Page 29 of Alpha Unchained
We lie together, the world outside fading to nothing. But as I start to drift, a prickling sense of unease crawls up my spine. Something moves in the shadows beyond the balcony—a flash of movement, a glint of eyes. I tense, holding my breath, but when I look again, nothing is there. Just moonlight and the hush of the woods.
Still, I pull Luke closer. I may have found my mate. But even as his arms wrap around me and I listen to the rhythm of his breathing, a cold shiver coils through me. This peace isn’t real. It’s borrowed time—and something out there wants it back.
I can feel danger circling, closer than ever, waiting for the moment we let down our guard. And as I close my eyes, I know this night is only a lull before whatever comes next—a promise or a threat—breaks over us both.
CHAPTER 13
LUKE
Moonlight casts tangled shadows through the tall pines outside the Rawlings compound, painting Elena’s body in silver and blue as she drifts in my arms. The last echoes of our lovemaking linger in the air—her scent still clinging to my skin, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has. But even in the hush after, I can’t relax. I can’t let go of what I need to tell her, or the doubt gnawing at my chest about what’s still out there, circling us.
She stirs a little, pressing her palm flat against my chest, fingers splayed, as if she’s holding me here—anchoring me in this moment. For a few heartbeats, I watch the rise and fall of her breathing, memorizing the exact shape of her lips against my shoulder. I want to stay lost in her, but the things I’ve kept from her are crowding in, heavy and sour. My wolf is restless, pacing at the edges of my thoughts, wanting to run but refusing to turn away from her warmth.
I stroke her hair, letting my fingers linger in the soft weight of it, breathing her in. Her scent is all heat and salt and comfort, a mix I’ll never get enough of. I want to keep her close, to wrap us both in this quiet and pretend the world can’t touch us. But I oweher honesty. I owe her more than a safe place to land—I owe her my truth, all of it, even the parts I wish I could keep hidden.
“Elena,” I murmur, brushing a kiss along her temple. “Can you stay awake a minute longer? There’s something I need to say.”
She lifts her head, eyes clear and wary in the dim light. “Is it about what happened tonight? The fight?”
I nod, angling myself to catch a better view of her face. “It’s about all of it. The fight, but also… me. Where I’ve been. What I’ve done.”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. The words stick hard and bitter, but I force them out, anyway.
“I told you before that I left Wild Hollow to handle family business. That wasn’t the entire story. I was working for the pack, but also for myself. Trying to make up for things I did—mistakes that hurt people. Hell, mistakes that hurt you.”
She touches my cheek, silent, waiting. Her trust humbles me, but it also tightens the vise of guilt. “I thought walking away would shield you from Waylon’s reach. But all I really did was strip you of the one person who should’ve stood between you and every threat.”
She sighs softly. “I was angry. But I understand why you did it. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
“I know. I should have stayed, should have trusted you could handle it. But I was so afraid of bringing trouble to your door.”
A flash of anger sparks in her eyes—good. I want her to feel it, to hold me accountable. She pushes upright, dragging the sheet with her, bare shoulders tense. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Luke. You keep trying to make all the choices. Like you’re the only one who bleeds when things go wrong.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling the guilt burn. “You’re right. I keep thinking if I can take the hit, I should. But it isn’t just about me.”
“It never was,” she says. “We’re in this together. You, me, and this baby.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to look away. “Most of my missions weren’t about protecting the pack, not really. They were about redemption. I’ve got blood on my hands, Elena—things I can’t take back. I kept thinking that if I did enough, it would balance the scales. That I’d be worthy of you.”
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging me back down so I can’t escape her eyes. “Luke, you never had to earn me. I wanted you from the start.”
A wry smile tugs at my mouth. “You might change your mind when you hear everything.”
She arches a brow, sassy even in her exhaustion. “Try me.”
So I do. I tell her about the fights I picked across state lines, the men I tracked for the pack, the times I let my wolf out and let violence do the talking. I tell her about the night I almost didn’t make it back, the friend I lost in the crossfire, the ways the syndicate came after everyone in Wild Hollow—not just the McKinley or Rawlings packs, but the other shifters and humans—and how I kept blaming myself for every scar the place I call home carries.
Her hand slides down my arm, warm and steady, anchoring me in the moment. She listens—truly listens—without judgment, without shying away from any of it. There’s no flicker of revulsion, no interruption, only a steady presence that makes it possible for me to go deeper, to say the things I’ve never said out loud.
My words pour out, gathering speed, tumbling over each other as I pull old wounds into the light—scars and secrets, guilt and regret, the violence that kept me up at night, and the longing I carried with me into exile. With every word, the room seems to shrink and grow darker; the hush deepening around us until all I can hear is the quiet rhythm of her breath and the distantwind shivering through the pines outside, like the world itself is holding its breath for this confession.
“After I claimed the mantle of alpha, Waylon challenged me,” I say, voice rough. “It was the only way he would be recognized as leader. We fought, and I won. I should have killed him when he submitted, but I didn't. I can't help but think that was a mistake. I'm not sure Hudson would have let him walk away if he were in my position, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Maybe I’m weak. Maybe I’m a fool.”
Maybe I was afraid. Not just of the blood on my hands, but of what it meant if I gave in to it. If I ended him like that—if I crossed that line—I wasn’t sure I’d come back from it. Not sure I’d be any different from the monsters I’ve spent my life trying not to become.
She cups my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. “You’re not weak. You’re not a fool. And you're not Hudson. You did what you thought was right. That’s what makes you a leader.”
I want to believe her. I want to let her words settle into the hollow places inside me, but unease lingers at the edges. My mind betrays me with flashes of violence—a dizzying rush of fur and muscle, the taste of blood in my mouth, Waylon’s teeth at my throat. The memory of the fight at the standing stones snaps through me, sharp as broken glass, each detail replaying with a clarity that makes it impossible to breathe easy.
