**Between Then and Now by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 8**
I was blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing within the White Moon Pack.
Since our departure, I had taken my daughters to Cindale—a sanctuary where the sun’s rays seemed to dance perpetually, where winter’s icy grip was a mere figment of the imagination. It was a paradise where my precious snowflakes could bask in warmth, free from the biting cold that had once haunted their innocent dreams.
For a month, a serene calm enveloped me, wrapping around my heart like a comforting embrace, shielding me from the storms of the past.
But today, as I meticulously polished the frames that held my daughters’ smiling faces, a sudden, sharp knock shattered the tranquility of my sanctuary. My heart raced, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I approached the door.
When I swung it open, I was met with an unexpected sight. There, on my porch, was Blake Wilder—the Alpha of the White Moon Pack—kneeling as if the weight of the world had crushed him down to the ground.
“Lena,” he croaked, his voice breaking like fragile glass. “I’ve come to bring you and the girls home.”
A surge of anger coursed through me, and I instinctively moved to slam the door shut. But in a swift motion, his hand shot out, blocking my escape.
“Please. Just let me speak to you,” he pleaded, desperation etched across his features.
My fingers gripped the doorknob tightly, the cold metal grounding me in my fury. “There’s nothing left to say,” I replied, my voice steady but laced with a tremor of pain.



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