Grayson's POV

The envelope sits on my desk.

Black wax seal, untouched. The handwriting is messy, almost illegible, but I'd recognize it anywhere. Lynn's handwriting. Four words scrawled across the front: NO SUCH PERSON.

I pick it up for the third time today, running my thumb over the letters.

'Did she read it?' Arthur growls. 'Does she know what we want?'

"She's ignoring us."

'Then make her listen.'

I toss the envelope back onto the desk. Six years. Six years since I threw her out, and now she won't even acknowledge a summons from her Alpha.

The memory hits without warning.

Lynn at the top of the stairs, blood on her hands. Shirley crumpled at the bottom, sobbing. My voice roaring through the packhouse: Get out of Fire Moon Pack. Leave. Now.

Why was I so cruel?

'She attacked our mate,' Arthur snarls. 'She clawed Shirley's face.'

"Shirley provoked her."

'Stop,' Arthur snaps. 'Past is past. Focus.'

He's right. It's time for Lynn to come home. My father never severed her bond. She's still Fire Moon Pack, whether she likes it or not.

The video plays on my laptop for the fourth time.

Lynn stands on a stage, spotlight catching the dark brown waves of her hair. She wears a fitted black dress, heels that make her legs look endless. A crystal trophy gleams in her hands.

"Thank you so much for this honor," she says, her voice clear and confident. "Jewelry design has always been about telling stories—stories of love, loss, transformation."

The camera zooms in on her face. Those green eyes, bright with success. Her smile is genuine, warm. She looks happy.

She looks like she doesn't need us at all.

'Beautiful,' Arthur murmurs. 'Look at her.'

I pause the video. She's twenty-six now. Still stunning, but sharper. Harder. The girl I knew is gone.

'She belongs with us.' Arthur's voice drops to a possessive rumble. 'Bring her home.'

I close the laptop.

Erikson had mentioned seeing her on TV—him and half the pack. None of them knew I'd already sent the first letter. None of them knew it disappeared without a trace. This one came back marked.

I pick up the returned envelope again.

My fault. All of it.

I forced her out. Threatened to kill her. Watched her run like I'd put silver to her throat.

Arthur had been out of control that day—Shirley bleeding, Lacey howling, the whole packhouse in chaos. I'd let my wolf take over, let rage override everything else.

Lynn paid the price.

"We were wrong."

Arthur falls silent.

I remember her laugh. The way she'd tease me during training, dancing just out of reach. How she'd steal bites from my plate, those green eyes daring me to stop her.

The way she'd curl into me at night, her hair spreading across my chest like silk. Her fingers tracing patterns on my skin while she talked about her design ideas, voice sleepy and content.

'Ours,' Arthur whispers. 'She was always ours.'

Then Erikson found her. Award-winning jewelry designer in the city, living under her own name.

I'd sent the first letter the next day.

'She didn't respond,' Arthur growls. 'She thinks she can ignore us.'

"She's scared."

'She should be. We're her Alpha.'

Now she's a stranger who marks my letters with "NO SUCH PERSON" and pretends I don't exist.

'Then remind her,' Arthur snarls. 'Remind her who her Alpha is.'

Erikson walks into my office without knocking.

"She marked it 'NO SUCH PERSON.'" He drops into the chair across from my desk. "She's not coming willingly."

I don't answer.

"You need a formal summons," Erikson says. "Delivered to her workplace. Make it clear this isn't a request."

'Yes,' Arthur growls. 'Show her we're serious.'

"Three days," I say. "She has three days from receipt to respond."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then we escalate."

Erikson stands. "I'll have it drafted. Formal language. Alpha seal. Delivery confirmation required."

He pauses at the door. "You sure about this?"

"She's Fire Moon Pack. She's coming home."

I draft the letter myself.

Lynn Beverly,

You are hereby summoned to return to Hamilton Corporation headquarters. Your presence is required.

You have three days from receipt of this letter to confirm your compliance.

Failure to respond will result in escalated measures.

Grayson Hamilton

Short. Direct. No room for misinterpretation.

I seal it with black wax, press the Fire Moon insignia deep. The letter is carefully worded for human eyes—Hamilton Corporation, not Fire Moon Pack. If this falls into the wrong hands, it'll look like corporate business.

Nothing more.

'She'll come,' Arthur says. 'She knows what happens if she doesn't.'

Do I know what happens?

Six years of running. Six years of pretending she's not pack. Six years of ignoring the bond that still ties her to Fire Moon.

I'm her Alpha.

And it's time she remembered that.

My hand reaches for the red ink.

The bottle sits on my desk—bright crimson, viscous. I typically use it for marking urgent documents.

Tonight, it serves a different purpose.

'What are you doing?' Arthur asks.

I uncap it slowly. The black envelope lies before me, sealed and ready.

But not complete.

I dip the nib into the red ink. One drop falls back into the bottle, leaving a small ripple.

"Making sure she understands."

My hand moves across the bottom of the envelope. The strokes come easily—muscle memory from years of pack tradition.

Delicate petals first. Five of them, arranged in a perfect star pattern.

Then the distinctive leaves—lance-shaped, serrated edges.

The stem curves slightly, as if bending in an invisible wind.

Wolfsbane.

'She'll know,' Arthur says quietly. 'She'll understand what we mean.'

Every pack member knows this symbol. Every wolf understands its message.

Retrieval by any means necessary.

Including poison. Including force. Including death, if it comes to that.

Lynn will recognize it immediately. She knows that wolfsbane isn't just a plant—it's a promise.

A vow that the pack will bring her home, no matter what stands in the way.

I finish the last leaf. The flower looks almost alive against the black envelope, its red petals vivid and stark. Beautiful in its danger.

Like Lynn herself.

'Perfect,' Arthur murmurs with dark satisfaction. 'Now she'll know we're serious.'

I set down the pen, watching the ink dry. It darkens slightly, transforming from bright crimson to deep burgundy. The color of blood. The color of pack bonds that refuse to break.

She can mark my letters with "NO SUCH PERSON" all she wants.

She can pretend she's not one of us.

She can build her human life, win her human awards, hide behind her human name.

But this flower will remind her of what she is.

Mine.

Fire Moon Pack's.

'Our little wolf,' Arthur says softly. 'Let her try to run from this.'

I slide the envelope into my desk drawer. Erikson will deliver it personally to her workplace tomorrow, will ensure she signs for it, will make certain she opens it and sees my message.

The wolfsbane flower will be the last thing she sees before she reads my words.

And she'll know—without question, without doubt—that I mean every word.

The flower simply clarifies what those measures might include.

I trace the envelope's edge, thinking of her green eyes flashing defiance, her laugh, the way she used to look at me like I was her whole world.

'My little wolf,' Arthur rumbles with dark satisfaction.

She thinks she can play this game—marking letters, pretending she doesn't exist, building a life without us.

Fine.

But she's not going to win.

She can't run from me. Not anymore.

You can't escape, little wolf. I'm coming for you.