Sneaking out of the castle he called home his entire life was not an easy feat. Although it being the middle of the night gave Michael an advantage, being the only remaining son of the Alpha made it nearly impossible for him to go anywhere undetected.

But he had to try.

After a quick rummage through a pile of scattered clothes on the floor, he was dressed in black pants and black tunic jacket, paired with boots he found at the foot of his bed. He then made his way to his bedside table, opened the top drawer and retrieved a key. He fisted it, the cold sting indicative of just how long the small piece of brass had been banished away in the dark. And it would have remained so had he not needed the very thing that called upon the key to serve its purpose.

Michael moved to the large six-door wooden wardrobe on the other side of the room. Other than clothes, five of the doors held nothing of importance. The sixth, however, had remained locked at all times. Had it not been for his dream, he certainly would not have found himself unlocking that door and pulling out the dirty secret he kept hidden away: a bag stuffed with a red cloak, stained with his blood.

He had not laid eyes on nor touched it in over a year—since the first time he returned from the Woodlands without any memories—and he was hesitant to do so again. It brought forth questions he could not find answers to. Answers he had been too afraid to find. But mixed in along with his fear was his curiosity, and it was now demanding he take action and search for those answers.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and made a break for his bedchamber door. As quietly as he could, Michael exited his room and shut the door behind him. The dimly lit corridor which housed only his room was a double-edged sword. It eliminated the risk of running into anybody, yet increased the chances of his escape being heard as any sign of movement would point directly at him. Careful not to walk too loudly or too quickly, it took Michael longer than it should have to near the end of the short corridor. But his carefulness proved useless once he rounded the corner and saw six guards—three on each side and equally distanced—posted from the start of the longer corridor to the middle of it.

He stopped. It looked like his escape was not going to be as easy as he had thought. However, he tightened his grip on the bag and continued on with the plan.

One step into the corridor was all it took for all heads to turn in his direction. Before Michael could take a second, the guard closest to his right moved from his position and walked up to him.

"We are under orders to keep you from leaving. Please return to your room."

Michael rolled his eyes. Under orders? Was he a child that needed permission to leave?

He closed the space between them and stared down at the guard, who would not—could not—meet his eyes. "Step aside." Michael kept his voice low, but there was no denying the seriousness in his tone.

However, the guard did not move.

Michael looked up at the others. "I said step aside," he repeated as he brushed past the guard. His action seemed to have signalled the other five to take action because they immediately moved to the center of the corridor and formed a line to block off his path.

Again, he stopped, but only because he had no choice. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when a voice came from down the corridor.

"As you can see, they do not take orders from you."

Once their eyes locked, Michael watched his father's beta, Damien, walk past the guards to stand directly in front of him. There were not many occasions in which their paths would cross, and the reason for that was simple: Michael did not like the tall, dark haired brute of a man. He never had and was absolutely certain he never would.

"Damien," Michael crossed his arms, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Damien glanced at the bag on Michael's shoulder then back at him. "I am here to make sure you do not cause any problems."

"There would not be any problems if your men would simply stand aside and let me go."

"Go where?"

"Wherever I please." He did not answer to Damien, and, therefore, owed him no explanation.

"I am sure it has already been made clear you are not allowed to leave. You would be wise to turn around and quietly go back to your room."

"There is no reason for me to be detained. Tell me, what have I done this time to piss him off?"

It did not take much to anger his father, Aaron, but to go to the extent of posting guards outside of Michael's door was a little overdramatic, even for him.

Damien smirked. "It was not the Alpha, but your mother who gave the command."

"My mother? Why?"

"Am I to know the thought process of the Alpha Female? Perhaps you should reflect upon your actions as of late to find the reason. And you can start doing so while turning around and going back to your room."

Before Michael could protest, Damien had already turned and started to walk back down the corridor.

Michael looked over each guard. The line they maintained made it clear there would be no escape. It had already been proven the power in his command failed in comparison to that of an Alpha Female. So, with no other choice, he turned around and headed back to his bedchamber. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, then leaned back against it. With a deep sigh, he let the bag slide off his shoulder and fall to the floor.

One thing his mother, Reina, excelled at these days with little to no effort was driving him to the brink of insanity. Harsh as it may have sounded, her endless need to keep Michael close and under her watchful eye was arguably just as harsh. It was why he tried—sometimes successfully, most times unsuccessfully—to avoid her. Maintaining a carefully measured distance had been their dynamic for nearly a year.

But what his mother wanted, she always got.

Michael had been naïve to believe he was in control of setting the boundaries in their relationship, and foolish not to see she had allowed him to believe so. Letting him roam free and pull away from her had, in fact, been pushing him into a corner all along. Going to such lengths as to keep him from leaving the confinements of his bedchamber meant one thing: she wanted him to go to her.

The only way Michael could leave the castle was if he were to go to her and convince her to drop the command. But doing so would mean dropping the silent treatment and talking to her, which Michael was unsure he wanted to do.

He stared down at the bag that landed next to his feet. Sitting on his haunches, he picked it up and opened it slightly. As he peered down at the blood-stained cloak, he wondered why he could not let it go. Why he could not just throw it away, burn it, or bury it along with his fear and forget it existed.

He knew why.

It was the same reason why locking it away had not made him forget, nor banished away the fear that made itself known every night when he closed his eyes. If Michael wanted to get over his fear then he would have to face it head on. And in order to do something he needed to do, he would have to, first, do something he did not want to do.

