Page 68 of Alpha's Hated Mate

“Alpha Vaultmore,” a voice says from behind us.

We turn to find an elderly man hovering at the garden’s edge, his thin frame seeming to waver like the fading light. Gray hair frames a face lined with years of worry, hands clasped nervously at his waist.

“My lord,” he says with a slight bow. His eyes dart to Saffron, uncertainty written across his features. “And Luna Saffron. Forgive the intrusion.”

I step slightly forward, unsure if he is a friend or foe. “How can I help you?”

“Dr. Emile Muridae.” He clears his throat. “I was your father’s research assistant for many years.”

Tension instantly coils through my body and Saffron’s scent sharpens with anxiety beside me.

“What do you want?” My voice comes out harder than intended.

Emile’s shoulders hunch. “To apologize, firstly. I knew Nadia had fundamentally misunderstood her father’s goals behind his research on Scarlet wolves, but I had no idea she’d continued his experiments.” He wrings his hands together. “I should have spoken up sooner.”

“This is something of your father’s that you should have.” From his jacket, he produces a leather-bound journal—newer and more pristine than those we found in the lab. Its edges are barely worn. He places the journal in my reluctant hands.

“You should know that, in his final months,” Emile goes on, “Alton had . . . a profound change of heart about his research.”

I thumb through the pages, less than half are filled with my father’s meticulous handwriting.

“A change of heart?” Saffron asks in disbelief.

Emile nods, eyes downcast. “He always deeply regretted what happened with Natasha. And the experiments he conducted using Scarlet DNA without consent, even when they weren’t directly harmed.” He looks up, meeting my gaze.

“Too little, too late,” I find myself muttering without meaning to.

Emile nods with understanding. “Your father was a brilliant man who made terrible mistakes. But in the end, he wanted his research to help heal the divide he had helped create.”

Neither of us know how to respond.

Emile clears his throat. “I shall leave you both.” He offers a small smile. “My congratulations, Luna Saffron. Alpha Vaultmore.”

After Emile leaves, Saffron and I find a stone bench among the roses. The journal sits heavy between us. I run my fingers over the embossed leather, hesitant to open it.

“We don’t have to read it,” I offer.

Saffron shakes her head. “No, I want to.”

I open the journal, flipping past pages filled with equations, diagrams, and scientific notes in Father’s handwriting, until I get to a weathered bookmark. On the page is a lengthy passage where the tone shifts from clinical observation to something more profound.

I read out loud: “‘My fundamental error was seeing Scarlets and Neutrals as evolutionary anomalies to be fixed or controlled. They are, in fact, complementary forces designed to balance each other.’“

Saffron leans closer as I continue reading. My father’s research had led him to believe that historically, Scarlet-Neutral pairings had been crucial for wolf-kind’s survival during periods of great upheaval. Their combined abilities provided protection against both supernatural and mundane threats, while introducing beneficial genetic diversity into the population.

More shocking still is his theory about the persecution of Scarlets throughout history: “‘The systematic oppression of Scarlet wolves was never merely about prejudice—it was a deliberate strategy by certain power structures to prevent these balanced pairings from forming, as they represented a direct challenge to traditional Alpha dominance.’“

My throat tightens as I read his final entry: “‘The future of our kind lies not in dominance, but in balance. Scarlet and Neutral, passion and temperance, power and control—two halves of the same whole.’“

I doubt I can be surprised by anything new I learn about Alton Vaultmore anymore. The man from Saffron’s visions, the man who Nadia worshiped, and even the man in these pages are not the father and Alpha I knew—or thought I knew. He’d recognized his mistakes too late, but had hoped for change, nonetheless.

I look at Saffron, remembering all the suffering she and her mother endured because of my father’s actions. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive him . . . or Nadia, for that matter.”

Saffron touches my hand, her expression thoughtful. “I’m glad that he validated our suffering in the end. And I believe his final thoughts about the balance between Scarlets and Neutrals were genuine.”

I’m stunned that Saffron can find compassion in her heart after all the hell she’s endured. I take her hand, suddenly resolute.

It dawns on me that I can’t honor my father. Idon’t want tohonor my father. But I can honor my love by advocating for the protection and rights of all Scarlets.

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