Page 13 of Alpha Unchained
My wolf starts to snarl, to show her she can’t order me around, but I clamp down on the urge. She isn’t prey—she’s fire. And if I bare my teeth now, I’ll lose her for good. My jaw aches from the effort not to shift, not to howl my claim loud enough for the whole damn town to hear. "You can throw every book you have in here at me, Elena, but it won’t change what’s between us. I’m not leaving. Not until you hear me out."
She steps even closer, eyes blazing, her body tense, every inch the new wolf she’s become. "If you don’t walk out right now, I swear I’ll call every Rawlings in town and have them drag you out. Your sister's pack won't give a damn that you were once heir to the McKinley pack. You don’t get to come back and play alpha. Not here. Not with me."
We’re toe to toe, neither of us willing to back down, breath coming hard. I catch the scent of her tears before I see them, but she blinks them away and raises her chin, steel and heartbreakin every line. The rest of the world drops away—there’s nothing but her, the pounding of my heart, and the defiant challenge in her eyes.
She moves even closer, her voice a low, trembling whisper. "I don’t care what you think you’re claiming. I don’t care what you think you’re owed. I survived without you once—I’ll do it again. But if you don’t get out right now, I’ll make you regret it."
For a second, all I can do is stare at her—at the fury and heartbreak and wild strength blazing in her eyes. She marches past me and throws the front door open so hard the bell is nearly ripped off.
"Last chance, McKinley. Walk out now—or I’ll teach you exactly how dangerous I’ve become."
I don’t move. Not yet. My wolf howls for her, desperate to stay, desperate to prove I belong here. But Elena’s glare is a promise, and I know I’m one wrong move away from losing her for good.
"You want me gone? Fine; for now," I say, voice rough with everything I’m holding back. "But this isn’t over, Elena. Not by a damn sight."
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down. The door hits me in the back as I finally step out onto the sidewalk. The chilly air bites at my skin, and I feel the loss like a physical wound.
As I start to walk away, a chill creeps down my spine. There’s a dark sedan idling at the end of Main Street, windows tinted, engine purring low and steady. Not a car I recognize—too clean, too quiet, too polished for Wild Hollow. For a moment, it doesn’t move. The entire street seems to hold its breath, the only sound being the distant clatter of a delivery truck somewhere far behind me.
I keep walking, every muscle on alert, and angle my approach so I’ll pass within a few yards of the sedan. As I draw closer, the driver’s window glides down just enough to reveal asliver of shadowed face—sharp jaw, mirrored sunglasses, hands motionless on the wheel. The faintest trace of expensive cologne rides the air, out of place and jarring in the morning stillness.
He doesn’t speak at first, just lets the silence stretch. My wolf strains against my skin, teeth bared, every instinct screaming that this is a threat I can’t see coming.
Finally, his voice slips out—low, calm, practiced. “Mr. McKinley. Word travels fast in a small town.” His tone is smooth, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. “You should be careful who you trust these days. The Hollow isn’t what it used to be.”
I say nothing. Just stand there, pulse pounding in my ears, sizing him up the way I would any rival circling my territory.
The driver taps a finger on the steering wheel, then sets a plain white envelope on the dash, my name printed in bold, block letters. “You have enemies, Mr. McKinley. Some old. Some new. It’d be a shame if someone you cared about got caught in the middle. Consider this… a courtesy.”
He gives a thin, humorless smile. For a moment, the engine idles, heat radiating through the crack in the glass. Before he can drive off, I reach in and snatch the envelope from the dash, my hand trembling. Only when I’ve stepped back do the taillights finally glide down Main Street and out of sight, leaving me alone with my pulse thundering in my ears. Inside, a single photograph—Elena, caught mid-step outside the shop, her hand cradling her belly, expression wary. Not posed. Not staged. Just Elena, caught by a lens that had no right to her. The casual violation of it makes my skin crawl. Someone’s been watching her. Watching us.
Rage floods me, cold and absolute. There’s no mistaking the message: I’m not just fighting for my future here. I’m fighting for hers.
I crush the photo in my fist, my mind already spinning through every threat, every shadow that’s crept into Wild Hollow since I left. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I glance back one more time—not at the disappearing car, but at the door to Moss & Ink. Inside, I know Elena is pacing, furious, but unbroken. She’s every bit as fierce and relentless as these mountains, and I feel the pull of her like gravity. I swear to myself I’m not walking away again. Not this time.
This isn’t over—not with Elena, not with my family, and definitely not with whoever’s lurking in that car. Even if I have to raze this whole town to the dirt, I’ll fight until there’s nothing left—because losing her isn’t an option.
CHAPTER 6
ELENA
The Moss & Ink feels too quiet after the chaos Luke left in his wake. It’s the kind of silence that doesn’t soothe—it scratches. The kind that follows a slammed door, or a scream swallowed too fast. I stand behind the counter, hands still trembling from the argument, watching dust motes spin in the slice of sunlight cutting across the floor. The bell above the door has barely stopped jangling, but the echo of his presence lingers—a weight pressing against my chest, impossible to ignore.
Beneath the surface of my thoughts, my wolf stirs, restless and sharp. She’s not content to cower in the corners of my mind—she pushes forward, bristling with frustration and protective energy. I can feel her pacing, the urge to defend what’s mine—my life, my baby—growing stronger with every heartbeat.
There’s a wildness building in me, heat pricking along my skin, as if my she-wolf is searching for a threat to bare her teeth at. Every instinct I have wants to lock the doors, to run after Luke and demand answers, to fight off anyone who dares come too close. The urge to protect is so fierce it’s almost physical, an ache I can’t ignore, the need to keep us both safe threading through every muscle and every breath.
The place smells of ink, old leather, and the faintest trace of his skin. My wolf rises like a tide, drawn to the scent even as my human side recoils. We want opposite things—she wants to chase him down; I want to pretend he never walked through that door. My throat is tight, jaw aching from biting back every word I didn’t let myself say. The frustration burns through me—hurt, anger, longing, a cocktail I can’t seem to shake. My palms still tingle from where I braced myself against the counter, the muscles in my back stiff with tension I can’t stretch out.
He’s gone—but not far. Even the walls still hum with his dominance, like the shop itself hasn’t exhaled yet. My body remembers every inch of him—his hands, the way his eyes darkened when he staked his claim. No matter how much I want to hate him, the ache doesn’t fade. It just changes, growing sharper, hungrier, finding fresh places to wound me.
The street outside is awash in pale Appalachian sunlight. I busy myself with the register, pretending to inventory paperbacks, but my gaze keeps sliding toward the big window facing Main Street. It’s maybe mid-morning, the town just starting to settle into its quiet rhythm, but a dark shape at the curb draws my attention—a sedan, sleek and silent, windows too dark to see through. Next to it, Luke stands like a threat and a warning, broad shoulders squared, jaw set hard as granite.
He’s talking to someone inside the car. I can’t make out the face, just the glint of sunglasses and the impression of a smile that’s anything but friendly. For a second, Luke’s body tenses—just a flicker—but I catch it, that telltale warning in the way his weight subtly adjusts, how his hand curls at his side. Whoever’s in that car isn’t here for a friendly chat. Not with Luke. Not with anyone in Wild Hollow.
An icy shiver works its way down my spine. My hand presses to my belly, protective, and the sensation isn’t just maternal—it’s feral. My wolf rises with a guttural snarl of warning in my chest,fierce and ready, itching to tear into whatever danger might be lurking outside. It’s an instinct that demands movement, but I force myself to hold steady, fighting the wild urge to leap for the door and make sure nothing and no one threatens us.
