Page 53 of Alpha Unbound

"He left it for you," he says softly. "He trusted you to hold on to it."

"He shouldn’t have to do it alone."

Hudson brushes soot from my cheek and kisses me—not gentle, not sweet, but full of heat and promise. "He won’t. But he needs time. And we… we need to live the life he fought to protect."

It isn’t just a journal. It’s a breadcrumb trail, leading deeper into the shadows Luke has vanished into. Tucked between its pages are hand-drawn maps marked with coded routes, names I don’t recognize—some crossed out, others underlined in red—and strange symbols I’ve seen carved into trees along the Hollow’s outer border. They mean nothing to me yet, but I can feel their weight. And I will learn. We will. Together.

In Wild Hollow, revitalization begins again. It’s more than wood and nails. The town begins to breathe again, not inone great sigh, but in small, steady bursts: laughter on front steps, the measured rhythm of hammers ringing out down Main Street, music drifting from porches where silence once settled like dust.

The air carries the scent of sawdust and smoke, mingling with cider simmering on stoves and bread rising in warm ovens. Children race through doorways, their shouts echoing like promises. Windows flicker with lamplight and life. Slowly, steadily, Wild Hollow stitches itself back together—one wall, one smile, one softened heart at a time.

I reopen the general mercantile three days later. Hank waddles from the counter to the front of the store, taking up his usual post beside the door like a feathered sentinel, hissing at anyone who dares track in the dirt. His eyes follow everyone, daring them to test him.

Hudson moves through the aisles, stocking shelves with calm efficiency, sleeves rolled up and muscles flexing beneath the faded gray of his shirt. Every woman who passes the window pauses, pretending not to look, but looking all the same. I can’t blame them—not with the way he grins over his shoulder at me, mischief in his eyes and flour dusting his jaw like he stepped out of some fantasy bakery calendar.

Elena wanders in a few days later, her boots scuffing across the floor and leaving faint prints in the layer of dust we haven’t quite chased out yet. Her jeans are snug, her sweater is baggy and she has a scarf wrapped around her neck to ward off the chill.

Her shoulders are tight, jaw set, but there’s something flickering in her eyes—something restless, unresolved. She doesn’t speak right away, just sets her satchel on the counter and unzips it with fingers that tremble ever so slightly. She tosses a small envelope onto the counter and says, “This was propped up against my coffeemaker. It was addressed to me."

My brow rises. "Luke?"

She nods, expression unreadable. I leave her while I help a customer find the right lantern oil. When I come back, Elena is holding the letter with both hands, eyes distant.

“What did he say?” I ask gently.

She gives me a soft, stunned smile. "Nothing but the letter. It says this was never just about Wild Hollow. He says there’s more.”

"You mean he’s gone?"

She nods. "He was there one night, and the next morning, he was gone."

We stand there in silence, both of us clutching remnants of someone who refuses to vanish. The envelope in Elena’s hands, the journal in mine—they pulse with the weight of unanswered questions. Of loyalties unspoken. Of a connection that refuses to die. Whatever Luke is involved in hasn’t ended here. And something deep in my gut tells me—it’s only just beginning.

That night, Hudson and I curl together in bed. The cracked windows let the sharp scent of pine and ash drift through, remnants of the battle lingering in the air. The sheets tangle around us, warm from our bodies and the heat of something deeper—relief, yes, but also the kind of closeness forged by fire and fear. My hand rests over his chest, rising and falling in a steady rhythm, syncing with mine. For a while, we don’t speak. We don’t need to. It’s enough to just be. Safe. Whole. Home.

"Think he’s watching us?" I whisper.

"Probably."

I try to laugh, but the sound comes out more like a mix of ache and anger. "He should’ve come to me. I deserve better than this and so does Elena. We both deserve better than loving and mourning a ghost."

Hudson’s arm tightens around me, steady and warm. "He’s trying to protect you both. But yeah... he should’ve known better."

"Whatever comes next, Hudson… we face it together. No more secrets. No more hiding."

I turn to face him, brushing his jaw with my fingers. "You stood with me when I needed it most. I’ll stand with you until the end."

Our lips meet, slow and sure. A promise sealed in heat and devotion. The war is over—for now. But the danger still lingers in the shadows. And somewhere out there, Luke walks alone with secrets yet to be told.

Which means our story?

It’s far from over.

CHAPTER 21

LUKE

Because in this moment, I feel everything I’ve tried to bury clawing its way to the surface—need, guilt, hunger, hope. Because I can’t. Not when her nails dig into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself. Not when her legs tighten around my waist, hips arching, desperate to draw me in deeper.

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