Alpha’s Relic

Episode 7: The Will

The Tierney estate’s main hall was packed, the air thick with the scent of polished wood, expensive cologne, and the kind of tension that made everyone speak a little too quietly. Overhead, crystal chandeliers threw warm light across rows of chairs filled with wolves—some curious, others calculating. The deep green of the carpet muffled footsteps, and the faint tick of an antique clock filled the moments between murmurs.

Earlier that evening, the private reading of Richard's personal will had included only immediate family. Brenna and the girls had been asked to join, which made Quinn raise an eyebrow. Were things already that serious between Brenna and Nate—and Caroline had allowed it?

When they reconvened in the main hall for the pack will, Brenna seemed radiant. The girls wore dresses that matched their personalities: Aisling’s was a deep plum velvet with combat boots, her wild curls barely tamed by a silver clip; Keira’s was pale blue chiffon with delicate embroidery, her hair braided neatly down her back. Aisling walked ahead like she owned the place, while Keira clung shyly to her mother’s side. Silver necklaces gleamed at their throats, each bearing a small moon pendant engraved with their initial.

Her reintroduction to Dr. Nate Tierney was polite but awkward. He had the same good looks as Declan but was more polished and precise—light brown hair neatly combed, crisp suit pressed to perfection—nothing like her sister’s usual type. Yet the way they looked at each other left no doubt about their feelings.

Quinn still intended to corner him at some point and threaten his manhood if he hurt her sister. The girls clearly adored him—and more shocking still, Caroline seemed to have genuine affection for them and Brenna. The irony sat in Quinn’s chest like a brick, too heavy to unpack.

Even with Brenna’s new status, Caroline still looked down her pointed nose at Quinn. Caroline was immaculate, as always, her blond hair in a perfect twist, makeup flawless, and pearl earrings catching the light. Quinn held her ground and felt a sharp satisfaction when Caroline broke eye contact first.

The hall was so crowded that the only available seat was between Brenna and Declan. Quinn considered standing, but her sister flagged her over. Declan turned, his gaze dragging over her body with unhurried intent—a slow, smoldering once-over that should have been illegal. Her pulse didn’t just kick up; it thudded, hard and low, like it remembered exactly what he’d done to her the last time they’d touched. He wore a wicked smile, dark hair tousled just enough to look unintentional. Quinn was sure he’d orchestrated this—the only open seat, the slow burn of his gaze, the proximity he knew would undo her.

Fine. If he wanted to play games, she could play better.

“Good to see you, Quinn,” he said smoothly, standing to let her pass.

She deliberately let her ass brush against him, slow and intentional, then made a show of smoothing her pants and adjusting her top so his eyes were drawn to her cleavage. The air between them crackled—electric and full of old promises. If it affected him, he didn’t show it—aside from the heat smoldering in his gaze, sharp enough to scorch through fabric.

“Declan.” She nodded curtly and angled toward her sister, pure petty defiance in the tilt of her shoulders.

Still, the heat radiating from him sent a shiver down her spine, her body remembering too well the weight of his touch. He smelled maddeningly good—whiskey and pine, a scent that clung to the memory of being pressed beneath him, breathless and marked. The crisp white shirt stretched over his chest, a few buttons undone to reveal tanned, muscular skin, the edge of a tattoo teasing along his collarbone. Her thighs clenched without permission. Quinn forced herself to look away before she did something truly stupid.

At the end of their row, Moira and Caroline were all smiles and syrupy tones. Moira wore her signature bright scarf and silver bangles that jingled with every gesture. She absently plucked a nonexistent piece of lint from Caroline’s sleeve, the gesture somehow both maternal and menacing.

“Oh, Moira, that pie you brought to the last fundraiser—such a brave attempt,” Caroline purred, her smile sugary enough to rot teeth.

“And Caroline,” Moira replied sweetly, patting her arm, “your hairdresser must adore you. Not everyone could pull off a shade that screams entitlement quite so… loudly.”

Quinn bit back a laugh, the sound catching in her throat as Declan let out an exasperated sigh, his hand dragging down his face like he regretted ever being born into this circus. Brenna elbowed her, eyes sparkling. Nate, one seat over from Brenna, caught the exchange and shook his head with a crooked grin.

