The Howlcrest Werewolves Legacy
Chapter 24: From Hate To Family Dining.

Chapter 24: From Hate To Family Dining.

But I didn’t care about their silent judgments.

I only cared about the woman standing next to me.

Taking a slow breath, I finally said what I came here to say.

"I can’t live without your daughter," I said, my voice firm and unwavering.

Her mother’s lips parted slightly, not in shock, but in disbelief.

Her father’s brows drew down like thunderclouds. "You—"

"I’m the Alpha of the Howlcrest clan of Picmeria," I continued, cutting him off. "Which means Olivia will be protected, respected, and cherished as my mate."

Olivia’s hand twitched at her side, and without thinking, I took it in mine.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she squeezed back, barely, but enough that my heart lurched in my chest.

"I’m not asking," I added, my voice a low growl. "But I am offering you the chance to understand what this means. The mate bond isn’t something you can break, not without consequences. She’s mine, and I’m hers."

Her mother narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly does Olivia get from this... arrangement?"

I looked down at Olivia then, not at her parents, because this was about her.

"You get me," I told her softly, letting the words sink in. "You get my protection, my loyalty, and my heart, if you want it."

She blinked, once, twice, then nodded.

It was a small, hesitant nod.

But it was everything.

Her parents exchanged a glance, a silent conversation I didn’t care to interpret, and finally, her father let out a slow, grudging breath.

"If she agrees..." His jaw clenched. "Then we won’t stand in the way."

Reluctant. Resentful. But agreement nonetheless.

And the moment the words left his mouth, I felt it, the electric spark of victory lighting up inside me.

I wasn’t sure if Olivia noticed the small smile tugging at my lips, or the way my grip on her hand tightened just a fraction.

But I noticed.

And I knew one thing for sure:

She was mine.

And now, the whole world would know it too.

OLIVIA’s POV

I still can’t believe this is happening.

This morning, I was running through the rain, trying to escape from an Alpha I wanted nothing to do with, and now, I’m standing in the grand dining hall of the Howlcrest estate, dressed in a borrowed gown, about to have dinner with his family.

The air is thick with the scent of pine and leather, mingling with the soft aroma of roasted meats and herbs drifting from the long table in the center of the room. A table so perfectly set it looks like a scene from a medieval painting, polished silverware, crystal glasses shimmering under the chandelier’s golden light, and the Howlcrest family crest engraved into every plate.

But none of that dazzles me as much as the presence of them.

Tristan’s brothers.

Four of them.

All of them tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly intimidating in their own way.

The first, Caspian, leans back against the far wall, arms crossed, with an unreadable expression on his sharp, angular face. His silver-streaked dark hair falls over one eye, but there’s no mistaking the intelligence simmering behind his gaze. Calm. Calculated. Watching.

Then there’s Fabian, who lounges casually in his chair at the table, one arm draped over the backrest. He’s got that easy-going charm, a half-smirk plastered on his lips as if this whole dinner is an amusing game. His dark brown hair is tousled, and his shirt collar is slightly open, more rogue than royalty.

Dorian is harder to pin down. He’s more refined, dressed immaculately, his posture as rigid as his ice-blue stare. He reminds me of Tristan, all strength and duty, but there’s a sharper edge to him, like a blade hidden behind a velvet glove.

And then there’s Lucian, the youngest, I assume. He’s softer in a way, his grin boyish and quick. His blond hair is shorter than Tristan’s, and his fingers tap absently on the table as if he’s eager for something to happen. Mischief lingers in his every movement.

All of them stare at me, a human, standing beside their eldest brother, their Alpha.

I swallow hard.

"Brothers," Tristan’s deep voice slices through the silence, steady and strong. "This is Olivia."

A pause.

Caspian is the first to speak. "So, this is the mate."

The word wraps around me like a second skin. Mate.

Fabian chuckles under his breath. "I see Tristan’s taste remains... unexpected." His lips curl at the edges, and I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult.

Dorian inclines his head slightly. "Welcome." It’s stiff, formal, but at least he’s polite.

And Julian? He just grins. "She smells nice," he says, and I stiffen.

A low growl rumbles in Tristan’s throat. "Enough."

Julian laughs, hands up in mock surrender. "I’m only saying."

The tension breaks, slightly.

Then, the air shifts again.

A new presence enters the room, and suddenly, all the brothers straighten. Even Fabian stops smiling.

It’s her.

Lady Cressida Howlcrest.

Their mother.

She glides in like a queen, her midnight-blue gown flowing behind her like water. Every part of her is sharp, her cheekbones, her narrowed eyes, the exactness of her posture. Silver hair cascades down her back, and there’s a regal grace in the way she holds herself, like she could command armies with a mere glance.

When her gaze falls on me, I feel like I’ve been stripped bare.

"Olivia," she says my name like it’s a puzzle she’s still solving. "Welcome to the Howlcrest family."

My throat is dry. "Thank you, Lady Howlcrest."

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, amusement? Curiosity? I can’t tell.

But before I can overthink it, another presence enters the room.

And this time...

It’s him.

Lord Alpha William Howlcrest.

The man who sired Tristan and his brothers.

He’s an older version of Tristan, tall, broad, with a chiselled jaw and a gaze that seems to pierce right through me. His beard is silver, his hair dark, and there’s an aura of raw power radiating off him, like the very air bends to his will.

"Father," Tristan acknowledges him with a nod.

"Tristan." Lord Howlcrest’s voice is a deep rumble, and when his gaze slides to me, I feel like I’m standing in front of a storm. "So, this is your human girl."

What?

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