Abandoning the bag, he stood up, opened his door, and stormed down the corridor. When he came across the guards, he walked up to the one who had stopped him earlier. "Take me to my mother."

* * *

It was not long before Michael arrived outside his mother's bedchamber. As late as it was, the light peeking from underneath her door indicated she was very much awake. Nerves gathered in the pit of his stomach, and he debated turning back. He had come to talk, but now that he was there, it all became too much too soon as he remembered why he had made every effort to avoid ending up in this very situation.

Behind him, he felt the guard's gaze. He remained far enough away to give Michael space, but close enough to make sure he did not try anything like escaping. Annoying as it was to be escorted around in his own home, Michael could not fault the guard for doing his job.

Michael lifted his hand, paused for only a brief moment, then knocked on the door. His hand then dropped to the handle, gripping it tightly as he waited for the command to enter. The moment he heard her voice—neither harsh nor loud—tell him to come in, he knew she had been awaiting his arrival. And that thoroughly irritated him because it reminded him that the only person who knew him better than he knew himself was his mother.

With a twist of the handle, Michael opened the door and entered the room. After closing it behind him, he ventured no further than a few feet from it. Should he need to flee, he thought it best to keep close to the only exit. That, and he wanted to make it clear to her that he had no intentions of staying long.

He meant only to get in, get what he wanted out of her, then get out.

Unlike his room, the source of light within his mother's bedchamber came not from the moon but from the large fireplace on the right side of the room and candles scattered throughout the large room. Across from him, they adorned the wooden tables on either side of her bed. To the left, they littered the dressing table she was seated at, dressed in a nightgown and engaged in what he could only assume was her nightly routine. From where he stood, he could smell the scented oils she was rubbing along her arms.

It had been a while since he had been there, but not much had changed. From ceiling to floor, from wall to wall, it was filled with lavish furnishings and everything someone of her stature would need, but still void of a man's touch and presence.

"Michael, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Michael turned his head in her direction and crossed his arms. "You know why I am here." She knew exactly why he had come. It was the middle of the night, and instead of being asleep, she was wide awake and brushing out non-existent tangles from her long, blonde hair. "So, tell me what it is you want, and then get rid of them."

When she caught his gaze through the vanity mirror, the charade stopped when she dropped the brush onto the table. The hair she had neatly brushed to one side, she tossed over her shoulder, then stood and turned to face him.

"There will be a pack meeting this afternoon, and it is important you attend this one. If you can promise me you will be there, then not only can you leave the castle as you wish, but also return to not speaking to me."

"Do not act as if I am akin to a child throwing a tantrum. You refused to tell me the truth of what happened that night, so I stopped bothering with trying to get it out of you."

His mother did not respond right away. Instead, she walked over to the foot of her bed and picked up the dark cloak that laid on top. He thought it odd to have been there in the first place, but was not bothered enough to care nor ask. He simply watched her fold then carry it over to the large wardrobe next to her dressing table.

"I will keep my word, so long as you attend the meeting."

"Why is it so important I be there?"

After placing the cloak inside, she closed the wardrobe and turned to face him. "Because it is your duty as the future Alpha, Michael."

"And if I do not wish to be?"

"If only wishes could make a difference in our world. But, alas, they carry no such power. Promises, however, do. And a year ago, when your father called upon the other packs and asked for their help, promises were made. Promises that cannot be broken."

"What do those promises have to do with me?"

"He promised one of the Alphas a mate for his daughter."

"Again, what does that have to do with—" Michael suddenly realized exactly what it had to do with him. "You cannot be serious. You, of all people, cannot be serious."

His mother was surely deluded if she thought a mate was something he wanted. He expected no less from his father—to set him up with some Alpha's daughter without his consent—but he never imagined his mother would so easily agree with such a ridiculous decision.

"I did not make the promise, Michael. All I know is the meeting will be a discussion."

"Great. Then when I tell him I will not take a mate—not now, not ever—that should be the end of the discussion."

"And if you do not, what becomes of the pack? Every decision we make and every action we take must be for the betterment of the pack."

"I will not consent, and you know why. I will not be responsible for someone I cannot protect. Not again."

His mother closed the space between them and took his face in her hands. Michael had not realized he missed the warmth of her touch until he felt it, and it was that reason alone that prevented him from pulling away.

"You did not fail your brother. Everything you did was to protect Gabriel because that is who you are, Michael. You loved him, and love will always give you the strength to protect the ones you hold dear."

Her hands dropped from his face to pick up his hands. "I know this was not the initial path you were meant to take, but you are on it now, and there is no changing the course. The only thing you can do is accept it."

Michael saw the desperation in her blue, tear-filled eyes. Her need. What he wanted when he came to her was the freedom to come and go as he pleased, but the only thing she wanted was to not lose another son. And the difference in their desires would only continue to clash because the harder he tried to pull away, the tighter she would hold on. The only way to get her to let go was to force her into doing so.

And that could only be achieved by crossing a line that should not be crossed.

Michael took a step back and pulled his hands from hers. "Fine. I will attend the meeting. But I would like to visit Gabriel's grave beforehand, if that is okay. Without the chaperones."

"Of course," she agreed.

Like Michael knew she would. Just like he knew what was about to come.

"Perhaps...I can join you?"

He smiled softly. Not because he was elated to not have to visit his dead brother's grave alone, but because his mother was falling right into his trap.

"If you wish."

"After breakfast then?"

He nodded. "I will see you after breakfast. Good night."

Without waiting for her to respond, Michael turned and exited the room.

Before the guilt formed.

Before regret talked him out of what he planned to do.