The Alpha Under The Mistletoe

6: I Should Have Let You Die

Maeve's POV.

They came without warning.

No call. No message. No heads-up. Just engines grinding into my yard like the land already belonged to them, tires biting into dirt I’d worked with my own hands. I was still inside when I heard it, hands deep in work, apron stained dark, knife resting on the table where I’d just finished breaking down meat for the morning orders. My shoulders were already sore. My fingers smelled of iron and salt. This was my life. Earned. Fought for.

I smelled them before I saw them.

Wolves.

Too many. Moving with purpose. Not sneaking. Not careful. Confident, like they had every right to be here.

I stepped outside and everything inside me snapped tight, like a wire pulled too far.

Ten men.

Ten full-grown wolves standing on my land, boots pressed into my dirt, eyes sweeping over my cattle pens, my sheds, my slaughter area, my house. They didn’t cluster together. They spread out without asking, without waiting, like they were already measuring distances, already deciding what went first.

I didn’t feel fear. Not even a trace of it.

I felt rage climb straight up my spine, hot and fast, stealing my breath.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, voice ripping out of my chest before I could stop it.

They didn’t jump. Didn’t flinch. Not a single one looked startled. One of them shut off an engine like this was a casual visit. Another adjusted his jacket, slow and relaxed. Calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes from knowing you have numbers on your side.

I walked forward anyway, boots crunching, knife still in my hand, blade dark from work. I didn’t lower it. I didn’t hide it.

“You’re trespassing,” I said, pointing it at them. “Every single one of you. Turn around and get off my land. Now.”

A man stepped out from the group. Big. Heavy shoulders. Thick neck. Scar dragging down his cheek like someone had tried to mark him once and failed. His eyes didn’t soften when they met mine. He looked like someone used to people backing down.

“We’re here on pack business,” he said.

I laughed. It came out harsh and loud, almost ugly. “This isn’t pack land. This is mine.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked past me, slow and deliberate, toward the cattle shifting in their pens, toward the slaughter shed, toward the house behind me. His gaze lingered there like he was already picturing it empty.

“Orders say otherwise.”

My chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“Whose orders,” I said.

He hesitated.

Just for a second. Just long enough for my stomach to drop.

That pause hit harder than any punch.

“Say it,” I demanded, stepping closer. “Say the name.”

He straightened, jaw setting. “Alpha Aaron Merrick.”

Everything inside me dropped.

It felt like my bones went hollow, like someone had scooped me out from the inside and left me standing there anyway.

The name hit my head so hard I staggered back a step. Aaron. The man I had dragged out of the snow. The man whose blood had soaked my floor. The man I had fed with my own hands, stitched with shaking fingers, kept alive when he should have died.

“You’re lying,” I said, but my voice shook, betrayed me.

“We’re not,” another man said, stepping forward. “We’re here to clear the property. You’re to vacate by nightfall.”

Vacate.

The word rang in my head like an insult.

My hands started shaking, knife trembling between my fingers.

“Clear it how?” I yelled. “By killing my cattle? Burning my house? Dragging me out like trash?”

The scarred man didn’t answer. He lifted his hand.

And the others moved.

They moved toward my pens.

That was it.

Something broke loose inside me and I screamed and charged without thinking. I dropped the knife and grabbed the nearest thing...an iron hook from the fence...and swung with everything I had. It caught one of them across the shoulder with a dull crack. He cursed, stumbling back.

I didn’t stop.

I went for the next, then the next, screaming every word pouring out of me, my throat already raw. “You think you can take this from me? You think I built this just to hand it over?”

Someone grabbed my arm. I twisted and drove my elbow back into ribs. Someone else grabbed my waist. I stomped, kicked, fought like an animal cornered, nails clawing, teeth snapping.

“You tell your Alpha he can go to hell!” I screamed. “After everything...after I saved him...this is what he sends you to do?”

Hands closed in. Too many. They were trained. Coordinated. Strong. They moved like they’d done this before.

They dragged me toward the house.

“No!” I screamed, heels digging into dirt. “Don’t you touch my home!”

Furniture crashed inside as they forced the door open. Drawers were ripped out, wood splintering. Meat hooks clanged as they were torn down. My knives hit the floor, skidding across tile like fallen teeth.

I fought harder, thrashing, twisting, refusing to go quiet.

“You bastard!” I screamed to the walls, to him, to the memory of his face on my floor, pale and bleeding. “I should’ve let you die! I should’ve walked away!”

I tore free long enough to grab a heavy cleaver from the table and threw it with all the strength in my arms. It slammed into the wall inches from a man’s head, sinking deep.

“Next one hits bone!” I roared.

They didn’t stop.

Someone twisted my arm behind my back. Pain shot up my shoulder, sharp and blinding. I snarled and kicked, connecting with a knee. He grunted but held me tighter.

“You sent them!” I screamed. “You sent them after me!”

Then the room went still.

Boots hit the floor behind me. Slow. Heavy. Controlled.

A presence filled the space, pressing in on everything.

The men froze where they stood.

I knew before I turned.

Aaron stood in the doorway.

Alive. Whole. Standing like he hadn’t almost died on my floor days ago. Like he hadn’t been bleeding out while I held him together with shaking hands.

My vision went red.

“So you came to watch?” I screamed, voice breaking apart. “You couldn’t even finish the job yourself?”

“Maeve,” he said.

Hearing my name from his mouth made something inside me explode completely.

I ripped free and grabbed the heaviest thing within reach...a cast iron pan...and hurled it straight at his head with everything I had.

He caught it.

One hand. Easy. Like it weighed nothing.

That hurt worse than any blow.

“You think this scares me?” I screamed. “You think I won’t fight you?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me, eyes dark, unreadable.

I grabbed a chair and threw that too.

He caught it as well.

My chest burned. My throat felt torn. My hands shook with fury and disbelief.

“I saved you!” I screamed. “I should have left you out there! I should’ve watched you freeze!”

He took a step forward.

The men tightened around us.

“Get off my land!” I screamed at all of them. “Every one of you! Get the hell out!”

One of the men opened his mouth. “Maeve, we were told...”

“I don’t care!” I roared. “I don’t care what lies you were fed!”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. His eyes never left mine.

“I said...” he began.

I lunged again, swinging blindly.

That was when his voice snapped across the room, sharp and commanding, cutting through everything.

“Enough.”