Page 19 of The Alpha's Shattered Bonds

Outside the infirmary, I extended Seraphina’s coat toward her, and she allowed me to help her into it. The simple acceptance warmed me, igniting a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, things were slowly shifting between us.

In under five minutes, we arrived home, the familiar kitchen awash in cozy warmth. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, she made a beeline for the refrigerator, and an unexpected wave of nostalgia flooded me. Memories danced through my mind of her returning from the mountains, cheeks flushed from the fresh air, gathering herbs and crystals with childlike glee. Back then, she would storm in, ready to raid the cupboards, filling up on chips and popcorn before I could coax her into something more nutritious.

“Do you have any chips?” she asked, an eager glint in her eyes.

I shook my head, regretting not stocking up on snacks during my last trip to town. Instead, I retrieved a couple of microwave meals from the fridge. “How does lasagne sound?”

“Like heaven,” she replied, shrugging off her coat and hanging it up by the door. She sank into a chair, her exhaustion apparent. She rolled her neck back and forth, cracking with each attempt to ease the tension built from hours of chopping and mixing. An impulse surged through me, my hands longing to knead the knots from her shoulders and soothe the tightness etched along her spine.

Forcing myself to focus, I unwrapped the lasagne, puncturing holes in the foil before placing it on a plate. The hum of the microwave reverberated around us, a comforting backgroundnoise that contrasted with my racing thoughts. Turning around, I caught her removing her boots, her small, tired movements igniting a rush of warmth in me and a desire to relieve her weariness.

“Want a glass of wine?” I asked, leaning back against the counter to divert my attention.

“Yes, please,” she replied, gratitude tinged with exhaustion lighting her features.

I poured two glasses and set them on the table just as the microwave dinged, snapping me from my reverie. I plated up our meals, feeling a deep satisfaction wash over me as I watched her finally eat something substantial. Even if it was just a microwave meal, it was a meal I had prepared for her. The wolf inside me rumbled contentedly. I had ensured she received nourishment.

After a few mouthfuls, Seraphina set down her fork, her brow furrowing with an intensity that pulled my attention. “I couldn’t tell you earlier, but this illness—it’s definitely the work of dark witchcraft.”

Her voice was steady yet laced with a tension that pulled me further into the gravity of the moment. I leaned forward, eager for clarity. “Tell me everything.”

With a deep breath, she continued, “It’s true what I told the packmates about seeing something like this at Selina’s boutique when her products were infected. That was Marissa, Selina’s sister. She infected Selina’s products with dark magic.”

A chill sliced through the warmth of the kitchen, leeching away our comforting atmosphere.

“But it’s more than that,” she pressed, her determination cutting through the tension. “I sensed this blend of dark magic a couple of months ago when the Black Moons invaded the Shadow Moon Pack. Marissa worked with a Black Moon witch. Their magic felt precisely like this.”

“Are you saying you can identify this dark magic as belonging to the Black Moon Pack?” I asked, urgency coloring my tone.

Her expression deepened. “Think of it like tasting wine—distinguishing the grape by its aroma, its flavor, the way it clings to the glass.” She swirled her deep red wine thoughtfully. “Each type of magic carries unique identifiers. This one feels like an oil slick against my skin. This particular blend is identical to the aura of the Black Moon witch. I’m convinced that the traitor responsible for this illness is someone colluding with them—a traitor who has been here all along.”

Anger washed over me, tightening my chest, and I could hardly breathe. “I need you to stay focused on treating the illness,” I insisted, trying to shake off the weight of her revelation. “I’ll investigate the connections between the illness and the traitor.”

The gravity of her words anchored me in a brooding silence as I contemplated the task ahead—rooting out this threat. Seraphina wolfed down her food and finished her wine long before I did. Her exhaustion became more pronounced, and I urged, “You need to rest.”

“I should wash up,” she said, though her voice was sluggish.

“Go to bed,” I ordered, forcing myself not to imagine her lying down, her midnight-black hair spilling out across the pillow. She shot me a grateful look before heading upstairs.

The following day, Seraphina returned to the infirmary, pouring her energy into treating the packmates once more. Her efforts began to bear fruit. As we hoped, her treatments proved effective, even for those most gravely afflicted.

With each day that passed, I silently thanked the goddess for Seraphina’s return. Without her, our pack’s situation could have spiraled further into chaos. Only a few of our Silver Moon warriors—David, Harry, and Neave—had fallen ill. But with only twenty strong warriors to guard our borders against the likes of the Black Moon Pack, I couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of more warriors being bedridden—a weakening that I suspected the traitor desired.

I had begun investigating the origins of the sickness. The first two sufferers of the illness had unfortunately passed away two days before Seraphina returned. The conversation with their surviving loved ones was difficult and yielded no leads. Harry, one of the Silver Moon warriors had been next to exhibit symptoms. I met with his brother in an attempt to try to piece together some common denominator between the three cases, but I came up infuriatingly empty.

Each day only deepened the sickening feeling that someone within our midst wished our pack harm. I could almost feel the dark magic as Seraphina had described it—an oily residue that clung to my skin and never quite vanished.

That, combined with my protective instincts, compelled me to check in on Seraphina at the infirmary far more often than necessary. With no solid leads to pursue regarding my investigation, my visits became my favorite part of each day.

It was uplifting to see the improvements among the packmates—those who had suffered mild cases had returned home with full health within four days. Meanwhile, the most seriously afflicted gradually regained consciousness, receiving teas that continued to stave off the sickness.

After a week of treatment, however, it became apparent that the remaining patients—Harry, David, and Neave—would need to remain in the infirmary. Seraphina determined their symptoms worsened whenever she reduced their doses. I couldn’t help but admire her as I watched her toil, amazed by her growth. She had become not only stronger but also kinder and more resilient through the trials.

I had sought to win Seraphina’s favor, hoping to mend our relationship. Yet she continued to distance herself from me, even going so far as to call me “Anatch—Uncle.”

Instantly, I was taken back to those weeks after her nineteenth birthday, when I’d tried to deny our mate bond. In my foolishness, I had suggested that she address me asAnatchto try to distance myself from her and what I’d decided were inappropriate feelings. Now, each time she uttered that name, it felt like a cold blade piercing my heart, a sickening reminder of my past choices. I longed to hear her call me by my name and feel the intimacy wrapped around each syllable. Desire thrummed through me at the thought of how she would moan my name, a possessive heat spiraling within me.

Every day seemed to bring fresh reminders of my role as her protector—her “caringAnatch.” I couldn’t shake the jealousy that brewed within me as young males gravitated toward her. David, now recovered enough to take short walks around the infirmary, inevitably found his way to Seraphina’s herb station.I watched as he bent over her work, helping her pick the delicate flowers she needed for her teas, his large hands awkwardly gentle against the fragile buds.

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