Alpha’s Relic

Episode 11: Blush and Charm

Morning light slanted through the curtains, painting Quinn’s room in pale gold. The faint scent of coffee drifted up from the kitchen. It mixed with the clutter of clothes and books scattered across her floor. The warmth of her sheets clung to her skin, urging her to stay hidden.

“Quinnnnnnn,” a loud whisper broke through her sleep.

Quinn cracked open one eye to find Aisling hovering over her.

“What time is it?”

“Ten eighteen,” Aisling answered promptly, far too precise.

Quinn groaned and sat up. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Twice.

“Are you hungover?” Aisling asked, sweeping Quinn's blush brush across her cheeks with practiced ease. She pursed her lips at the mirror.

“No, I’m not. And your mom is going to be mad if she catches you with makeup.” Quinn didn’t stop her though. What was the point of being an aunt if you couldn’t let them break a few rules now and then?

“She won’t notice. Uncle Declan and Nate are downstairs.” Aisling slicked on Quinn’s lip gloss and smacked her lips at her reflection.

Quinn stilled. She had felt Declan slip out of bed hours ago. She had assumed he went home, not settled in at her family’s breakfast table.

“Were you a couple?” Aisling spritzed perfume, far too grown-up for nine. She wrinkled her nose, making a face of clear disapproval at the scent.

Quinn fell back against the pillows with a sigh. Nosy. Just like Aunt Moira.

“A long time ago.”

“Well, he has a picture of you in his house.” Aisling rifled through Quinn’s closet like she owned it, arms crossed, chin tapping in judgment.

Her throat tightened at the thought of Declan keeping a picture of her in his house. It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

“When were you in his house?” Quinn propped on one elbow as Aisling pulled out a dress, made a face, and shoved it back. She bit back a laugh at the solemn seriousness on her niece’s face.

“We go with Mom and Nate for family dinners.”

Family dinners with the Tierneys? Quinn would rather have a root canal.

“Are you glad your mom and Nate are together?” Quinn asked. She watched her niece closely, braced, watching carefully to make sure her niece truly looked happy.

“Yep. Russ is a real piece of shit.”

“Aisling!”

“What?” Aisling shrugged, casual as ever. “It’s true.”

Quinn mentally agreed but shooed her toward the door.

Her niece heaved a sigh, clearly burdened by life. She reached the door, then turned back. “Oh, Aunt Quinn? You need new clothes.”

Quinn hurled a pillow at her. Aisling dodged easily and skipped away, a giggle bubbling out of her as she vanished down the hall.

She burrowed deeper into the sheets, pretending she couldn’t hear the faint clatter of dishes downstairs. But her own nosiness won out. With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Thirty minutes later, showered and steadier, she padded back into her room with a towel wrapped around her. The small breath of ease caught in her chest and vanished the moment she saw him.

Declan lounged back in her bed, one arm tucked lazily behind his head as though he owned the space.

“Sexy,” he drawled, a slow grin curling his mouth. Heat smoldered in his too-blue eyes.

“Go away.” She turned her back to him, gathering clothes.

He didn’t answer. He only watched. He’d changed into a fresh t-shirt that clung to his body, tracing every line of muscle. The scent of pine lingered faintly, curling around her senses, familiar and grounding. Her wolf leaned forward, recognizing that scent with a yearning Quinn refused to admit.

“Are you okay?”

The question caught her off guard.

“Yes.”

“You scared me,” he said softly.

Her hand stilled in her damp hair.

“It was just a bad dream.”

“About what?”

She wasn’t ready to share. Not yet.

“I don’t remember,” she lied.

His eyes said he knew better, but he let it go. After a beat he sat up.

“I need you to come with me to go through some pack issues.” His voice stayed measured, stripped of the Alpha edge he usually carried.

Right. Her new job. Pack Alpha.

“What kind of issues?”

“Ongoing disputes. Complaints. Plans.”

She would rather eat glass, but she needed to start somewhere. If she sorted through the issues quickly enough, she could return home. The rest she would leave for Declan to handle, prophecy be damned.

“Fine. I’ll meet you there.” She crossed her arms and flicked her gaze toward the door.

Declan didn’t move. He only stared at her. Then, faster than she could react, he had her against him. His mouth claimed hers. Heat seared through her, toes curling hard against the floorboards as his mouth devoured hers. For a heartbeat she hesitated. Her wolf lunged forward even as her mind held back. His heat seared through the thin towel. Then her resolve slipped. She kissed him back, the towel threatening to fall. The solid weight of his chest burned against her damp skin. Pine flooded her senses until she was dizzy. Her wolf howled inside, triumphant, while her human heart panicked at how easily she gave in.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” he murmured against her lips, sensing her turmoil. His breath was warm, then he pulled away and left.

Quinn pressed her fingers to her mouth, breathless. Declan Tierney was going to be the death of her.

