Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 111

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Chapter 111

Damon pov

I woke early the next morning, before Evelyn or Willow had stirred, some restless unease from the previous day’s events pulling me from sleep earlier than usual. I made my way quietly toward the kitchen, intending to start coffee before the household properly woke, and noticed something on the porch through the front window.

A small box, plain and unmarked, sitting directly in front of our door.

Old instinct sharpened immediately, wariness settling cold into my chest as I approached the front door carefully, scanning the surrounding area before actually opening it. Sarah had been posted nearby through the night, and I glanced around, confused not to see her immediately visible.

I stepped outside cautiously, and found her a few feet away, positioned near the corner of the building, apparently maintaining watch from a slightly different angle than usual.

“Sarah,” I called quietly, and she turned immediately, alert.

“Everything okay?” she asked, moving toward me.

“There’s a box on the porch,” I said. “Did you see anyone approach during the night?”

Her expression tightened with obvious concern. “No, sir. I’ve been watching continuously. I don’t understand how anyone could have gotten close enough to leave something without me noticing.”

I stared down at the box, unease building further at that admission, understanding it meant either Sarah’s vigilance had somehow been genuinely circumvented, or whoever left this had exceptional skill at avoiding detection.

“Don’t touch it yet,” I said, though I was already crouching to examine it more closely without actually opening it. “I want Callum here first, and maybe someone to check it for anything dangerous before we open it properly.”

I called Callum immediately, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Evelyn, and he arrived within fifteen minutes, another pack warrior accompanying him, both examining the box with careful, professional attention before finally determining it was safe to actually open.

Inside, dead flowers lay wilted and browning, clearly cut and left to decay deliberately rather than simply forgotten, their once-vibrant petals now curling and darkened with obvious decay. Beneath them, a single note, printed in stark, oversized block letters that seemed almost deliberately menacing in their simplicity.

*THIS ISN’T OVER.*

Cold dread settled fully into my stomach, understanding immediately who had almost certainly left this, the timing far too coincidental given yesterday’s threatening phone call and the council’s subsequent decision to investigate Genevieve for potential threat.

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“This has her fingerprints all over it, figuratively at least,” Callum said grimly, examining the note without touching it directly. “We should get actual forensic analysis done, see if we can confirm it definitively.”

“Do it,” I said, my voice tight with controlled anger. “And I want to know how someone got close enough to leave this without Sarah noticing. That’s a serious security failure, regardless of who’s actually responsible.”

“I’ll investigate immediately,” Sarah said, her expression tight with obvious professional concern and frustration at her own apparent failure. “I don’t understand how this happened. I never left my post, never

lost visual awareness of the entrance.”

“Check for any blind spots, any angle someone might have used to approach without triggering your attention,” Callum said. “We need to understand exactly how this happened before we can properly prevent it going forward.”

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the wilted, decaying flowers, at the stark, threatening note, understanding with growing certainty that whatever vague threats Genevieve had made over the phone yesterday were apparently escalating into something more concrete, more deliberately unsettling.

The front door opened behind me, and Evelyn stepped out, Willow against her shoulder, her expression shifting immediately to alarm as she took in the scene-Callum, the additional warrior, the open box with its disturbing contents.

“What happened,” she asked, moving closer despite my instinctive urge to shield her from whatever this represented.

“Someone left this on our porch during the night,” I said, unable to fully soften the reality of what we were facing. “Dead flowers, and a note that says ‘this isn’t over.””

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