away tucked carefully at the bottom of her bag.
They moved to Riverside, a city far enough away that no one knew them, far enough that the past felt distant but never gone.
The apartment was small but clean. The walls were bare, the rooms unfamiliar. Margaret tried to make it feel like home with small touches, a kettle always warm, curtains chosen carefully, meals cooked with quiet determination.
But Riverside felt different.
The streets were louder and the buildings were taller. People passed by without looking at one another, each lost in their own lives.
At night, she lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. She pressed a pillow to her chest and closed her eyes.
Riverside was safe.
But safety did not erase memory.
******
Meanwhile, Alaric Stone tried to erase Anya Holloway from his thoughts.
He returned to Central City with a silence inside him that no training could fill. The city was louder than Westbridge, sharper, faster. This was where he truly belonged, or at least that was what everyone said.
So he threw himself into discipline.
Training began before sunrise and ended long after nightfall. He pushed his body until his muscles burned, until his lungs screamed, until the wolf inside him had no choice but to submit. Control became his obsession. Every strike had to be precise. Every movement restrained.
At school, he excelled without effort. Teachers praised him. Students feared him. No one got close enough to ask what hollowed out his eyes.
When discipline failed, he sought distraction.
Faces blurred together. Laughter that meant nothing. Touches that left no mark. One girl after another, fleeting and forgettable. He never learned their stories. He never stayed the night.
None of them were her.
The only one who dared to confront him was Leo Lin.
Leo had joined him not long after Alaric's return, drawn by instinct as much as loyalty. He was sharp minded, steady, and unafraid. Where Alaric was storm and shadow, Leo was restrained. The wolf pack recognized him quickly.
Beta.
One night, after practice, the locker room was nearly empty. The air smelled of sweat and metal. Alaric sat on the bench, phone in hand, staring at a dark screen like it might answer him if he looked long enough.
Leo watched him for a long moment before speaking.
"You're not living," Leo said calmly. "You're just filling space."
Alaric scoffed without looking up. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I do," Leo replied quietly. "You're running from your mate."
Silence fell heavy between them.
Alaric's grip tightened around the phone.
Leo leaned against the locker beside him. "You can't replace what you lost by pretending it never mattered."
Alaric's jaw clenched. "Drop it."
Leo studied him for a moment, eyes sharp but not unkind. "I'm saying this because I care. If you keep going like this, you're going to destroy yourself."
But Alaric stood abruptly, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked away.
No one could stop him.
Time passed. Weeks blurred into months. The sealed bond remained quiet, buried so deeply he almost convinced himself it was gone.
Almost.
One day, without warning, Alaric returned to Westbridge.
He told himself it was curiosity. Closure. Nothing more.
The streets looked smaller than he remembered. The air carried the faint scent of salt from the sea. As he walked past familiar corners, memories surfaced without permission.
The school gates where he used to wait for her.
The convenience store where she always chose the same candy.
The quiet beach where everything had begun, where a six year old boy had looked at a six year old girl and knew something he had never been meant to know so early.
His chest tightened with every step.
Before he realized it, he was standing in front of her house.
The gate was rusted now. The paint on the walls was chipped and dull. The small garden her mother used to tend was overgrown, weeds curling where flowers once bloomed.
The house felt empty.
Alaric stood there for a long moment, heart pounding, fingers clenched at his sides. He had not planned to come this far. He had not planned to knock.
But his feet moved anyway.
The door opened after a long pause.
Benjamin stood there, unsteady on his feet, a bottle hanging loosely from his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression twisted with bitterness.
"What do you want?" he slurred.
Alaric swallowed. "I'm looking for Anya."
Benjamin let out a harsh laugh, loud and ugly.
"Anya?" he sneered. "That girl ran off."
Alaric's breath caught. "Ran off where?"
"Who knows," Benjamin spat. "Her and her precious mother. Left without a word. No goodbye. Like they were too good for this place."
The words struck harder than any blow.
"They just disappeared," Benjamin continued, anger spilling freely now. "Ungrateful, both of them. Think they can just walk away like none of this mattered."
Alaric's hands curled into fists.
The bond he had sealed long ago stirred faintly, painfully, like a dying ember struggling for breath. For one brief moment, hope flared in his chest, sharp and desperate.
Then it went silent.
Completely.
Benjamin was still ranting, still cursing the empty house behind him, but Alaric no longer heard the words. His gaze drifted past the man, into the hollow space where Anya's voice used to exist.
She was gone.
Not just from him but from Westbridge.
Without another word, Alaric turned away.
He walked past the house, past the street, past the beach where the waves still rolled in as if nothing had ever been lost. He did not look back.