There was a tangible, heavy silence in the air, one that perfumed the whole room with tension. 

Arnold leaned heavily against the wine-washed wall, twirling an empty goblet around his fingers as he thought and deliberated on his daughter’s statement. He had stood up abruptly when she reported her findings—findings that were difficult to believe.

Peter’s son was mated to a human? 

He couldn’t believe it. It was rare—almost unheard of—for a werewolf to be mated to a human in their part of the world, let alone an Alpha. For once, he doubted his daughter’s findings. 

Maybe the human was just his ride for now—till he found his true mate, he thought grimly. He remembered that he, too, had flirted around until he met his own mate.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked, staring down at his daughter.

“Yes, Dad… I had even—” she was saying when a knock interrupted them.

For a second, Maya thought it was her brother, Curtis. She hoped not. She wanted to bask in her father’s attention for just this short while.

 I’m not asking much from this dumbo, she thought bitterly, referring to her brother.

“Come in,” Arnold said, sensing it was his mate. He had told her earlier to prepare coffee while he waited for his daughter.

The brown polished wooden door opened, and Jan—Arnold’s mate and wife—came into view, carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and a folding card table in the other. Arnold went up to her, took the table from her, opened it, and set it down. She placed the pot carefully upon it.

Maya watched as a thin spout of steam rose from the pot, carrying the warm, rich scent of her mother’s coffee. She wanted some desperately, but she knew better than to ask while her father waited to drink. 

Experience had taught her that lesson well. She would have to wait until he invited her.

The first time she had tried it, she was sixteen. She had returned from her last exam in Grade Eleven, stumbling into the kitchen, tired and hungry—only to find her parents smooching near the counter. 

Mortified, she had apologized profusely and rushed out, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment, but not before snagging a bottle of water standing alone on the sink.

Sitting on the pavement outside her room, she had ruminated on the thought of her mate—what he would be like. She had hoped their bond would mirror her parents’. 

Though her father could be cold and strict, he was always gentle with her mother, his mate. Her thoughts had run wild, drifting through the faces of the young males in her pack, wondering which of them might be hers. She would have to wait until she was eighteen—it felt so far away. 

As she daydreamed, her mother’s voice had called her through the pack link. Her father wanted to see her.

When she walked into his study, he had been speaking with his beta. She’d taken a seat on the sofa, waiting quietly. The office smelled faintly of pinewood and parchment, filled with framed landscapes and old scrolls. But what caught her most was the lingering aroma of coffee her mother had brewed earlier for the meeting—it wafted through the air, warm and intoxicating.

She had wanted some so desperately, even on an empty stomach. Her mother only brewed coffee for her father, so she’d never had the chance to taste it. When the beta finally left, she had gathered her courage and asked if she could have a cup. To her surprise, he had given a short nod—or so she thought.

As she poured the dark liquid into a mug, her heart had raced with delight at her newfound boldness. But before the mug reached her lips, her father had stopped her. 

Without a word, he’d taken the cup from her hands and emptied the scalding contents onto her face.

She had screamed in agony, rushing out of the study as the searing pain tore through her skin. Though she had healed fast enough, the faint scar on the right side of her face remained—a reminder. 

Her father had never said why he’d done it, and he had never apologized. But Maya had learned one thing that day: she had to be invited first before taking coffee.

It wasn’t the same for Curtis, though. He could drink coffee whenever he pleased.

“Maya, come have some coffee,” Jan said gently, noticing her daughter’s disheveled hair and the hollow look in her eyes. Her poor girl looked famished. Good thing she had kept some food aside—away from Curtis. Her son could devour a feast in minutes.

Maya swallowed hard as she heard her mother’s words. Her gaze shifted toward her father, waiting for a sign—a nod, a grunt, anything that meant permission.

Arnold grunted lowly, and that was enough.

Stepping around the pillar, Maya took a mug and poured herself some coffee. She sighed in quiet satisfaction as the hot liquid burned her tongue in sweet pain, sliding down her throat in quick, steady gulps.

“How was the journey?” Jan asked, addressing both her mate and daughter.

“Well, your daughter seems to think that Peter’s son is mated to a human,” Arnold stated, pouring himself another cup.

Jan’s brows lifted. “But that’s impossible,” she said, turning to her daughter, willing her with her gaze to explain.

“I thought the same,” Arnold continued, taking a sip. “It would be disastrous if we made wrong arrangements based on false findings. We can’t afford mistakes now.”

“Maya…” Jan’s tone was cautious.

“Mom, I’m sure of it. I heard them talking,” Maya replied firmly, straightening her shoulders.

“Who?” Jan asked sharply.

“His son and his wife,” she replied hastily.

“Melvina? How did that happen?” Jan’s voice rose in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her daughter could be so daring. “Couldn’t they perceive that your scent was different?”

“No, they couldn’t. I gave her the witch’s potion,” Arnold murmured.