The Alpha’s Rogue Mate

Chapter 5

Fallon

I woke up with a leaf stuck to my cheek, a cramp in my neck, and the overwhelming desire to murder whoever had invented sleeping outdoors.

My wolf, naturally, was delighted.

Good morning, sunshine.

“If you say one word about the birds singing, I’ll throw myself into the nearest river.”

I was going to say you drooled on your sleeve.

I looked down.

My sleeve was, in fact, damp.

I closed my eyes.

“I’m going to pretend that never happened.”

Excellent. Denial. Our most reliable survival strategy.

I pushed myself upright and brushed leaves from my hair.

The little piece of paper I’d found inside the food parcel was still in my pocket.

I hadn’t meant to keep it.

I’d intended to throw it away before going to sleep, because the last thing I needed was to become sentimental over a handful of words written by someone whose name I didn’t even know.

Yet there it was.

Still folded.

Still tucked safely beside the apple core I’d forgotten to throw away.

I pulled it out and read it again.

You shouldn’t have to be alone to be free.

I stared at the words for a long moment.

Then I folded the paper and put it away.

“It’s just a sentence,” I muttered.

Of course.

“Don’t start.”

I haven’t started anything.

“You’re thinking loudly.”

I’m a wolf. It’s one of my gifts.

I shoved the paper deeper into my pocket and stood.

Today, I was going to find somewhere permanent to sleep.

Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere safe.

Somewhere that didn’t involve accidentally developing feelings for an Alpha who thought my birth circumstances made me unworthy of standing beside him.

Simple.

Reasonable.

Entirely achievable.

I took three steps before my stomach growled.

My wolf sighed.

Perhaps we should prioritise breakfast.

“Perhaps we should prioritise finding you a new personality.”

And deprive you of all this wonderful company? Cruel.

I started walking.

⸻

The farther I travelled from the Alpha’s settlement, the more signs of hardship I noticed.

At first, it was little things.

A patch of earth where someone had dug up edible roots.

A makeshift shelter beneath a rocky overhang.

A pile of discarded branches that suggested someone had recently built a fire.

Then I found the tracks.

Several sets of footprints crossed a muddy stretch beside the stream. Some belonged to adult wolves. Others were smaller, lighter, their steps uneven.

Children.

I crouched beside the marks.

My wolf went quiet.

The tracks continued towards the north, where the forest thickened and the ground became rougher.

I followed them.

Not because I was curious.

Definitely not because I was worried.

And certainly not because the sight of those smaller footprints had stirred something painful inside me.

I was simply walking in the same direction.

Coincidentally.

For entirely unrelated reasons.

You’re a terrible liar.

“I’m an excellent liar.”

Then why are you arguing with yourself?

I ignored her.

The tracks led to a narrow clearing hidden between two rocky slopes.

And there, beneath the trees, I found a camp.

It wasn’t much of one.

A handful of crude shelters had been made from branches and old blankets. A fire pit sat in the centre, surrounded by stones. Several empty sacks lay beside a broken cart.

The camp looked abandoned.

But it wasn’t.

A child appeared between two shelters.

She couldn’t have been older than seven.

Her hair was tangled, her clothes were far too thin for the morning chill, and she was clutching a wooden spoon as if it were a weapon.

She stared at me.

I stared back.

Then she lifted the spoon higher.

“Stay away from our food.”

I blinked.

My wolf made a small, strangled noise inside my head.

Oh, she’s adorable.

I raised both hands.

“I’m not here to steal anything.”

The girl narrowed her eyes.

“That’s what the last person said.”

“Was the last person also holding a wooden spoon?”

“No.”

“Then I have a distinct advantage.”

She didn’t smile.

Fair enough.

Children who lived in places like this probably didn’t have much reason to trust strangers.

I lowered myself into a crouch, keeping a comfortable distance between us.

“Are you here alone?”

She shook her head.

“Where are the others?”

“Getting water.”

“Will they be back soon?”

She nodded.

I glanced towards the shelters.

There were at least six.

Perhaps more hidden behind the trees.

“How long have you been staying here?”

The girl hugged the spoon to her chest.

“A while.”

Not an answer.

But it was the sort of answer people gave when the truth was too complicated to explain.

I understood that better than I wanted to.

“What should I call you?”

She hesitated.

Then she gave me a small, suspicious look.

“Why?”

