Page 49 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
Normally, sinking into research helped. It grounded her. But tonight, the text swam on the screen, and her thoughts scattered like sand. She scrolled up and re-read a paragraph. Then again. Then a third time.
Nothing stuck.
She typed a single sentence:The archetype of the alpha as both protector and oppressor underscores a duality of pack formation.
Deleted it.
Tried again. Deleted again.
Protector. Alphas were protectors. But that same violent drive that led them to rip apart any threats to their loved ones also pushed them to violence against each other. To claim territory. To enforce their will. Protection became oppression.
It was precisely why she’d long ago promised herself never to get caught up with an alpha. For the most part, they were hot-headed idiots with quick tempers and terrifying strength. Far too much for someone like her.
It took a healthy pack dynamic to keep them in line, top alphas who demonstrated through their own moral strength how things should be done. But hardly any packs had healthy dynamics these days, ever since the attempted genocide by the humans. Tradition had been lost, and with it reason, it seemed.
She was researching how to make things better for a reason.
Dane was a protector. The good kind. She knew that in her bones, even when it seemed like he didn’t know it himself.
And yet here she was, tearing herself apart because he hadn’t thought to message her.
Surelyhe would have messaged her? If he was okay?
Or was that just wishful thinking?
Sam gave a soft noise from the nursery, a sigh or a grunt, and Lola jumped to her feet as if something had gone wrong. She hovered at the doorway, but he was still asleep.
She didn’t go back to the thesis. She curled up on the end of the couch instead, arms wrapped tight around a cushion, staring at nothing. She didn’t want to be dramatic. She didn’t want to be helpless.
But worry had worn her paper-thin.
When the knock came, it felt like a gunshot.
Firm. Two taps. A pause. Two more.
Her breath stilled in her lungs.
She stood, cautiously approaching the door, bare feet silent against the floor. Her hand hovered over the handle. She didn’t need to ask who it was.
That knock was practiced.
Pack.
She opened it a crack and peered through.
Rick.
His expression was civil. Friendly, even. But his gaze, sharp, unreadable, made her spine stiffen.
“Evening, Lola,” he said smoothly, smile not quite reaching his eyes, “mind if I come in?”
She stepped aside, because what else could she do? Rick was pack royalty, or close enough, and she wasn’t pack at all. Just a lone academic with a borrowed crib and a baby she loved too fiercely.
Rick entered like he belonged there.
“Cozy,” he said, glancing around the apartment. His tone was mild, almost amused, but Lola didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned every corner, couch, kitchen, hallway. He was cataloguing, assessing.
“Sam’s asleep,” she said, shutting the door quietly behind them.
