Alpha’s Relic

Episode 6: The Cards Know

The house had finally gone quiet—too quiet for Quinn’s nerves.

Outside, crickets hummed in the late-summer dark, and the faint scent of night jasmine drifted in through the half-cracked window of Moira’s so-called “witch room.” Shelves crowded with jars of dried herbs and bundles of lavender loomed in the shadows, a scatter of tarot cards resting beside a bowl of salt. Moira always said the cards spoke clearest when the house was quiet and the air smelled of lavender and memory. The only light came from a green-shaded lamp on her worktable, casting a warm circle onto the scarred wood where Moira had set down a bottle of red and two mismatched glasses.

“Thought you might need this.” Moira poured generously, the wine glugging like a promise. “You’ve been coiled tighter than a spring all night. Don’t tell me it’s because of me.”

Quinn smirked and took the glass. “When have you ever made me nervous?”

“Never,” Moira agreed, settling into the opposite chair. “But a certain Tierney… now, he’s another story.”

Quinn’s fingers tightened around the stem. “Not this again.”

“Oh, I’m not bringing it up,” Moira said innocently, swirling her wine. “Just making an observation. Like how a wolf perks up when it catches a familiar scent.” Her gaze was sharper than the lazy tone suggested. “You didn’t even notice Brenna calling your name earlier—too busy staring at him.”

Quinn rolled her eyes, taking a long sip. “I wasn’t staring. And even if I was, it doesn’t matter.”

Her wolf stirred at the mention of his name—irritatingly eager, like a flame catching wind. She shoved it down. Her instincts were always louder around Declan, harder to leash.

“Mhm.” Moira let the sound draw out, lips curling in a knowing smile. “Funny, though. Declan didn’t seem to think it didn’t matter.”

The air between them thinned. Quinn tried for a laugh, but it came out tight. “You’re imagining things.”

“Maybe.” Moira tipped her head, studying her niece with that blend of affection and appraisal she’d perfected over the years.

“You’ve gotten better at hiding your tells, but you can’t fool me. I’m not some poor sap who wandered into your crosshairs at work.”

Quinn busied herself with the wine bottle, topping off her glass more than necessary. “I’m here for the will reading. That’s it.”

“If you say so.” Moira’s voice softened, but there was a glint in her eye now. “Just remember—Caroline will be there too.”

The name landed like a stone in Quinn’s stomach. “I can handle Caroline.”

Which brought up another curious point.

"Since when did Caroline—sharp teeth, claws, and all—become Nana Caroline?"

Moira rolled her eyes. "That’s not my story to tell. But she named a pie at her restaurant Nana’s Hug. Can you believe that?"

The feud between Aunt Moira and Caroline was the stuff of small-town legend. They were forever trying to outdo each other, always trading first and second place at the local pie contests. When Caroline added "Home of the renowned pecan pie" to The Ironwood Grill’s menu, Moira found it not only in poor taste but downright infuriating—especially since pecan pie was her holiday specialty. And maybe, just maybe, hers came with a little extra "something."

"That’s cryptic," Quinn said, frowning.

Moira only shrugged, her eyes flicking toward the side of the house where Brenna’s room was. She’d never been great at keeping secrets.

"So I guess I need to talk to Brenna?" Quinn drained her glass and rose slowly. The thought of diving into that conversation tonight made her bones ache. It could wait until morning.

"Hold on—let me pull a card for you." Moira already had one in hand and flipped it over.

She made a dramatic show of peering at the image. Quinn couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.

"Aunt Moira, I’m really tired," Quinn groaned.

Moira ignored her. "Hmm. Interesting. It says to be prepared for anything tomorrow… and that there are ancient forces at work."

Quinn didn’t need a card to know she should be ready for war at the will reading. Still, something deep inside her shifted—the ancient part of her that pulsed in time with the land. Her wolf felt it, too. The scent of salt, sage, and Moira’s strange magic made her skin prickle. The land remembers. Maybe her blood did too. It had been quiet for so long—too quiet. Being back stirred something. Not a voice, not even a feeling. Just... awareness. Like the land was holding its breath, waiting for her to notice.

"Sounds about right. Good night." She hugged her aunt and turned to leave, already bracing for whatever tomorrow would bring.