The twins had bickered over who got to sit next to him until he solved it by moving over so they could each have a side. Quinn was grudgingly impressed, not that she’d ever admit it.

Moira and Caroline had been a running sideshow of veiled insults and weaponized politeness for as long as Quinn could remember—endlessly entertaining, especially when someone else was in the crossfire.

The pack secretary, a thin, gray-haired wolf in a tailored suit, called the meeting to order. Routine announcements followed: the upcoming family day festival, a request for volunteers, and a complaint about older teens roaming too close to town in wolf form—likely inspired by one infamous Murphy dare.

Quinn felt Declan’s gaze at that one. On a dare, she’d once strolled down Main Street in wolf form in broad daylight. Her antics had apparently inspired the younger wolves. She felt a flicker of guilt, but the lesser-talked-about consequence—for her, and by proxy for Declan, since Richard had insisted he act like an Alpha—was weeks of pack service.

Back then, she and Declan could turn even the dullest punishment—painting doors and picking up trash—into something electric. Their connection had been so powerful that the monotony barely registered; it was just another excuse to be near each other. When no one was watching, they’d steal kisses that left her breathless and collapse into tangled nights, reluctant to let go even when morning came.

The secretary’s voice cut through Quinn’s memory, snapping her attention back to the front.

“And now, for the reading of Alpha Tierney’s pack will,” he said.

He read through the formalities—land to the pack, money allocated—until everyone leaned forward for the real announcement. No one doubted Declan would be named Alpha, though a few rebels always pushed for change.

“…and to my successor as Alpha…” The secretary paused, eyes widening before he continued, “…Quinlan Maeve Murphy.”

Quinn had an out-of-body moment. Had she heard that right? Richard Tierney had named her Alpha—over Declan? She was supposed to lead the Willow Ridge pack? Her?

A hot spike of disbelief lanced through her, followed by something colder—panic, sharp and breathless. She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted it. It felt like the entire room held its breath, waiting for her to rise and fail.

And yet, deep inside her, her wolf stirred—not with confusion, but with satisfaction. It rose like smoke through her blood, alert and watchful, as though it had been waiting for this moment all along. For once, it didn’t snarl or resist. It stretched, ancient and proud, like it was finally being seen. Recognized. Claimed.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her spine locked, nails pressing crescents into the wooden armrest. Her mind screamed in resistance. But her wolf—her wolf was finally home.

She snapped back to the present like a cord had been yanked taut, adrenaline catching in her throat as chairs scraped and murmurs swelled. A low growl rumbled from somewhere in the back. A few wolves surged halfway to their feet before settling again.

Quinn heard the sharp inhale from behind her—Kylie Maddox. Of course. The mutters swelled like a tide rising around her, wolves shifting in their seats. Several exchanged sharp glances; others whispered behind raised hands, their expressions flickering between curiosity, outrage, and reluctant intrigue. Kylie stood rigid, her perfect hair a helmet of control, lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back the urge to lunge, her nails biting into the leather of her clutch.

Declan’s jaw tightened beside her, but his eyes never left her face. The muscle ticking in his cheek betrayed the effort to keep his expression neutral, though the glint in his gaze was sharp enough to pin her in place. Heat coiled low in her belly under that look, her wolf pacing just beneath her skin in restless awareness. If he touched her—even by accident—she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pretend it didn’t mean something.

“This is absurd,” Kylie’s voice cut through the noise. “You can’t seriously—”

Declan’s look silenced her—not angry, but firm, like he was already done giving Kylie space to unravel in front of the pack. Quinn caught the flash of fury in Kylie’s eyes, but Declan remained unreadable, solid and steady beside her. Moira’s smirk across the aisle said she was enjoying every second. Caroline’s face gave nothing away, her features smooth and composed, revealing neither approval nor objection.

The rest of the will wrapped quickly, but the secretary held up one last folded sheet.

“Richard left a personal letter for Quinn. She is instructed to read it in private—with only Declan present.”

Quinn’s fingers tingled as she took it, the sealed envelope pressed into her palm like it knew what it was about to undo.