Alpha’s Relic

Episode 9: Until Bedtime, Probably

When Quinn returned home, her nerves were completely fried. Her skin still hummed with the memory of Declan’s body—his mouth, his words, the way her wolf had nearly curled around his claim.

"Girls, bed!" Brenna said for the third time. The twins, high on sugar and mischief, were spinning in chaotic circles around the family room.

Aisling stopped suddenly, eyes wide, clearly struck with a very important thought.

"So you’re gonna be our new Alpha?"

Quinn sighed. "I don’t know. I need to think about it."

Aisling dropped to one knee like a pint-sized knight, puffed out her chest, and placed a dramatic hand over her heart. "I pledge my allegiance to my Aunt Alpha Quinn—until death. Or until bedtime. Whichever comes first."

Quinn’s lips twitched. The grin broke through anyway.

Keira crossed her arms. "No, dumb-dumb, that’s not what wolves do." She glanced at Quinn, unimpressed. "Please don’t let her start a cult."

Aisling whirled to correct her sister, but Brenna raised her voice before the argument could land.

"Bed! Now!"

Quinn gave them both a stern look that was probably too soft around the edges. Aisling hugged them like a war hero saying farewell, muttering something about battle strategy and snack rations, then skipped to her room. Keira, true to form, hugged her mom and vanished without a word.

Brenna collapsed onto the hideous orange couch beside her. It was Moira’s revenge decor—their dad had always hated it, which probably sealed its permanent residence. Quinn kind of loved it for that.

“So,” Brenna said, giving Quinn her best stern-mom stare.

“So... I don’t want to talk about it,” Quinn replied, rubbing her temples.

A beat of silence stretched.

“Well, I’m here when you do,” Brenna murmured, pulling her into a hug. The contact eased something tight inside her.

Eventually, Brenna went to bed, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts—never a safe place to be.

***

She’d just settled into bed when a series of soft taps sounded at her window. Her phone lit up at the same time.

Declan: I'm outside.

Quinn: Clearly.

Declan: I want to see you.

Quinn: You already saw me.

Declan: ...

Quinn: I'm going to sleep. Goodnight.

Declan: You can either let me in quietly, or I’ll knock and make sure everyone knows I’m here.

Her blood pressure spiked.

Quinn: Fine. But you're an ass.

Declan: Probably.

She crept down the stairs, every creak in the floorboards a betrayal. When she opened the door, Declan leaned against the frame in low-slung jeans and a t-shirt molded to every sculpted line of his chest. Tattoos peeked out from his sleeves. His scent—pine, whiskey, heat—hit her hard.

“What?” she snapped.

He grinned. “You gonna let me in?”

“Technically, I already did.”

“You’re really overstepping,” she hissed as he strolled past her.

“We’re past that, Quinn.”

She glared. His eyes just laughed at her.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You want me here.”

She scowled. “What do you want?”

“You.”

He stepped into her space and pulled her close—fast, hot, reckless. She felt every hard line of him and the press of his want. Her wolf let out a low purr.

Then he let her go, stepping back like nothing had happened.

She stumbled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going upstairs.”

“You’re going to wake everyone up!”

“Quinn, you make more noise than I do. You stomp like a city girl.”

Her wolf snarled. Challenged.

“At least I’m not insufferable.”

He only smirked and opened her bedroom door like it belonged to him.

He sprawled on her bed like a man at home. And damn him—he looked good doing it. She remembered his skin against hers, the way he’d kissed her like it was survival—every kiss, every touch—a surrender she hadn’t meant to give while they had been in his bed.

She shut the door and hovered there for a moment, breathing him in, weighing the consequences. She should’ve made him leave. She should’ve said no. Instead, she tiptoed to the bed, shoved him aside with a growl softer than she meant it to be, and slipped under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world—like muscle memory had decided for her.

“You remember how many times I snuck in and out of here?” he murmured, shifting closer.

She elbowed him. “I also remember how many times we got caught.”

Her dad had grounded her endlessly. Moira, half the time, pretended not to see. Maybe she’d known even then what they were.