"Oh—and it also says to stop pretending you don’t still burn for that Alpha," Moira called after her in a sing-song voice. "The cards see through you, darling."

Quinn grinned and shook her head.

Visits with her aunt were never dull.

***

After a shower and a cup of chamomile tea—at least she hoped that’s all it was—Quinn scrolled aimlessly through her phone. She was exhausted from the trip, but too wired to sleep.

Conveniently, Declan’s face appeared on the pack’s version of social media. It was a good picture. He wore a genuine smile, his blue eyes sparkling, his beard highlighting that rugged edge she still remembered all too well. Her breath hitched. That smile—real and unguarded—was the one that always undid her. Even through a screen, it made something low in her belly tighten. Her wolf paced just beneath her skin, hungry for the sound of his voice, the scent of him. It was maddening, how quickly instinct overruled sense.

He was a far cry from the clean-cut boy she’d left at twenty-two. He’d been handsome then, but now he radiated s*x appeal. She could only imagine how many wolf mothers had thrown their daughters at his feet.

After their night together, curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d quietly pulled a few strings at work to find out what he’d been up to—ethical lines blurring in the face of old desire. Unsurprisingly, he’d stayed in Willow Ridge. Law degree, check. Local practice, check. No marriage to Kylie, double check. A couple of girlfriends—one long-term, one brief. Nothing that lasted. Nothing that looked like love.

She was almost embarrassed by the ridiculous wave of relief that swept through her.

Quinn had wanted to ask Brenna what had really happened but decided it was better to leave old wounds untouched. She hadn’t been celibate, but she’d never let anything bloom into love. Her career came first—always. She’d built a reputation among the northern packs as a conflict resolver and mediator—handling cases the human legal system couldn’t touch. Like who got the kids during the full moon.

A soft knock tapped at the door, and then Brenna poked her head in.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey. Are the girls asleep?"

"Finally." Brenna sighed and sank onto the edge of the bed. "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve payback for your childhood sins." Her eyes twinkled.

Quinn chuckled, already knowing who she meant—Aisling, her mini-wolf tornado of a niece. Quinn had been the same way.

"Guess the universe thought you should pay for all the times you stole my stuff and tattled on me," she said with a grin.

Brenna’s fingers stilled on the quilt. Her gaze dropped to her lap.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "What’s going on, Brenna? Nana Caroline and Uncle Declan?"

Brenna exhaled, already caving to Quinn’s bossy big sister voice.

"Okay, don’t be mad."

Quinn groaned. "Famous last words."

"About a year ago, I started dating. Finally closed the door on Russ and felt ready to move on."

Quinn nodded. She’d helped her sister through that messy divorce. Russ—deadbeat, drunk, abusive. He’d been excommunicated from the pack. Even after she’d left him, Brenna had let him slither back in more than once. Until she finally cut him off.

"You already know I took up transcription work so I could raise the girls and bring in steady income from home. What you don’t know is that Nate Tierney hired me. We started as friends—but about ten months ago, it turned into something more."

Quinn blinked. Nate Tierney. Declan's younger brother. He was a successful doctor now, treating both wolf and human patients, having taken over the town practice when the previous physician retired.

"That’s... unexpected," she said at last.

"There’s more."

Of course there was.

"A couple of weeks ago, he asked me to move in."

Brenna picked at the edge of Quinn's quilt.

"And?" Quinn prompted.

"I said I’d think about it."

"That’s good," Quinn said. She tilted her head, studying her sister. Brenna deserved happiness—even if it came from a Tierney. Russ had dragged her through hell.

"As long as you’re happy, Bren," Quinn said softly.

Brenna looked up, surprised. Then smiled wide, eyes bright.

Quinn’s chest ached. Sometimes she forgot how much her sister had relied on her in place of their mother.

Brenna leaned in, pulling her into a hug. Quinn hugged back, but didn’t say what was really on her mind.

Anything involving Caroline Tierney was bound to go sideways.

She just hoped Nate was stronger than his brother.

***

Sleep came slowly. And when it did, it came with scent-memory—whiskey, pine, and the ghost of a voice that once growled, Stop thinking.

Tomorrow, she’d have to face him.

And this time, she wouldn’t run.