Emilia

It started with the smell of lilies.

Whenever I catch it now, I know I'm dreaming or remembering.

The memory always began the same — mother's scent in the air, soft and fading, and then the sound of muffled crying in the hallway. That was the day everything changed. The day the world stops making sense.

I was 10.

“She's not coming back, Emilia,” Father said. His voice was raw, hoarse. His face, always so composed, crumbled like paper in the rain.

I didn't understand death then. Not really.

I remember waiting by the door for hours, thinking if I was a good girl like Mama said I would, that if I waited long enough, that she would come back.

But she didn't.

Someone else came instead.

Her name was Ariel, my father's mistress. And she moved in like she owned the place, like the house didn't still reek of lilies and grief. She painted over Mama’s favourite walls, tossed out her china set, and even took her place at the dinner table.

I hated her.

I hated her perfume, all sweet and sharp like poison. I hated the way she laughed too loud and touched father's arm like she hadn't already broken everything in our family.

She brought her son, too.

Xavier.

He was tall and quiet. He was my age but taller by a few inches.

The first time I met him, he was standing outside my room, listening to me cry.

“What are you staring at?!” I had snapped, my cheeks hot and my eyes puffy.

He blinked. “Nothing.”

“Then go away.”

He did.

But he kept showing up — at the pack’s school where the other kids whispered about me behind their hands, my dead mother, my father's scandal. They called me a ‘crybaby,’ ‘a freak,’ ‘a bastard's sister.’

One afternoon, they cornered me in the courtyard, shoved my books into the mud. I tried to fight back but my hands shook, and the words caught in my throat. I couldn't defend myself nor had anyone to. At least not until Xavier showed up.

He didn't say anything. Just stepped in front of me, his fists clenched.

“Back off!” he told them with a snarl.

They laughed until he punched one of them. Hard.

The others scattered.

I stood there, trembling. Mud in my skirt and tears on my cheeks.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

I nodded.

“You don't have to cry alone anymore. I'll protect you.”

From that day on, he did.

I still hated Clarisse. Still resented the way she wrapped herself around my father like an ivy but Xavier… he was different.

He walked me to school, carried my books, sat with me at lunch, even when people stared.

When I cried, he listened. When I was angry, he let me rant. And when I was quiet, he didn't press.

He became the only good thing that came out of my broken family.

We grew up like that. Like two halves of the same fracture. Like two peas in a pod. He was strong when I was scared. Steady when I fell apart.

And then, he turned 18.

The pack started whispering about mates and bondings. Every ceremony, wolves would find their fate — an ancient magic pulling souls together. But Xavier? He kept walking away.

“She wasn't the one,” he'd say. Or, “I didn't feel it.”

I used to wonder if he was too picky or too proud but I admired it. I'd watch him from the edge of the crowd. He deserved something special. Someone who saw him the way I did. I hoped one day, he'd find his mate. Someone who loved him half as much as I did.

Then, I turned 18.

It happened at the Moonlight Festival.

The air was electric. Music throbbed in the trees. Wolves danced beneath silver lanterns. I wore a pale-blue dress and spun in circles, giggling like a child.

That's when I saw him.

Lorenzo.

He had eyes like storm clouds and a smile that made me dizzy. When our eyes met, it was like the world tilted. My wolf surged forward, and I knew.

He was mine.

“He's my mate!” I shrieked, rushing to Xavier.

Xavier stood by the bonfire, eyes catching the flames.

“Isn't it amazing?” I gushed. “He's perfect. Tall, charming, a warrior! And he said I smelled like cinnamon! Isn't that the cutest thing?”

Xavier didn't smile. Not really.

“Congratulations,” he said, voice tight. “But… be careful with him. Mates can hurt you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He just looked at me, like he wanted to say more. Then he turned and walked into the dark.

Later that night, I didn't know he cornered Lorenzo behind the festival tents.

“If you hurt her,” Xavier said, low and dangerous. “I'll rip you apart.”

Lorenzo only laughed. “Relax, man. She's just a girl.”

I was too giddy to notice.

Xavier stopped walking me to school. Stopped sitting by me. Even stopped talking to me.

It got worse and I was starting to get worried.

I told myself I should've listened when Xavier told me to stay away from Lorenzo but I laughed instead.

“Oh come on,” I said, punching his arm playfully. “You're being dramatic. Overprotective big brother vibes, right?”

His jaw clenched. “I'm not your brother, Emilia.”

I blinked, surprised at the sharpness in his tone.

He turned and walked away.

After that, things changed.

At first, I thought he was just busy. Or tired. But then it became patterns — silence in place of words, distance in place of comfort. When I reached for him, he stepped away. When I laughed, he barely smiled. It was like a door was slammed shut between us, and I didn't know how to open it. Then came the storm.

I'd always been terrified of thunder. Something about the way it cracked the sky open made me feel like the world was falling apart again.

So I padded barefoot down the hallway, heart hammering, until I reached his door. I knocked, then cracked it open.

“Xavier?” I whispered.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, head bowed, eyes shadowed in the low light.

“What do you want?”

I flinched. “I just… the storm. You know I hate storms.”

His eyes flicked to the window, where rain streaked the glass. “You should go back to sleep.”

“But I can't.”

He didn't answer.

I stepped inside, wrapping my arms around myself. “Why are you being like this?” Did I do something wrong?”

Still, nothing.

Tears filled my eyes. “You hate me now, don't you?”

His head snapped up.

“What? No! Emilia —” He was in front of me in a second, pulling me into his arms. “No, I don't hate you. I could never.”

I sobbed into his chest, and held me like he always used to, strong, steady, unshakable. He kissed my hair. Then my cheek.

“I'm sorry,” whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

I didn't understand what he was apologizing for, but I didn't ask. I was too busy clinging to the only person who ever made me feel safe.

“Lie down,” he murmured, guiding me to his bed.

I did, and after a heartbeat, he joined me. We laid there, side by side, talking in whispers about nothing and everything — childhood memories, silly pack games, Mama's lilies. He made me laugh. He always knew how.

At some point, I fell asleep.

But something stirred me later, a soft rustle of blankets, a shift in the air.

I opened my eyes just enough to see him watching me. Xavier, in the moonlight, smiling so gently, like I was something sacred.

He didn't notice I was awake.

I closed my eyes again, heart warm, wondering what he was thinking.

I closed my eyes again, heart warm, wondering what he was thinking.

The next morning, he walked me to school again just like old times.

Girls stared at him. They always had. But now, they didn't whisper. They gushed.

“Did you see Xavier today?”

“He's so hot when his hair’s wet from training.”

“Do you think he's found his mate yet?”

I heard it all, but it didn't matter. He ignored them.

Everytime one tried to talk to him, he would brush them off with a grunt or a cold glance. When one girl tried to slip a note into his locker, he tore it in half and tossed it in the trash.

Then, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me away from the crowd, like I was the only person who mattered.

“Why did you do that?” I asked with a frown. “They just want to be nice.”

He didn't look at me. “I'm not interested.”

I tilted my head, curious. “Do you think your mate is still out there?”

He glanced at me then, his eyes dark. “Maybe.”

I beamed. “Well, she's going to be lucky. I mean, you're kind and brave and a little grumpy but I think that's charming. I can't wait to meet your future mate. I'll make sure she deserves you.”

He stared at me like I'd stabbed him.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Y - yeah.” he replied.

“Let's go.” I laced my fingers with his without thinking, like I'd been used to. He tightened around mine, for a second, before he let go.

I thought nothing of it.

Because he was the brother who promised to protect me.