“Think Pat would give us the birth control talk again?” Declan laughed.

Quinn groaned. “One mention of my IUD and he’d probably never speak again.”

He was quiet for a moment, like he wanted to ask something else entirely. His gaze dipped—thoughtful, a little too lingering. Then, instead, he said too casually, "Has your great new life in the city included dating?"

“I’m not discussing that.” She hadn’t. Not since that night a year ago—when he’d touched her like she was already his, and her wolf hadn’t disagreed.

“I probably don’t want to know,” he said, but the way his eyes lingered on her said otherwise—like the thought of her with someone else had already sunk its teeth in.

“What does that mean?” she snapped, turning to glare. Her cheeks flamed despite herself. “You know what? Never mind. You’re right. You don’t want to know.”

She huffed and looked away, still annoyed—but not enough to miss the heat in his grin.

“You’re too easy,” he said with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the way her eyes sparked. “There she is,” he murmured, his voice low and pleased. “My favorite version of you is the one that fights.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away with another huff, but her pulse betrayed her. He didn’t wait—just wrapped himself around her like he’d never stopped knowing how. She stiffened at first, torn between memory and sense. But her body, her wolf, had already made the decision. After a long beat, she let herself melt into him, her exhale low and grudging. Her wolf hummed beneath her skin, far too content.

“What about you?” she asked.

She already knew—had snooped using her resources from work. Maybe she just wanted to see if he'd say it out loud.

He smirked faintly, voice dipping low. “Fair’s fair. You tell, I tell.”

“Of course I’ve dated,” she said. “I’m not a nun.”

She felt a low growl vibrate in his chest—quiet, but primal. A thrill shot through her. So she could still get to him, too. "Your turn."

“I dated someone. It lasted a while.”

“What happened?”

Jealousy curled in her gut. Her wolf stiffened.

“She wasn’t you,” he said.

Warmth bloomed—unexpected, undeniable. It cracked something—just a hairline fracture, right down the center of her defenses. No one had ever said something like that to her and meant it. She shifted under the covers, suddenly too warm. The worst part was knowing he meant it. The second worst part was how badly she wanted to believe it. She hated how much she liked his answer. Hated even more how her wolf gave a satisfied hum, like it had just confirmed something it already believed.

“Who was she?” she pushed. “A wolf?”

“Yes.”

Her wolf snapped to full attention, a growl vibrating in her chest before the name even left his lips. “Who?”

“Alicia Perry.”

Quinn choked on a laugh. “That’s really twisted, Declan.” She was half appalled, half impressed—and deeply, deeply annoyed that he looked so pleased with himself.

Alicia had been a frenemy in the loosest sense—always trying to one-up Quinn, always lingering just close enough to provoke.

She’d dated Declan’s best friend senior year and told anyone who would listen that they were the cutest pack couple. Quinn hadn’t cared then and didn’t now, but she had been more than relieved when Alicia chose a different college. It added up now. That needling hostility hadn’t just been teenage drama. It was jealousy—sharp and stupid—and Quinn had never bothered to take it seriously. Maybe she should have.

“High school was a long time ago,” he said with a lazy shrug, clearly amused. “She grew up. You might get along now—if you can manage to be grown up as well.”

“Sure,” Quinn snorted, rolling her eyes. “You're such a smug bastard.”

His eyes flashed gold. “I know.”

“Okay, well, thanks for dropping by,” she said, flat and dry, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I’m tired—and it’s time for you to not be in my bed.” She shoved at him. He didn’t move.

“I’m staying,” he said simply. No argument, no bravado. Just fact. He threw a leg over hers and pulled her closer like her bed—and maybe her heart—had always been his.

She should’ve pushed harder. Should’ve stayed on her side of the bed, kept a wall of sheets and silence between them. But instead, her hand reached for his like it had been waiting to—for years. Instinct over reason. Want over wisdom. Her wolf was already curled around him. She could sort through all of it later. Maybe.

Even her wolf hesitated—just for a breath. One blink too long, one instinct too loud. It wanted to stay.