Angel and The Alpha

-Chapter-2

Manakel

Cole escorted me into Andrew's office—a broad, wood-paneled command center that smelled of pine resin, ink, and authority. The Alpha stood over a map, black and red markers stabbing like dueling swords. Without glancing up he flicked a hand toward a

leather sofa. Sit, trespasser.

Showtime, Mani. Remember: grieving orphan, not undercover angel.

Andrew capped his markers, leaned against the desk, and eyed me the way surgeons eye a scalpel: useful, but only if it's perfectly honest.

"Name?"

"Manakel."

Cole squinted. "Never heard that one."

Thanks, Cole—great boost to my credibility.

Andrew's gaze didn't budge. "Where were you when your pack was attacked?"

Straight to business. I could almost respect the efficiency—if it weren't aimed at me.

"In a cave my father showed me—well hidden." I let moisture pool in my eyes (acting level: middling soap opera) and softened my voice. "When the howling stopped, I went back. Everyone was... gone. My father was bleeding out. His last words were to find refuge." Tiny sniff. "I have no one left."

Cole's arm slid around my shoulders. Oh good, physical sympathy.

"You're safe now," he whispered.

I gave a wobble-chinned nod. "Th-thank you."

Andrew finally lowered into his chair. "A few more questions."

"Of course." Interrogate away, Captain Intense.

"Alpha Jack never mentioned a daughter. Why?"

"My sister Britney was killed by rogues. After that, Dad hid me from the world so history wouldn't repeat itself."

Andrew digested that, eyes narrowing to turquoise scalpels. "If you were hiding, how did you end up battered?"

"Rogues caught me en route to the cave. I fought them off, but..." I lifted one bruised arm. "They left souvenirs."

He tapped his thumb against the desk. "Do you have a mate?"

I lowered my gaze, let silence stretch, then whispered, "I did. He died that night."

A flicker of softness crossed the Alpha's face—blink and you'd miss it. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I murmured, mentally adding: Nailed the tragic pause. Gold star, Manakel.

Cole rose, shooting Andrew a pointed look. "She's lost everything and still has fight in her. She belongs here."

Andrew's blue stare could sandblast granite.

"Cole, I can't just welcome her into the pack with no proof. For all we know she's working with the rogues." His gaze drilled straight into my amber eyes.

Right—time for the big, watery look. I widened my eyes, dialed the pout to tragic orphan, and clasped my hands.

"I'll pull my weight, fight the rogues, and guard this pack with my life—no excuses."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You get one night. Tomorrow I decide if you're inside this pack—or on the wrong side of the border. Dismissed." He bent over the map again, conversation officially over.

Such warmth. I resisted the urge to salute.

Cole grimaced an apology while I thanked him with a tight smile. At least one wolf in the room wasn't carved from ice.

"Come on, I'll show you the guest room," he said, shutting the office door behind us.

Outside, Archie and the quiet dark-haired guard straightened from sentry posture.

"How'd the interrogation go?" Archie asked.

"I get a bed—until sunrise," I said.

His brows shot up. "That's... rare. Alpha never lets outsiders sleep on-site unless he trusts them."

Trust? More like tentative house arrest, but I kept that thought to myself. The quiet guard frowned, curious, but Cole stepped in.

"She's got no pack, no family. Andrew's giving her a chance—so back off." His tone was firm, protective enough to warm even an angel's muddy heart.

Archie and Mystery Guard exchanged a look, then nodded. Tension eased.

Cole rested a reassuring hand between my shoulder blades and steered me toward the housing wing.

Note to self: add earn suspicious Alpha's trust to tomorrow's to-do list—somewhere between avoid exposure and save the entire pack from impending doom. Easy.

I cleared my throat. "Cole, can I ask something?"

"Shoot." A gust flipped his dark hair across his forehead.

"Why were Archie and the other guy—acting like I'd sprouted fangs? And what's this rule about outsiders only staying if the Alpha 'knows' them?"

Cole's mouth twitched. "For starters, 'the other guy' has a name—Kevin."

"Duly noted," I said, smiling despite myself.

"After the last raid Andrew changed the laws. No strangers sleep inside the borders unless he trusts them personally. Tonight is... an exception." His jaw tightened.

"What happened in that raid?" The question slipped out before I could leash it.

His mood flipped like a switch. "Stay out of it." The words rumbled with a warning growl. "We let you crash here; that doesn't mean you get to dig through our history."

"Sorry. Curiosity habit—working on it."

"Work faster." He stalked ahead, shoulders rigid.

So much for Friendly Cole. I kept silent as he guided me back to the main lodge. In the kitchen two women were finishing chores.

"Lisa, Janet—set her up with a meal, then the guest room. She's here for one night," Cole said, already turning away.

Not even a glance. Ice-age achieved.

One of the women—round-cheeked, flour on her apron—smiled warmly. "Come, sweetheart. Sit." She ushered me to a chair while the other wiped her hands.

"I'm Janet, that's Lisa," she said.

"Manakel," I replied, grateful for the softness in her voice.

Lisa slid a plate of sandwiches in front of me. "Eat. You look half-famished."

I took a bite, savoring the normalcy. "Thank you."

"So, love," Janet asked gently, "what brings you to Warrior's Pack?"

"I'm from Black Moon. The attack... I was the only one who made it out." The lie tasted bitter, but it worked; Janet's hand found my arm, soothing.

"That's heartbreak," Lisa murmured. "How'd you escape, if you don't mind me asking?"

I swallowed—the sandwich and the next installment of my tragically heroic backstory—while reminding myself the real performance was still ahead.

"I hid in a cave," I began, channeling grief-stricken ingénue. "When I finally crept out... everyone was gone. I found my mother's body—minus her head." A strategic pause; another bite. Mmm... trauma pairs well with fresh bread.

Janet and Lisa both breathed an identical, horrified "Oh, Moon..."

I nodded solemnly and kept chewing. Second sandwich, gone.

"And your father?" Janet pressed, equal parts dread and curiosity.

"Bleeding out. He told me to run, find shelter in the nearest territory—yours." Third sandwich in hand; starvation is compelling method acting.

Lisa draped an arm around my shoulders. "You poor thing."

"I'm grateful Alpha Andrew let me stay, even for one night," I said, letting a hint of tremor lace the words.

"Everything will work out," Janet assured, smoothing my hair like a favorite aunt.

"Finish those sandwiches, then let me tidy you up," Lisa said, eyeing the scrape on my forehead. "It's closing, but a little ointment will keep the sting away."

"Best sandwiches I've tasted in weeks," I said truthfully; bribery through flattery never hurts.

When the plate was empty, I carried it to the sink. Janet hurried over. "We can handle that, dear—rest."

I rinsed it anyway. "You fed me; least I can do is wash one dish."

"Heart of gold," Lisa murmured.

Janet got a peck on the cheek for her fussing; she beamed like I'd handed her a tiara.

Lisa led me down a quiet hall and opened a modest white-walled room. "Not fancy, but the mattress is friendly."

"I'm easy to please," I said, collapsing onto the duvet. It hugged back—nice.

She returned with a first-aid kit, dabbed cool salve on my brow, and left with a motherly smile.

Door clicked shut. Finally alone, I exhaled, letting the day's masks slip for a heartbeat. Tomorrow I'd need every ounce of charm, cunning, and possibly actual combat skill.

Relief—half genuine, half strategic—washed through me. Mission status: step one complete. Acting skills: tolerable. Nerves: shredded. And a prayer that Andrew's suspicion slept as deeply as I intended to.

🌸🌸🌸