Mated To The Wrong Alpha

Don't Leave, Alpha

Chapter 8

Ronan's POV

I stand on the shadowed upper balcony, arms crossed over the stone railing, watching everything unfold below like a slow-moving storm I cannot stop.

Logan climbs into the black SUV with his wife and two younger daughters. The engine purrs to life. Not once does he glance back at Freya, who remains standing alone on the wide stone steps, her dress catching the evening light.

The bastard doesn't even look back. f*****g asshole.

My fingers tighten on the railing until the stone bites into my palm. What kind of man does this? He fought tooth and nail for this alliance, pushed it harder than anyone, and now he discards his own daughter like she is nothing more than a used bargaining chip.

For all the darkness in my past, for the lives I have taken, the blood I have spilled to build my pack into what it is against my rivals, I have never once looked at Julian and thought of throwing him away for power. Never.

I exhale, trying to push the feeling down. She is here for the alliance. That is what matters. But the sight of her small figure standing there, watching her family disappear down the drive, twists something deep in my gut. Something I have no right to feel.

The urge to go down and get her grips me but I force down the glass of scotch down my throat, savoring the taste.

Moments later, Julian approaches her. He reaches for her hand, trying to comfort her.

Freya rips away from him and storms off down the corridor, anger rolling off her in waves. The sight sends a spike of fury through my chest and Varg growls low beneath me.

A few minutes passed before Beta Garrick steps onto the balcony, his presence careful and measured as always.

“The ceremony has concluded, Alpha,” he says quietly. “Your son is with Freya now. They’re in the eastern guest wing.”

I turn my head slightly. “Which room?”

“The main suite on that side.” Garrick pauses, then adds, “He took her there himself.”

Something hot flares in my chest. I push away from the railing and start moving toward the stairs without another word. Garrick follows a step behind, his voice dropping lower.

“Are you certain this is wise? Going there right now?”

I don’t answer. My blood feels too loud in my ears. When I reach the corridor leading to the guest wing, I slow my steps. Just in time to see Julian sashaying out of the room, and walking away down the opposite hall.

I wait until he is out of sight, then push the door open and step inside.

The room is dimly lit by a single lamp.

Freya lies on the large bed, still wearing her engagement dress, her body slightly curled. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks small against the dark sheets, vulnerable in a way that pulls at every dominant instinct in me.

I move closer, stopping beside the bed. Her eyelids flutter and a soft murmur slips from her lips.

“Ronan…” Her voice comes out warm and hazy, full of longing. “You’re in my dream again…”

The words hit me harder than they should. You do dream of me, huh?

I lean down, my breath brushing the side of her neck.

“Drinking with my son after what happened earlier?” I say, voice low and rough. “You really are testing every limit I have tonight, little wolf.”

Her eyes fly open. For a moment she stares up at me, completely still. Too still. Suddenly, her body locks up with no movement, except her wide eyes frozen on mine.

“Freya,” I call softly. No response.

I reach out and tap her cheek lightly with my fingers. “Freya.”

Nothing. Her breathing stays shallow, panicked but trapped.

I lean down and kiss her, slow and firm, on an instinct, my hand cupping the side of her face. She gasps against my mouth, her body jerking back to life as if pulled from somewhere deep.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes and glare hard. “Don’t disappear like that again.”

She blinks rapidly, catching her breath. Her voice comes out small. “It… happens sometimes. When the shock is too much. I’ve had these paralysis episodes for years.”

I study her face, my brows furrowed. “How long?”

She looks away immediately, eyes sliding toward the wall. I catch her jaw gently but firmly, turning her face back to me.

“Never turn away when I ask you something. Look at me.”

Freya gasps softly, her eyes widening at the command. Tears gather at the corners, making them glassy. She swallows hard before whispering,

“It started because of my father. He… kept me caged most of my life. Any sign of defiance, and the punishments were severe. He never showed care and never protected me the way a father should. Every time I felt trapped, my body would just lock up.”

The tears she's been holding slip free now, sliding down her flushed cheeks. The sight annoys something deep inside me–not at her, but at the man who made her this way. My hand stays on her jaw, thumb brushing the wet trail away.

I straighten up slowly, needing distance before I do something reckless. Something I'd regret.

“Go to bed, Freya. You’ve had enough for one day. We are going to discuss this tomorrow.”

I turn toward the door, but before I can take another step, soft fingers wrap around my wrist. The touch is light, almost hesitant, yet it stops me cold.

When I turn back, Freya is looking up at me with those teary eyes, pleading.

“Please… don’t leave me alone tonight,” she whispers, voice cracking slightly. “Stay.”