Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 243

Ethan pov

I found the box sitting on the front steps just after dawn, positioned with deliberate, almost theatrical care—expensive-looking wrapping paper, a carefully tied ribbon, the kind of presentation that would have suggested a genuine gift under any other circumstances.

Something instinctive made me hesitate before actually opening it, my wolf already pressing against the surface with sharp, wary alertness.

I called for Callum before actually touching it, understanding after everything from the past several days exactly how careful we needed to remain regarding anything unexpected appearing near our territory.

He arrived quickly, along with two additional warriors, and after careful inspection confirmed no obvious explosive or chemical threat, I finally opened it.

A dead rabbit lay inside, its throat cut with obvious precision, blood carefully arranged to spell out a single word across the box's interior lining.

*Soon.*

Cold fury crashed through me immediately, understanding exactly what this represented despite the absence of any formal signature or explicit claim.

"They're not gone," I said, my voice tight with barely controlled anger. "They're genuinely still nearby, watching, planning something further."

Callum's expression hardened. "This confirms they're not simply fleeing to avoid consequence. They're genuinely continuing their campaign, regardless of the increased risk that represents."

I brought the box immediately to my father's study, understanding the genuine urgency of what we now faced, and watched his own expression shift through matching fury as he examined the disturbing contents.

"This is genuinely escalated theatrical cruelty," he said grimly. "Not simply threat, but deliberate psychological intimidation, understanding exactly how unsettling this presentation would prove."

"I need to tell Nadia," I said, though genuine reluctance built immediately at the prospect of delivering this fresh, frightening development.

"She deserves to know," my father confirmed. "Withholding information about continued threats against her safety, however difficult that conversation proves, would genuinely represent worse betrayal than simply confronting the difficult truth directly."

I found her in the kitchen, having apparently just finished breakfast, and something in my expression must have immediately conveyed the seriousness of what I needed to actually share.

"What's happened," she asked, setting down her cup with obvious, immediate concern.

I showed her the box, watching her expression carry genuine, controlled horror as she processed the disturbing message.

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