“So I know what to shout if you decide to hit me with that spoon.”

She considered this.

“Lila.”

“Nice to meet you, Lila. I’m—”

I stopped.

The habit of keeping my name to myself had become so deeply ingrained that even the simplest introduction felt dangerous.

Lila noticed.

Her expression softened by the smallest fraction.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said.

Something tightened in my throat.

“No,” I replied quietly. “I suppose I don’t.”

She lowered the spoon.

A little.

“Are you hungry?”

The question caught me off guard.

I glanced at the shelters again.

“Not especially.”

My stomach chose that moment to make a noise that sounded like a wounded animal.

Lila looked down at it.

Then back at me.

I sighed.

“Traitor.”

She giggled.

It was such a small sound.

So unexpected.

And somehow, it made the entire clearing feel warmer.

“I have some bread,” she announced.

Before I could answer, she disappeared into one of the shelters.

My wolf practically melted.

We’re keeping her.

“No, we’re not.”

She has a spoon. We have sarcasm. Together, we could raise her magnificently.

“We are not adopting a child we met thirty seconds ago.”

Fine. I’ll ask her nicely.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“I cannot believe I’m having this conversation.”

Lila returned carrying a small piece of bread.

It was hard, dry, and barely large enough to count as a meal.

She held it out to me anyway.

I stared at it.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“We have more.”

I knew she was lying.

Not because I could smell the truth.

Not because my wolf had some magical ability to detect hunger.

But because I’d seen the empty sacks beside the broken cart.

I’d seen the shelters.

I’d seen the way she held that tiny piece of bread as though giving it away cost her something.

And she’d offered it to a stranger.

I accepted it carefully.

“Thank you.”

Lila smiled.

I broke the bread in half and handed part back to her.

She frowned.

“You need it.”

“So do you.”

For a moment, she looked as though she might argue.

Then she took it.

We sat together beside the fire pit, eating our small pieces of bread in silence.

And for the first time in a very long while, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

⸻

The others returned less than ten minutes later.

Four adults emerged from the trees carrying buckets and bundles of branches.

The moment they saw me, they stopped.

One man stepped forward.

He was tall and lean, with dark hair threaded with grey and a scar running along the side of his jaw. His clothes were worn, but he moved with the steady confidence of someone accustomed to being listened to.

His eyes went immediately to Lila.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“She didn’t steal anything.”

The man blinked.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m pleased my reputation precedes me.”

He looked at me sharply.

“You’ve been near the eastern pack?”

There was no point lying.

“Yes.”

His expression hardened.

“What did you see?”

“Some people stealing food.”

His jaw clenched.

“Did you follow them?”

“No. I followed footprints.”

The man glanced towards the muddy ground.

Then he looked at Lila, who had edged closer to my side.

Something in his face changed.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But the suspicion eased enough for him to lower his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

I nearly laughed.

“That’s becoming a very popular opinion.”

“This place isn’t safe.”

“Neither is the forest.”

He studied me.

“Then you understand why we have to be careful.”

I did.

More than he could possibly know.

“Are you the one looking after them?” I asked, nodding towards the shelters.

His gaze followed mine.

“For now.”

“For now?”

He looked away.

“It’s complicated.”

I knew those words, too.

They were the ones people used when the truth hurt too much to explain to someone who might not understand.

I stood.

“I won’t cause trouble for you. I was following the tracks, and I didn’t realise anyone was living here.”

The man nodded slowly.

“Most people don’t come this far north.”

“Most people have better sense.”

For the first time, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Perhaps.”

I glanced towards the trees.

I should leave.

The camp wasn’t mine.

These people didn’t owe me anything, and I didn’t owe them anything.

That was how I’d survived for years.

Keep moving.

Don’t get attached.

Don’t give anyone the chance to make you regret staying.

Then Lila reached for my hand.

Not to stop me.

Just to hold it for a moment.

“Will you come back?”

The question was so quiet that it nearly broke me.

I looked down at her.

She wasn’t asking for food.

She wasn’t asking me to rescue her.

She was asking whether someone who had sat beside her for a few minutes might return.

Whether a stranger could become familiar.

Whether the world might occasionally give something back instead of taking everything away.

I swallowed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Lila’s fingers loosened.

I squeezed her hand gently before letting go.

“But I’ll try.”

Her smile returned.

