CHAPTER 222: GOING HOME

Hailee’s POV

"So," Peter said the moment we stepped out of the room, his tone calm but carrying that quiet authority he never lost. "Are you ready to come home? Mother is so excited to see you."

I stopped walking and looked up at him sharply. "Home?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. "Peter, I don’t think that’s a good idea." The words came out before I could stop them. My heart was already racing at the thought. "You know why I left. I can’t go back there—not now."

Peter turned his head slightly, studying me with that cool, patient look he always had when I resisted him as a child. "Hailee..." he began softly, "Father—"

I froze. The way he said it made my stomach twist. "What about Father?"

Peter let out a slow sigh and walked over to one of the waiting chairs, sitting down with quiet composure. He crossed one leg over the other, leaned back, and said it so casually that it almost didn’t register at first.

"Father is sick."

The words hit me like a slap.

I blinked at him, unable to speak for a second. "What?"

Peter’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded. "It started about a year ago. Out of nowhere, his health began to fail. We brought in healers from the Northern clans, doctors from the witch covens, even a few old sorcerers Father used to trust—but nothing worked."

My lips parted as my mind tried to catch up. "No... no, that’s not possible. He was strong, Peter. Father doesn’t just... fall sick."

Peter looked down briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then met my eyes again. "I thought the same thing at first. But this isn’t any normal illness. It’s... something else. The witches said his spirit is fading faster than his body. Like something is eating him from the inside."

I felt my knees weaken. I gripped the edge of a nearby chair, steadying myself. "What are you saying?" I whispered.

He looked at me with quiet sorrow. "He’s bedridden, Hailee. Can’t move, can barely speak. Some days he doesn’t even recognize anyone. The great lord of the Eastern Lycans is... just a living corpse now."

My breath hitched. "No..." I shook my head slowly. "No, that can’t be true."

Peter’s voice softened. "It is. I wouldn’t lie about this."

For a long moment, I said nothing. The man Peter was describing didn’t sound like the father I remembered — the one who had ruled with fire in his eyes and iron in his heart. The man whose voice once filled every hall, who demanded perfection, who trained his children to be warriors long before they were old enough to fight.

That man couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t be dying.

But Peter’s eyes told me otherwise.

I swallowed hard. "Is Mother okay?"

"She is," Peter said quietly. "She’s been caring for him day and night. She barely sleeps. The moment she heard I found you, she wanted me to bring you back immediately."

I looked away, blinking back tears. A part of me—the little girl who had once adored her parents—felt that pull of longing. But another part, the woman who had been banished ten years ago, remembered all too well the pain of that house.

"Peter," I said softly, "I don’t know if I can face him. After everything I did—after the shame I brought."

He stood and stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Hailee," he said firmly, "Father may be many things, but I know he missed you and wished he didn’t make that decision. And whatever happens, you’re not that frightened girl anymore. You’re a mother now. And besides, you need him to release your wolf and abilities to you before he dies."

His words hit deep. My wolf... my abilities... could I really have them back?

I took a shaky breath and nodded slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll think about it."

Peter gave a small smile—the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "That’s all I ask."

We sat there in silence for a moment. A comfortable silence hung in the air. Through the glass wall, I could see the boys inside, each conversing with their fathers.

Maybe Peter was right. Maybe it was time to face everything I’d been running from—my father, my past, and the pain I’d buried with it.

"Alright," I said finally, turning back to him. "After the Council hearing... I’ll go home."

Peter’s eyes softened. "Good," he said quietly. "Mother will be happy. And maybe... Father will find peace before he dies."

For a long while, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavy—not tense, but filled with too many things left unsaid. I kept staring at Peter, at the calm, composed way he spoke about Father’s illness, and something about it didn’t sit right.

He wasn’t... sad. Not really.

Concerned, yes. But there was no grief in his eyes. No ache in his voice.

"Peter," I said quietly, studying his face. "You don’t seem... bothered."

He looked up at me, one brow raised slightly. "Bothered?"

"Yes," I said, my tone filled with suspicion. "You just told me Father is dying. You said it like you were announcing the weather. Don’t you care?"

He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then a faint, humorless smirk tugged at his lips.

"Hailee," he said calmly, "if you’re thinking I had something to do with Father’s condition, I assure you—I didn’t."

I blinked, startled. "That’s not what I—"

He cut me off with a low chuckle. "You were thinking it. I saw the look."

Despite myself, I let out a small laugh. "You always could read me too well."

He shrugged lightly. "Perks of being your big brother."

But the smile faded quickly, and what came next carried a tired weight. "And to answer your question... no, I’m not as bothered as you’d expect. The truth is, my relationship with Father hasn’t been the same since you left."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Peter exhaled slowly, his eyes darkening as old memories seemed to surface. "When you were disowned and left, it was like you took whatever softness Father had left with you. After that, he became... crueler. Harder. Toward everyone—but especially me."

I swallowed. "Why you?"

He gave a dry laugh, though there was no amusement in it. "Because I reminded him of you. He said I might fail him as you did. Every council meeting after that, he made it a point to remind me I was nothing to him."

My chest tightened. "Peter..."

He waved a hand dismissively, but I could see the flicker of hurt beneath his calm. "It doesn’t matter now. The great Alpha Stones spent years breaking everyone around him—even his own heir. He built a legacy on fear, and now that he’s dying, all that’s left of him is silence. No one seems to be missing him."

I looked down, the ache in my chest deepening. For all Father’s harshness, I had once adored him—the warrior, the leader, the man who had taught me strength and strategy. To imagine him reduced to a shell was... unthinkable.

Peter must have seen the sorrow on my face because his voice softened. "Don’t mistake me, Hailee. I don’t hate him. I just stopped needing his approval a long time ago."

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "When you left, I envied you, you know. You had the courage to do what I couldn’t—walk away. I stayed, thinking I could fix things. But staying cost me everything."

I looked at him, my voice gentle. "What did he do?"

Peter hesitated for a long moment before answering. "He stripped me of my title once," he said quietly. "Said I wasn’t fit to rule because I fell in love with a commoner who is actually my mate. For three years, he gave my seat to one of his generals. I had to fight—literally—to earn it back."

My eyes widened. "He... made you fight?"

Peter gave a humorless smile. "Oh, yes. To the death. Against a man twice my size. I won, but I lost any respect I had for him that day."

I covered my mouth, horrified. "Peter, that’s—"

"—who Father is," he finished simply. "Was. You know it better than anyone."

Silence settled again.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a tired sigh. "So no, little sister. I won’t pretend to mourn him like a saint. The old man’s sins caught up with him long before his sickness did."

I looked at him—my brother, the Lycan King—and for the first time, I saw not just strength in his eyes but scars. Deep ones.

Slowly, I reached over and placed my hand over his. "Maybe you didn’t fix him," I said softly, "but you became better than him. That’s something he could never destroy."

Peter looked at me, and for the first time that night, his smile reached his eyes. "You’ve grown wiser, Hailee."

I smiled faintly. "You sound surprised."

"Always am," he teased gently. But then I noticed Nathan coming our way, and I froze, swallowing hard.

He reached where we stood and held my gaze. "Hailee... can I have a moment with you..." He paused and glanced at Peter. "Alone."