Chapter 4 Chapter 4

I next opened my eyes to the light of dawn. I was in a room with stone walls and a wooden floor with great huge windows letting in the morning rays. The bed was high and comfortably with four posts and a wide selection of pillows and cushions.

I felt the soft silk covers between my fingers and furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the room. It was strange. Everything felt completely alien yet weirdly familiar at the same time. I'd read every book on the shelf, seen every painting on the wall before and I even felt some kind of connection to the vase of gentle pink flowers on the desk. I stared for a few moments longer before standing up and walking over to them. They were fresh, clearly picked earlier this morning, and soft when I caressed their fragrant petals and sweet when I smelt their scent. Azaleas. Yes, that's right. They bloomed every summer in the pack I grew up in.

None of this made sense, my memory was a cloudy fog and I couldn't help but wonder I hadn't woken up to the sound of a screaming child in my own bed next to my mate.

After standing with furrowed eyebrows for a few moments, I ran my finger along the books: Lemony Snicket, Agatha Christie, Charles Dickins, JRR Tolkien, George Orwell, Jane Austen...every single one of then I had read and loved countless times before. And then the paintings framed on the wall. Although childish and simple, the memories they held had magnitude beyond comprehension. I couldn't tell you the significance of each individually but the overall feeling they gave were warm and nostalgic...almost as if I had known the places in the paintings. There was one in particular with a whole line of trees and below two figures. They were only stickmen in their simplest form but in that moment, when realisation his me. There could only be one person behind this.

Right on time, the door to the room opened. Their scent filled the air and for a moment there was total silence as I stood unable to turn and face them. 

"Ella," he uttered confirming what I knew to be true.

I turned and tears began to stream down my cheeks as I met his eyes. Soon enough I had run into his arms and was hugging him so tightly.

"Connor," I whispered. "My brother."

"I missed you so much, Ellsie," he said kissing my head and wiping the tears off my cheeks.

"You've grown up. You're a man," I replied looking up and running my finger along his cheek that was now underneath a layer of light stubble.

"It's been seven years. I'm twenty-five," he said.

"Twenty-five," I repeated. "How has so much time gone by? It feels like only yesterday that we were in Highschool."

"Well a lot happened in a short amount of time and it changed us forever," he replied. "I miss those simpler times."

"I've missed you. But I have so many questions."

"Sit down. I have a lot to explain and it may take some time," he said gesturing to the bed. "Your memory will start coming back soon and I want to tell you before you lose your shit."

"What? My memory? Why would I lose my shit?" I questioned. 

"You've been drugged with a powerful gas. It makes you sleep for days and fucks up your short-term memory but it is only tempory."

"Why? What is going on, Connor? And is this a castle?"

"Yes it is."

"Where?"

" I can't tell you where."

"What?!" I said reaching a level of confusion beyond comprehension.

"This is where I've been living since your mate exiled me," he explained. "This place is filled with Stella exiles. They call it the Kingdom of the Banished."

"Why am I here?" I asked. "Did I dream the-"

"The attack on your pack? Unfortunately not," he said quietly. He then looked up and took a deep breath. "We have a 'King', so to speak, and he, along with every wolf here, is fueled by hatred of you mate. He's done us all over in one way or another and the King especially wants nothing more than to see him dead. We are planning an uprising. You are here firstly because you are my sister and I wanted to see you again and secondly as bate. If we have you, we can get Leonardo Loren. I didn't want to do it so violently but like I said, I am not in charge and many want to see Alpha Loren and all in his pack suffer as much as possible. Believe it or not that was the compromise. We could have done much worse."

My mouth dropped a little. My memory was coming back like a tsunami.

"But you're involved?" I asked. "Those people were innocent. And you plan to kill my mate?! Did you think I would be okay with this?!"

He sighed again but didn't reply. Not only did he look older but his whole demeanour had changed. With time, it had grown darker and an eager, restless motion of vengeance hung in his eye.

"I was with a little boy when he heard his mother get killed! How could you!?"

Connor shook his head.

"That little boy is my son," he told looking me dead in the eye. "His names Teddy, he's five years old and his mother is perfectly safe. It was all part of the plan."

"You...you have a son? That boy was your son?" I asked not entirely sure how to feel. 

"I found my mate here pretty much as soon as I arrived. She was in on the plan it too," Connor explained.

"I am happy for you. I really am but at the same time, you are planning an uprising against my mate and you were part of a plan to kill innocent people and you dragged your five-year-old son into it?" I said. 

"Pretty much," he replied in a cold tone.

"I'm leaving," I said standing up.

"Even if I allowed you too, the King wouldn't and he has hundreds of guards. Don't even bother trying," he sighed leaning back on his elbows on the bed, not bothering to try and stop me

"I'm actually pretty good at escaping. I've had plenty of practice," I snapped.

"Well, before you try and get locked up in the dungeon or maybe even killed," he began. "There is something more you should know."

"What?" I asked eagerly.

"Dad's not dead," he stated.

"Dad's not dead..." I repeated to myself. "Connor, we went to his funeral. There was a coffin and we fucking buried him. Dad is definitely dead. Dad's been dead for twelve years."

"Stay here," he said standing up. "I'll be back in a minute."

He then left the room leaving me alone with a bombshell. Sorry, scrap that. An entire bloody battlefield of bombshells.

I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. If he was alive, where has he been all this time? It didn't make sense.

I then looked back at the paintings and flowers and books. It was him that taught me to paint and him that read stories to me and him that took me out to pick the azaleas. 

The more I stared at my old belongings and into my past the more I began to realise that I guess it kind of did make sense.