And that was how I made a promise I hadn’t intended to make.

⸻

I was halfway back towards the ridge when my wolf spoke.

We should tell the Alpha.

I stopped so abruptly that a bird flew out of the nearest tree.

“No.”

Those people are struggling.

“I noticed.”

They need help.

“And what do you suggest? I march into his settlement and ask him to open his stores to strangers after he rejected me yesterday?”

Yes.

I stared into the forest.

“You’re impossible.”

I’m practical.

“You’re a menace.”

Also practical.

I resumed walking.

But the camp stayed with me.

The children.

The empty sacks.

The way the adults watched every movement as though they expected trouble to arrive at any moment.

I knew what it looked like when people were trying to survive.

I’d lived it.

And I knew what it looked like when someone had been pushed out of a place they once called home.

I’d lived that, too.

I just didn’t know why those wolves were living like that.

Or why the sight of them made my chest ache with a grief that felt much older than the morning.

⸻

By the time I reached the stream, I had almost convinced myself to forget the camp.

Almost.

Then I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned, ready to deliver a devastating insult to whichever i***t had decided to follow me.

The Alpha stood between the trees.

Alone.

His expression was serious, and for once, he wasn’t looking at me as though I were an inconvenience he’d rather remove.

He was looking at me as though he had something important to say.

I folded my arms.

“If you’re here to offer me food again, I should warn you that I may start charging a consultation fee.”

His mouth twitched.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excellent. What do you want?”

He hesitated.

That was new.

The Alpha I’d met in the garden had spoken as though the world existed to hear his decisions.

This man seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

“We found the trail.”

I straightened slightly.

“Of the wolves who took your supplies?”

He nodded.

“They’ve been moving through the northern forest. We found signs of a camp.”

My stomach tightened.

I kept my expression neutral.

“And?”

“And they’re not taking food to sell it. They’re taking it because they need it.”

I said nothing.

He watched me for a moment.

“Did you know?”

I could have lied.

It would have been easy.

I could have shrugged, told him I knew nothing, and walked away.

But the image of Lila clutching that wooden spoon stayed with me.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I found them this morning.”

The Alpha’s expression changed.

“You went to their camp?”

“I followed the tracks.”

“Were you alone?”

I stared at him.

“Do you usually ask this many questions when you want someone to do something for you?”

His jaw tightened.

Then he exhaled.

“I’m trying to understand the situation.”

“Then listen.”

He went still.

“The people living there are struggling. There are children. They don’t have enough food, and they’re frightened of anyone who approaches them.”

His eyes sharpened at the mention of children.

“How many?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were they injured?”

“Not that I saw.”

He looked towards the north.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he asked, “Will you take me there?”

I stared at him.

“You want me to lead you to the camp?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So I can speak with them.”

“And if they don’t want to speak with you?”

“Then I won’t force them.”

I searched his face.

He seemed sincere.

But sincerity was easy when you hadn’t yet been tested.

“You can’t bring a group of warriors,” I said. “You can’t march in there and expect them to trust you just because you’re an Alpha.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

His eyes met mine.

“I know I haven’t given you much reason to believe me.”

That stopped me.

He wasn’t asking me to forget what he’d done.

He wasn’t pretending that one apology had repaired everything.

He was acknowledging the damage.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was a start.

I looked towards the northern forest.

I thought of Lila.

Of the bread she’d shared.

Of the promise I’d made.

Then I looked back at the Alpha.

“I’ll take you there,” I said. “But you go alone, and you listen to them before you decide what they deserve.”

He nodded.

“Agreed.”

“And if you say anything that makes that little girl think she’s in trouble, I will personally ensure that your entire pack hears about it.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

His wolf practically purred.

I adore her.

The Alpha looked towards the sky.

You are not helping.

I am helping tremendously. You’re welcome.

I turned towards the trail.

“Come on, then.”

He fell into step beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The forest stretched ahead, full of shadows and secrets.

And somewhere beyond the trees, a little girl was waiting to see whether I would keep my promise.

I didn’t know what the Alpha would find when we reached the camp.

I didn’t know whether the people there would trust him.

And I certainly didn’t know what this meant for the fragile distance I’d been trying to maintain between us.

But I knew one thing.

I wasn’t going to let those children go hungry simply because the adults around them had decided that pride mattered more than compassion.

Not again.

Not while I could do something about it.