The Alpha's Regret

Ghosts and Wolves

He stood there like a man turned to stone, those gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Through the bond—that damned, persistent bond—I felt his emotions slam into me like a wave: shock, longing, guilt, and something darker. Something desperate.

His wolf. I could sense it pressing against his control, wild and feral in a way that hadn't been there five years ago.

"You're here." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "You came back."

"My father was in an accident." I kept my tone flat, professional. "I'm here for him. Not for anything else."

*Not for you.* The words hung unspoken between us.

Skyler flinched like I'd struck him. Good. Let him hurt. Let him feel a fraction of what he'd put me through.

"Wren, I—"

"Don't." I held up a hand, stopping whatever apology or explanation he'd been about to offer. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever you have to say, I'm not interested."

His jaw clenched. I watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. The old Wren—the pathetic, lovesick girl I used to be—would have caved at the pain in his eyes. Would have rushed to comfort him, to ease his suffering, even at the cost of her own.

But that girl was dead. I'd killed her myself, slowly and deliberately, over five years of rebuilding.

"How is David?" Skyler asked finally, accepting the redirect. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Stable. Resting." I moved toward the exit, desperate to escape his gravitational pull. "The doctors are optimistic."

"That's good." He stepped aside to let me pass, but the hallway was narrow, and I had to brush against him to get by. The contact—shoulder to chest, barely a second—sent electricity arcing through my veins.

I heard his sharp intake of breath. Felt the bond between us *pulse*.

I walked faster.

"Wren, wait."

His hand closed around my wrist. Gently, not restraining, just... holding. Asking.

I stopped but didn't turn around. "Let go."

"Please." The word was broken. "Just... look at me. Really look at me. I need you to see—"

"I see plenty." I turned then, meeting his gaze with all the cold indifference I could muster. "I see a man who rejected his mate because she wasn't good enough for him. I see someone who shattered a twenty-one-year-old girl and walked away without looking back. I see—"

"I looked back." His grip tightened fractionally, desperation bleeding through. "Every day. Every single day for five years, I've looked back. I've thought about you constantly. Dreamed about you. Gone half-mad with—"

"With what?" I yanked my arm free. "Regret? How nice for you. I spent those five years *surviving*. Rebuilding myself from the wreckage you left behind. So forgive me if I don't have sympathy for your suffering."

The words hit their mark. He actually staggered, one hand pressing against the wall for support.

"You're right," he said quietly. "You're right, and I deserve every bit of your anger. I deserve worse. What I did to you... there's no excuse. None."

"No," I agreed. "There isn't."

"But I need you to know—" He stepped toward me, then caught himself, respecting my space even as everything in him seemed to strain toward me. "I never stopped caring about you. The rejection wasn't about you being not enough. It was about me being too much. Too dangerous. Too—"

"Save it." I was shaking now, fury and old pain tangling in my chest. "I've heard enough excuses to last a lifetime. You made your choice five years ago. You don't get to unmake it just because you've decided you were wrong."

"Wren—"

"My father needs me. My family needs me. That's why I'm here." I backed toward the exit, putting precious distance between us. "Stay away from me, Skyler. Whatever you think you want from me, you're not going to get it."

I turned and walked out of the hospital, into the cool evening air, not letting myself run even though every instinct screamed at me to flee.

Behind me, I felt Skyler's anguish through the bond—a howl of grief that echoed in my own hollow chest.

I ignored it. I was good at ignoring pain.

The drive to my parents' house was short, but I spent it trying to calm my racing heart. My hands were trembling on the steering wheel. My wolf was pacing in my skull, distressed by the encounter.

*He's hurting*, she whimpered. *Our mate is hurting.*

*He's not our mate*, I snapped back. *He rejected us. He doesn't get to be ours anymore.*

She subsided, unconvinced but obedient. We'd had this argument a thousand times over the years.

The Mercer family home sat at the end of a quiet street, a two-story craftsman surrounded by towering pines. I'd grown up here, learned to shift in the backyard, taken my first steps toward becoming the woman I was now.

It felt like a stranger's house.

I parked in the driveway and sat for a moment, gathering myself. One more reunion to endure. One more person I'd abandoned without explanation.

Ronan was waiting on the porch.

My brother had always been big, but five years had added bulk to his frame. He stood with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, watching me climb out of my car with the same intense focus he'd probably used as a child when studying a particularly confusing puzzle.

"Ronan." I stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, uncertain.

"Five years." His voice was flat. "Five years, Wren. Not a visit. Not a real conversation. Just awkward phone calls on holidays where you couldn't wait to hang up."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" He descended the steps slowly, stopping in front of me. Up close, I could see the lines of tension around his mouth, the hurt he was trying to hide behind anger. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you couldn't wait to get away from us. From your family. From everyone who loved you."

"That's not—" I stopped, because it *was* fair. At least partially. "It wasn't about you. Or Mom and Dad. I just needed... I needed to be somewhere else. Someone else."

"Why?"

The question hung between us. I could tell him the truth. I could explain about the rejection, about Skyler, about the agony that had driven me across the country. But the words stuck in my throat.

I wasn't ready. I might never be ready.

"I can't explain," I said finally. "Not yet. But I'm here now. Doesn't that count for something?"

Ronan studied me for a long moment. Then, slowly, the tension drained from his shoulders.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "It counts."

He pulled me into a hug, and I let myself sink into it. My brother's arms were strong and familiar, and for a moment—just a moment—I felt safe.

"I missed you, little bird," he murmured against my hair.

"I missed you too."

We stood like that for a while, two siblings reuniting after too long apart. When we finally separated, Ronan's eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Come inside," he said, clearing his throat. "Mom left dinner in the fridge. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

I followed him into the house, into the warmth and light of my childhood home.

But even as I sat at the familiar kitchen table, eating my mother's casserole and listening to Ronan catch me up on five years of pack gossip, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

The bond hummed in my chest, a constant reminder that Skyler was out there somewhere.

Thinking about me.

Wanting me.

*Suffering*.

I told myself I didn't care.

I almost believed it.