Page 9 of Bully Alpha's Secret Baby

Of course. Because nothing screams “intense emotional standoff” like a two-year-old demanding snacks.

“I’ll get you something in a minute, sweetie,” I whisper, forcing myself to stay calm. “Go back to your room, okay?”

But Penny doesn’t go. She just looks up at Damien with those big, curious brown eyes, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire world is teetering on the edge of disaster.

Damien lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair, and I brace myself for whatever’s coming next. I know him. I know how his mind works. He’s probably already calculating the odds, trying to figure out where Penny fits into all of this.

“She’s not mine,” he says slowly, more to himself than to me. “You had her with someone else after you left.”

I blink. What?

I open my mouth to correct him—to tell him that no, he’s very much wrong, that Penny is his daughter—but the words die on my tongue. Something stops me. Maybe it’s the fear. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t handle him knowing the truth—not right now. Not with him staring at me like that.

So, I don’t say anything. I just nod as I try to remember how to breathe.

He looks at Penny again, and for a brief moment, I wonder if there’s a shred of humanity left in him. But then, just as quickly, the mask is back in place.

“I’ll protect her,” Damien offers. “Both of you. Come back to the pack, and I’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

Something pinches me behind my sternum. I don’t like the way he’s using my baby as a bargaining chip, but with everything happening with the packs in the surrounding areas, am I really in a place to refuse protection?

“Damien, I—”

“And,” he adds, “I’ll make sure you’re protected, too. But if you refuse to come back…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs heavy in the air. I don’t need him to say it out loud. I know exactly what kind of danger I’m in if I stay out here. If I stay alone.

“You can’t threaten me like this,” I hiss, clutching Penny tighter. “I’m not some weak little girl anymore. I’m not scared of you.”

“Then don’t be scared. Be smart. You know what’s out there, Jade. Probably better than anyone else, given your… gifts. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her, too.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I may not trust Damien—hell, I could barely tolerate him—but there are bigger things at play here than my pride. Penny deserves better. She deserves to be safe.

She deserves a pack and a family.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself. The room feels smaller, the air heavier. Everything is crashing down around me, and the only way out—the only way to protect her—is to go back.

To him.

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” I mutter.

Damien’s gray eyes soften, just for a split second. “You’re doing what’s best for her.”

I look down at Penny, her little fingers still curled around my hair, her head resting on my shoulder. I hate this. I hate that I’m even thinking about going back to Starfire Hollow, but what choice do I have? Damien’s right. This isn’t just about me anymore.

I let out a long, shaky breath. “Fine. I’ll go.”

***

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Driving back to Starfire Hollow feels like stepping into a nightmare I thought I’d escaped. The road stretches ahead, winding through the mountains, and each passing mile makes my heart sink further. Penny sits quietly in her car seat, watching the trees go by, blissfully unaware of the mess we’re heading into. At least one of us is calm.

The pack compound looms on the horizon. It’s a sprawling settlement that somehow manages to look both ancient and perfectly in place in the middle of the city. It’s built like an old Spanish fortress, with high, white-washed walls and red-tiled roofs. The contrast between the compound and the modern surroundings that surrounds it has always struck me as strange—a relic of another time, hidden in plain sight. But now, looking at it through my daughter’s eyes, it feels even more surreal.

I pull the car up to the gate, my pulse racing as I lower the window to show the guard my ID. His eyes widen when he recognizes me—no doubt shocked to see the outcast and accused witch returning after three years with a child in tow. He says nothing, though. Just nods and waves me through after a glance at a list of authorized visitors.

The second we’re inside, nostalgia crashes over me like a wave. Every corner, every cobblestone walkway, every archway feels like a reminder of what I left behind. What I was forced to leave behind.

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