Page 16 of Alpha Unchained
CHAPTER 7
LUKE
After the man in the sedan pulls away and I’m left with that damned threatening photo crushed in my fist, I just stand there on the curb, adrenaline still flooding every muscle. I should’ve shifted and ripped that car in half. Instead, I stood there like a dog waiting for a command, while a stranger with too-smooth teeth handed me a threat wrapped in a smile. I look back once—catching Elena watching me intently—before the blinds sway as Elena moves through her bookshop, her outline flickering in the sunlit window. If I know anything about Elena Clark, she’ll find a way to pick up the pieces and keep going, even if it means locking herself away in The Moss & Ink for a while.
It’s only later, after I’ve stormed down Main Street and wasted an hour trying to get my head straight, pacing past old storefronts and letting the restless energy churn through me, that I catch sight of her again. Elena’s framed in the diner window like a vision I don’t deserve—sunlight catching the gold in her hair and turning it to fire. She’s sitting across from Kate, their heads close together, deep in a conversation that looks too serious to be casual. There’s an easy warmth in the way they lean toward each other, hands curled around their Diet Cokes, theirmovements so in sync you’d think they were sisters by blood instead of just heart.
I hang back on the sidewalk, unable to pull myself away from the sight of Elena smiling—soft, tentative—like she’s letting herself hope for something better. It hits me hard, that reminder of what I lost, and for a long moment I just watch, wanting more than anything to step inside and close that distance, to reach for her the way I used to, before I ruined everything. What I broke. What I ran from, like a coward. And now all I want is to claw my way back.
The ache that brings is a familiar one, but it’s not enough to keep me from watching, from hoping there’s still a way back in. Their heads are close, the kind of closeness only forged by a lifetime of shared secrets. I should be grateful. Kate has always been the best of us, fierce and loyal and quick to defend what matters. But seeing them together now, the two women I’ve hurt most, all I feel is a jagged sense of distance—one I put there myself.
The argument with Elena still burns under my skin, raw and unhealed. The way she looked at me—eyes spitting fire, jaw set like she’d rather bite me than talk—keeps replaying, every word another stone added to the weight on my chest. I want to kick something. I want to shake her until she listens, then haul her into my arms and make her understand what I can't say out loud. But I did this. I left her, left them both, and now I don’t get to complain that there’s no room left for me at their table.
I cross Main Street, the soles of my boots striking the cracked pavement, each step drawing glances from behind dusty glass—some cautious, some curious, none entirely welcoming. I keep my eyes forward, ignoring the whispers that seem to follow me, and push on up to the apartment above the mercantile.
Kate lived here for years before Hudson claimed her; she made it a real home, and it shows in the open, inviting layout—four walls that somehow feel bigger than their square footage, a sunlit kitchen, a stone fireplace that still smells faintly of old wood smoke, a proper office, a comfortable sitting area, and a bed so big and soft it almost feels obscene after months on the road.
The air smells like cedar and candy and something faintly warm—Kate's ghost of comfort still clinging to the walls. It shouldn’t feel like home, but it does.
I throw my bag on the bed and prowl the room, restless. I try unpacking, filling drawers with clean shirts, socks and underwear, but my mind won’t settle. The silence is oppressive, crawling down my spine, filling the empty spaces with echoes of Elena’s voice, the memory of her skin, the heat of our last fight.
I open a window and lean out, watching the street below. Main Street looks deceptively calm—sunlight on the brick, a pair of teens darting into the drugstore, folks going about their daily errands.
I spot Kate’s hair through the diner window and see Elena tucked in close. The sight gnaws at me. I want to believe she’s safe with my sister, but there’s too much I don’t trust—too many threats moving in the dark.
I try to shake it off, busy myself with the mundane: lining up boots, setting my phone on the antique dresser, searching for something—anything—that feels like control. But I can’t settle. While the apartment is open, the walls feel like they're closing in on me. Every creak in the floorboards sounds like a warning. I run a restless hand through my hair, fighting the urge to punch the wall or flip the mattress just to bleed off the tension. My eyes land on the clock. Not even noon. I can’t stand these four walls a minute longer.
Before I know it, I’m stalking out the door and down the stairs, taking the long way back to the Moss & Ink. Elena’s bookshop is tucked two doors down from the bakery, the suncatching on the front window, the display of bestsellers set with an obsessively neat hand. Her world—her rules. I’ve always respected that, but today, I need more than distance. I need answers.
The restlessness drives me away from her store, but this time I turn away from Main Street, away from the eyes and the noise, and take off for the woods at the edge of town. I strip down and let the mist roll up from the roots, thunder and shards of color swirling as my wolf comes forward, raw and hungry for an outlet. I run—fast and reckless through the trees, dodging branches and leaping logs, every muscle burning with the effort to outrun my own regret.
Hours pass before I finally slow, chest heaving—frustration dulled but the ache still raw beneath it. I double back to where I’d hidden my clothes beneath a rotting log. The swirling mist rises around me, thick and alive, enveloping every inch of my body. I surrender to it, my form twisting and reshaping until, as the last wisps fade away, I stand fully shifted, skin bare to the chill. I retrieve the clothes, brushing dirt from them before pulling them on, and heading back toward town.
Dusk is settling over Wild Hollow by the time I reach the mercantile. I take a quick shower, then, once night has fully fallen and the weight becomes too much, I make my way straight to The Moss & Ink.
I climb the steps to her apartment, barely pausing before I knock. The sound is rough, louder than I intended, but I don’t care. I’m done waiting. Done letting the past dictate every move.
A long pause, then I hear footsteps on the other side. The lock clicks, slow and warily. When the door opens, Elena stands in the gap—hair in a messy braid, cheeks flushed, eyes that flash between welcome and warning.
"I thought we agreed you would leave me alone," she says in a cool voice.
"I never agreed to anything of the sort."
"Well, you should have. You shouldn't be here." Her voice still has a frosty edge, but it's not quite as sharp as it was before.
"And yet, here I am." I lean against the frame, folding my arms, but flashing her my most devastating smile. "You going to let me in, or do you want the whole damn town to hear us fight again?"
She narrows her eyes and steps back—not because she trusts me, but because she knows damn well I won’t leave unless she lets me in. The apartment is small—one room stacked high with books, old records lining a battered shelf, and a loveseat overflowing with mismatched pillows and threadbare quilts. The place is messy in a way that feels lived-in, safe cozy chaos that is all Elena.
There are notes scribbled on scraps of paper tucked into book spines, an ancient turntable with a record ready to play, and a vase of wildflowers on the windowsill. Her scent—paper, fresh soap, and something honey-sweet and undeniably her—wraps around me the second I step inside. It’s enough to make my wolf restless, prowling with want. Every muscle tightens, hungry for the heat of her body, for the sense of home I never really had until her.
"Saw you having lunch with Kate," I say as I step inside and she swings the door closed behind me, settling with a solid click.
"Were you spying on me?" The sharp note is back.
"No. You were sitting in the booth by the front window."
She shrugs. "Say what it is you need to say. I'm tired."