***

A few hours later, she sank into the sofa in Declan’s office, limbs heavy, head lolling back as though her body had forgotten how to hold itself upright. The dark wood desk loomed with neat stacks of papers. Heavy bookshelves lined the walls. Family portraits stared down from the paneled walls. The faint scent of leather and old paper clung to the room.

She had surrendered the monumental task of sorting through pack disputes. Reports of brawls littered the files, ink smudged where pens pressed too hard. The fractures weren’t lines on paper, they were bruises and broken glass.

She’d handled issues with northern packs for work, but they hadn’t known her. Here, in Willow Ridge, her name carried weight. That made everything harder. She doubted any of the wolves would even attempt to compromise with her at the table. Only Declan’s authority could force their hand.

“Do you have to deal with this every day?” she asked, glancing over at Declan. He somehow managed to make reading legal briefs look sexy.

“Sadly, yes,” he replied without looking up.

Before Quinn could comment, the door creaked open. A man stepped inside with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere.

The air shifted as if pulled toward him, carrying a faint static charge that prickled along Quinn’s skin. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair falling artfully into his eyes. His smile was a weapon, and he aimed it straight at her.

“I’m looking for Declan Tierney or Quinlan Murphy,” the man said. His lilting accent smoothed over each word like silk. His presence filled the room as if the air itself leaned toward him. He carried the faint scent of rain-soaked stone and wild heather.

Quinn sat up, wary yet drawn in despite herself. Something about him was magnetic, tugging at her attention. Her wolf stirred too, pricking with an interest she couldn’t quite explain. An almost seductive pull curled low in her stomach.

Declan rose slowly from behind his desk, the air in the room shifting with Alpha weight. His breath sharpened, claws threatening.

“And you are?”

The man’s grin widened, unbothered. “Ciarán O’Conaill,” he said smoothly. “I manage certain family affairs overseas. Richard

Tierney reached out to me before his passing and asked that I help settle the Irish estate.” His gaze flicked briefly to Declan before sliding back to Quinn, warm and appraising. “I hadn’t expected to find such… striking company here.”

The words dripped with charm. His tone was almost intimate. Quinn couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. She told herself to resist, but her wolf responded eagerly. It leaned into the lure in his voice. Her pulse betrayed her, quickening. The air seemed warmer, thick with the charge of him.

“You’ve delivered your message,” Declan said evenly, though steel edged his tone. “Anything else?”

Ciarán only smiled, as though Declan’s clipped tone amused him. He set a folder of papers on the desk with deliberate care. “Estate records,” he said smoothly. “Richard wanted them handled properly. I thought it best to bring them myself.”

Declan’s eyes stayed on him, but Ciarán let his gaze linger on Quinn. “Though I confess, business is only half the reason I’m glad I came. Tell me, Quinlan… do you drink coffee? Perhaps later, you’d let me buy you a cup.” His voice was low, velvet-wrapped, carrying a power that curled beneath her skin.

Quinn’s lips parted. She found herself leaning into his charm, both woman and wolf caught by the pull of him. Her wolf pressed forward, intrigued, whispering yes when she wanted to resist. And though she knew Declan was watching, she answered anyway.

Her voice was steady. “Sure.”

The corner of Ciarán’s mouth lifted in a grin. He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to her. When she took it, his fingers lingered against hers just a fraction too long. Heat sparked at the contact. The brush of his skin left a tingling trail across her palm, lingering like a secret. Her wolf hummed at the touch, unsettled and drawn all at once.

Declan bristled, fists clenching at his sides. A low growl rumbled in his chest. His wolf pressed close to the surface, a flash of gold flickering in his eyes as the office tightened like a storm cloud. Quinn’s wolf shifted in answer, restless and alert, caught between the pull of Ciarán’s strange allure and the flare of Declan’s fury.

Ciarán only looked amused. His gaze flicked knowingly between Quinn and Declan, as if he sensed the wolves straining beneath their skins. “Until then.” He inclined his head and left the room as smoothly as he’d entered. A glint in his eyes suggested he had noticed far more than he said.

The door clicked shut.

Declan perched on the edge of his desk, fury simmering just beneath the surface. His claws threatened, knuckles whitening as he fought for control.

She clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his fury scraped against her ribs. Her wolf bristled under his rage, wanting to snap back, even as her human side stiffened in defiance.

She crossed her arms. “What?”

His jaw flexed, eyes blazing gold. “You know what.”

A sigh slipped out as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the pounding in her temples.

“Declan, it’s just coffee. I don’t have the energy for this,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Walk away,” he growled. “That’s what you do best.” The words cut sharp, landing exactly where he aimed them.

Her own anger bubbled up. A retort burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Instead, she spun on her heel and strode from his office, spine rigid. Her wolf snarled in her chest, frustrated by retreat, even as she forced her feet to carry her out.

Let him seethe. He could go to hell for all she cared.