Capturing The Alpha’s Heart.

Chapter Three

Shuntelle’s POV

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the birds outside. I sat on the kitchen stool, arms folded, watching Richardson struggle. The other day, I had accepted Celestine’s offer, only because I’ll be compensated afterwards, and looking at Richardson, he should be alright by month’s end. Was a win-win situation.

I wasn’t the type to enjoy someone’s pain, but this man? He made it impossible to do anything without an attitude.

He was a proud man. Too proud. Every little movement was a silent declaration that he didn’t need help, that he didn’t want me here.

Fine by me.

He got up, ignoring me entirely, walking stiffly toward the coffee table where the remote lay. I saw the way his jaw tightened, his fingers twitching as pain shot through his side. But he still reached for it. Still forced himself to pick it up.

His body tensed as he slowly sat back down, remote now in hand. A few minutes later, he rose again, this time heading to the kitchen. He winced with every step.

I waited, arms crossed, watching the battle play out in his body—his pride against his obvious pain. He poured himself a glass of water, gripping the counter for a moment, probably to steady himself. He stood there longer than necessary before finally making his way back to the sofa, not giving me a single glance.

He was determined to act like I wasn’t here.

I rolled my eyes and exhaled sharply. Arrogant bastard.

But even in my frustration, I couldn’t ignore the obvious.

Richardson looked like the kind of man who could break bones with a glance. Thick brown hair, sharp sterling-gray eyes, and muscles that even his loose t-shirt couldn’t fully hide. His entire presence screamed dominance, strength, and resilience. But something didn’t add up.

What had happened to him?

For a man who looked like he could break bones with a glance, why had he ended up here, barely functioning? It was clear he wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. So what happened?

My thoughts drifted as I glanced around the Graves’ home—modern, yet it carried an ancient aura as if every piece of furniture held some secret history. My eyes landed on a piece of paper on the table, slightly crumpled.

My flyer.

“Babysitting services - $25 per hour.”

I scoffed internally. Babysitting? That was a joke.

This wasn’t babysitting. This was dealing with a stubborn, oversized, grumpy-ass man who had the personality of a brick wall.

I traced the bold letters of my name, remembering the exact moment I had printed them.

Mason, my attendant at the coffee shop, had helped design it, plastering it around town and handing it over to customers at the shop. The extra job wasn’t out of choice—I needed the money. Business had slowed, and with my landlord raising the rent, I was barely scraping by. When the Graves contacted me, I had been shocked—but excited.

At least I’d be able to hold down rent for a few months. Maybe even save up again.

I sighed, leaning back, my mind drifting further. Springfield.

The town where I had chosen to disappear. A quiet place where people kept to themselves, far enough from Silverdale, where my past still lingered.

I hadn’t always been Shuntelle, the coffee shop owner. Once, I had been a werewolf hunter’s daughter.

Both my adoptive parents, who were werewolf hunters, had raised me to protect myself. But none of that mattered now—not after the attack that took their lives when I was just seven. My half-brother, Derek, had always carried that anger, swearing vengeance, dedicating his life to tracking down the werewolf clans responsible.

As for Me - I had never wanted that life.

I wasn’t a hunter. I wasn’t built for blood. So, I got a one-way ticket to Springfield and whatever peace I could build for myself.

“Damn it!”

Richardson’s voice snapped me back.

My head shot up just in time to see glass shatter on the floor.

I was on my feet before I could think, rushing toward the kitchen where he stood by the sink, his hand clenched into a fist.

“Are you alright?” I asked, concern breaking through despite how I much I loathed him.

His breathing was laboured, his eyes flashing with frustration. “Don’t touch me.”

His words were sharp, but his movements were weaker than before. He tried to wave me off, his usual stubbornness making an appearance. I ignored it.

“Relax,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re bleeding.” Taking a glance at his hand.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back as if gathering himself. “It’s just a cut. I’m fine.”

Liar.

I reached for a napkin, pressing it into his palm. He stiffened, his muscles tightening beneath my touch.

“I said I’m fine.” He stretched out his hand in a weak attempt to push me away, but he was too slow this time.

His body swayed. I caught him just before he could fall.

For a second, he didn’t fight it. He let me support him, his weight pressing against me as I guided him back to the sofa.

Then, just as quickly, he stiffened.

I pulled back, watching him settle himself with great effort. No eye contact. No “thank you.” Just silence.

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to say something—to throw some of his rudeness back at him. Instead, I exhaled sharply, grabbed a broom, and started cleaning up the shattered glass.

The tension in the room was thick, pressing against me like a weight.

I didn’t need his gratitude. But damn, he could at least acknowledge that I was helping him. Finally, I spoke.

“You could have asked me to get the water.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t need to.”

I looked up from sweeping, meeting his gaze head-on. “Right. That’s why you nearly collapsed in the kitchen.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t need help.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, we both know that’s a lie.”

His eyes darkened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

I set the broom aside, wiping my hands on my jeans. “You’re right. But I know pride when I see it. And I know a wounded animal trying to prove something when I see one.”

His nostrils flared slightly, and for a second, I thought he might snap back. But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned away, reaching for the remote. “That’s a cute analogy,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be cute.”

He smirked slightly, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. Silence fell between us again.

I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. “Look, I don’t like this arrangement either, but you’re making it worse for both of us. If you just let me help—”

“I don’t need your help,” he cut in.

The words sent a chill down my spine but I wasn’t mad anymore.

I noticed his hand was shaking, so I grabbed a cloth and fresh water to help clean up his wound. I sat beside him, ignoring his quizzical looks and drew out his hand.

