Hunting My Werewolf Ex
Agatha Christie · Completed · 6.4k Words
Introduction
Ivy's wasted, craving adrenaline. She banks hard into my son's flight path.
Impact. Explosion. Metal rain.
Silas cradles his sobbing side piece while my boy's helicopter spirals into hell:
"Easy, sweetheart. You're breathing, that's what counts. Little punk got himself killed being stupid—not our problem."
Hours later, after they've hosed the wreckage off the runway:
"Roxanne? Your mother and son are ash. Come identify the remains."
I'm ready to burn the world down when my phone lights up:
Mom! Me and Grandma are at the underground fights. Holy shit, what exploded out there? Some poor bastard just got roasted!
They never flew.
So whose charred corpses are cooling in the morgue?
Chapter 1
Curfew night. Storm-black sky. My werewolf husband racing his red fox mistress through the no-fly zone like it's a goddamn game.
Ivy's wasted, craving adrenaline. She banks hard into my son's flight path.
Impact. Explosion. Metal rain.
Silas cradles his sobbing side piece while my boy's helicopter spirals into hell:
"Easy, sweetheart. You're breathing, that's what counts. Little punk got himself killed being stupid—not our problem."
Hours later, after they've hosed the wreckage off the runway:
"Roxanne? Your mother and son are ash. Come identify the remains."
I'm ready to burn the world down when my phone lights up:
Mom! Me and Grandma are at the underground fights. Holy shit, what exploded out there? Some poor bastard just got roasted!
They never flew.
So whose charred corpses are cooling in the morgue?
Roxanne's POV
Black smoke billowed from the wreckage on the landing pad, the acrid smell of burned metal choking the air.
I'd barely pushed through the police tape when I caught several pilots talking in hushed, angry voices.
"That bastard Silas makes me sick! He was right there—one flare could've saved them!"
"Two lives, just gone. He watched them burn alive."
"What's worse? The asshole actually complained that the explosion was too loud and scared his precious little fox. No soul at all."
Ice shot down my spine.
Silas—my werewolf husband of seven years—had become this heartless.
"Roxanne? What're you doing here? Making trouble?"
That low growl came from behind me.
Silas had been holding his trembling mistress, but the second he saw me, the warmth in his eyes turned to ice.
He grabbed my wrist roughly and dragged me into the shadows.
Alpha wolf dominance crashed over me like a wave.
I stared him down: "That was your SON! My mother! Why didn't you save them?!"
"You gonna believe whatever garbage these nobodies are feeding you?"
His eyes narrowed, voice full of irritation.
"The storm was insane up there—how was I supposed to save anyone? I'm your husband. You'd rather trust strangers than me?"
He looked down at the woman in his arms.
His voice went soft as silk: "Ivy was terrified, practically convulsing. In an emergency like that, you take care of who's still breathing."
Even wild animals protect their cubs.
Looking at this man who only had eyes for his side piece made my stomach turn:
"Her little scare was more important than your son's life?!"
Silas's expression darkened:
"That kid was spoiled rotten. Thought he owned the sky! Ignored the storm warnings and got himself killed—he had it coming!"
"You son of a BITCH!"
I was shaking with rage, pointing at Ivy clinging to him, reeking of alcohol:
"My son took off before any warnings! This drunk slut cut into restricted airspace and killed him! The Beast Council would execute her for less!"
Ivy clutched Silas's jacket, her red fox ears drooping as tears streamed down her face.
"Silas, it's all my fault... I was just so happy my aircraft design got approved. I wanted to celebrate."
She looked up at me with watery eyes: "Roxanne, blame me. Leave Silas out of this. If my death makes this right..."
Silas looked ready to die for her.
He pushed Ivy behind him, using his Alpha tone:
"Enough! They're dead—what more do you want? What's the point of dragging this out?"
"Vandro Corp is at a critical stage. We need Ivy's expertise. Roxanne, drop the tantrum!"
This was the ungrateful wolf I'd built up with my pride's entire fortune.
For some lying fox bitch, he'd twist the truth and stand on his son's grave without missing a beat.
Pure fury exploded through me.
CRACK!
I slapped him so hard his whole head snapped to the side.
Silas held his cheek, turned back with fangs bared:
"Roxanne, are you out of your fucking—"
CRACK!
I backhanded him across the other cheek before he could finish.
"Seven years!" I screamed. "Seven years I swallowed my pride for you! Built your empire while you chased tail! But this? You let our son DIE for this whore!"
Silas stood frozen, completely stunned.
Ivy shrieked and grabbed his arm:
"Don't hurt Silas! Hit me instead! I'll take whatever you want!"
She tried to pull my hands toward her own face.
Playing victim for the cameras.
I shoved her away hard. She hit the ground.
"Don't touch me, you murdering bitch." I glared down at her. "You want pain? It's coming."
I spun toward the Beast Authority captain and flashed my ID:
"Montgomery Pride Alpha. That helicopter was mine. I want the black box data and cabin recordings—"
Rough hands yanked me backward.
Silas grabbed my shoulders and shoved me down onto the cold pavement.
He stood over me, waving an official document:
"Settlement agreement. Signed and sealed five minutes ago. As your legal mate, I just made this disappear."
"Go home, Roxanne. Keep pushing me and you'll regret it."
Last Chapters
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When frost meets fire, the world shatters. She was never meant to leave her tower. He was never meant to find her. But destiny doesn’t bow to kings or care for cages and now the question burns through them both: Can Bella have her Beast? Or will the girl of snow melt in the heat of his desire?
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"Put her down," I try to command, panic threading through my thoughts. "You’ll hurt her."
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Iron And Glamour Just Don't Mix
Well… Sometimes you just might turn out to be right.
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Why does being near him make my skin feel too tight, like I’m wearing a sweater two sizes too small?
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**
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**
I hate girls like her.
Entitled.
Delicate.
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The image of her standing in the doorway, clutching her cardigan tighter around her narrow shoulders, trying to smile through the awkwardness, won’t leave me.
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I don’t care.
It’s not my problem if Tyler’s an idiot.
It’s not my business if some spoiled little princess has to walk home in the dark.
I’m not here to rescue anyone.
Especially not her.
Especially not someone like her.
She’s not my problem.
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I fall forward onto the bed then turn around to stare at him. The dark tattoos of Domonic's chiseled shoulders, quiver and and expand with the heave of his chest. His deep dimpled smile is full of arrogance as he reaches behind himself to lock the door.
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