I wasn’t the kind of person who pried.

Okay, maybe I was. But I knew when to back off. Except…

When I helped him earlier, I noticed it.

His hands weren’t just bruised. They were cut. Fresh wounds, jagged and deep.

And now, when I glanced at it again—a few minutes later—

They were already healing. My stomach twisted. That wasn’t possible. Was it?

Richardson suddenly snatched his hand back, his head snapping up to look at me intensely for the first time since I got here. His eyes weren’t sterling grey anymore.

They were gold. Not the soft, warm gold of sunlight. Predatory. Sharp. Unnatural.

Then he let out a low growl. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was different now - deeper, more raw. I felt the room become smaller. The air is thicker.

I took a step back, pulse hammering.

“I don’t know how else to tell you I don’t need your help. I don’t appreciate being touched without approval.”

My heart pounded, but I held my ground.

“You can see yourself out when the Graves return,”

Richardson continued, standing stiffly.

“Just, stay out of my hair.”

Then, without another word, he stormed off, disappearing into his room. Leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

——-

The Graves’ car pulled into the driveway hours later.

I stayed seated, gripping the hem of my sweater, my mind still replaying the events from earlier.

Celestine walked in first, shaking off his coat. His sharp eyes landed on me, warm yet unreadable. “Ah, thank you so much for today. Hope he wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass.” Kathryn smiled at me and made her way upstairs without a word.

I forced a smile, still shaken. “No, not at all.”

Celestine chuckled knowingly. “You’re not a good liar.”I swallowed. He wasn’t wrong.

He reached into his wallet, pulling out a stack of bills. “Here, this is 500 to stack.”

I took it, nodding. Ready to leave.

But then—

“Would you be available to continue? Five days a week?” I froze.

Something was definitely off here. I could feel it and I wasn’t interested in this.

Richardson was not an ordinary human.

And I had a sinking feeling the Graves weren’t either.

Plus, Richardson has made it clear countless times today that he didn’t need my help. Why do I want to subject myself to such humiliation over and over again?

I should have said yes. I needed the money.

But at what cost? I met his gaze.

“No,” I said firmly. “I won’t be available to babysit.”

His expression didn’t change. If he was disappointed, he masked it well. I didn’t give him a chance to argue. I turned on my heel, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.

Hopefully, for the last time. Because if my instincts were right…

I had just walked straight into something far greater than me.

—————

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I tossed, turned, and tried to drown out the voice in my head telling me I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to.

And then, against every ounce of my better judgment, I reached for my phone. I hesitated, staring at the screen.

Derek. It had been months since we last spoke.

It had been months since we last spoke. Months of avoiding his calls, of dodging his messages, of pretending like I wasn’t tangled in the same bloodstained history he was. However, tonight had changed everything.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and dialled his number.

It rang twice before I heard his familiar voice—raspy, low, and edged with something unreadable.

“Hey, Sis. It’s been a minute. How have you been?” The lack of enthusiasm in his tone wasn’t lost on me.

I sighed. “I’m good, D. Sorry I haven’t returned most of your calls. I’ve been under the weather.”

That was the easiest explanation and the one that would keep him from pushing further.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s alright. Have you been good? Your studio?” His voice was neutral now, almost indifferent.

“Everything’s okay, D.” I wasn’t here for small talk. “I think I met a werewolf today.”

Silence.

Then his tone shifted, suddenly alert. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a werewolf in Springfield,” I explained everything—my encounter with the Graves, Richardson and what I saw.

Derek didn’t hesitate. “Okay, that’s great news!” There was excitement in his voice now. “But how sure are you? Did your bracelet glow?”

Oh, the bracelet. I had completely forgotten about it.

Our parents had given them to us—enchanted to detect wolves—but I rarely wore mine. I never thought I’d need to.

“I wasn’t wearing it,” I admitted, feeling a little stupid.

Derek let out a sharp breath. “Shuntelle…”

I could hear the disappointment.

“Look, this is still something,” he said. “But we need to be sure. Do you want me to come over?”

I stiffened. Come here? Back into my life? After everything?

After the years he spent obsessed with the Full Moon Festival—the one night every century when werewolves were at their peak? After all the times I begged him to let it go, to stop hunting for revenge?

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “No. That’s not necessary.”

Derek didn’t argue, but his voice hardened. “Then you need to find out if truly they are werewolves.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Derek, I quit. I told them I wasn’t interested in the job anymore.”

The silence that followed was louder than anything he could’ve said.

Then, his voice—low, insistent. “Call them. Take back the offer.”

I froze.

“This is our chance, Shuntelle,” he said. “It’s been handed to us. We have to act fast.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple. “Derek—”

“If they are werewolves, we have to avenge our parents.”

His voice was quiet, but I felt the rage burning beneath the words.

I squeezed my eyes shut. This was all Derek ever wanted. This was his purpose.

And now…

I was standing on the edge of it too.

Was I going to step back in?

But the truth was—I never really stepped out.

I was still my parents’ daughter. Still Derek’s sister. Still, the girl who lost everything.

I took a slow, shaky breath. Then, finally, I whispered—

“Okay.” Derek exhaled, satisfied. “Good. Keep me posted.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “I will.”

His voice softened, just a little. “Thanks for telling me. Call if you need anything.”

I swallowed. “I won’t forget. Promise.”

“Alright. Talk soon.” The call ended.

I stared at my phone, and then into the darkness of my apartment.

Derek would never let this go. He never had.

And now, with this? He wouldn’t stop.

I set the phone down. My hands were shaking.

Vengeance had always been his path.

And now, it was mine too.