My Alpha Rejected Me… Then Begged Me to Save His Pack

Chapter 4 – Bond and Barriers

By the time the moon hauls herself over the pines, the war room has emptied into shadows and mutters. Plans have been drawn, orders given, duties assigned.

My duty, apparently, is to walk the ghost of my old life and see what it wants.

I spend an hour at the ruins with a flashlight and a notebook, cataloguing angles, scorch marks, wind direction. Anything to keep from thinking about the way Vesha’s gaze slid over me like the edge of a blade.

The sigil stares back from the stone. Old Varrow ink, burned into Duskvale bone.

If my mother did this, she wanted Corin rattled. If she didn’t, someone else wanted him to blame me.

Either way, they’re using my blood as a knife.

By the time I climb the steps to the alpha house, my clothes reek of smoke and cold stone. The pack inside is quiet; most are already asleep or out on patrol. A single lamp burns under Corin’s office door.

Of course he’s still awake.

I push it open without knocking. If he wanted formality, he shouldn’t have put his scent all over my skin.

He’s at his desk, sleeves rolled, forearms braced on scattered reports. He looks up as I enter, eyes tired, jaw shadowed with stubble. The muscles in my chest do something traitorous.

“How are your Varrow eyes?” he asks, voice rough.

“Bloodshot,” I say. “And unimpressed.”

One corner of his mouth twitches, but it doesn’t make it to a real smile. I close the door behind me and step further in, laying my notebook on the desk.

“I walked the site,” I say. “If this was staged to look like Varrow, they did their homework. The mark is correct. The burn pattern suggests it was drawn before the main fire caught—someone took their time. And the accelerant used? It’s the same mix Varrow used on old raids. I recognize the scent profile.”

His brows knit. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying,” I cut in, “either my mother personally signed your barn, or someone wants you very sure it was her.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes tracking my face. “Which do you think it is?”

I hesitate. This is the part I hate: peeling open old loyalties like half-healed scars.

“My mother doesn’t waste symbols,” I say slowly. “If she wanted you spooked, she’d paint your gates with Varrow blood, not just brand a barn. This feels…smaller. Pettier. Like a taunt, not a declaration of war.”

“So not Kaida’s style,” he says. He drops her name like it’s any other. It isn’t.

“No,” I admit. “But there are others who grew up watching her. Learning her tricks. Rian. His circle. Ambitious wolves who like noise more than strategy.”

“And they know you’re here,” Corin murmurs. “Know what you mean to this pack.”

Me. My muscles tense. “What I mean? Or what you let them think I mean?”

His gaze hardens, but not in anger. In focus. “You’re my mate, Lysa. This pack would be feral not to understand that.”

The word mate hits me like it always does—low and deep, a tug in the place where our bond curls, bruised but present. For a moment, I want to lean into it, into him, and forget the ash, the sigils, the stares.

Then I remember Vesha’s smooth voice: If I were the enemy, I’d choose the wolf with one paw in each world.

I cross my arms instead. “Today I was also your favorite suspect, remember? Inner circle, no exceptions.”

His jaw flexes. “You know why I said that.”

“Do I?” I step around the desk, closer to him, to the heat of him. “Because from where I was standing, it sounded a lot like, ‘We’ll search everyone… but don’t worry, we’ve already drawn the arrows in the direction we like best.’”

He rises slowly, bringing us almost chest to chest. Up close, I can see the soot still smudged at his hairline, the faint tremor in his fingers. He’s exhausted. So am I.

“This isn’t about liking,” he says quietly. “It’s about not leaving blind spots. I won’t do that to my pack. Not again.”

“And what about doing it to me?” The words slip out sharper than I intend. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to walk through this house and smell doubt in every hallway? To hear Vesha call my blood a risk factor while you stare at me like you’re weighing the same equation?”

He flinches, just a little. Only I would notice.

“I’m staring at you,” he says, “because everyone else in that room was. If I showed you special treatment, it would make it worse.”

“So instead you chose to be their perfect, impartial alpha.” I laugh once, without humor. “Congratulations. It worked. They’re all very sure you’ll throw me to the wolves if you have to.”

He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them again, jaw set. “Look at me.”

I already am. It still feels like a command, not a request.

“If I ever truly believed you were feeding my enemies,” he says, each word slow and deliberate, “I would look you in the eyes when I passed that sentence. Not hide behind councils and sigils and convenient excuses. You asked me for that when you came here. You remember?”

“I remember,” I whisper.

It was the night he first marked me, when the bond between us flared hot and bright. I’d pressed my forehead to his and said, If you ever doubt me, tell me to my face. Don’t let me rot in whispers.

He reaches up, fingers brushing my cheek, light as smoke. “I’m not there, Lysa. I don’t believe that of you. But I can’t ignore what Varrow is doing, either. I have to look at every angle. Or more of my people die.”

His touch burns. Not from heat—from fear. Mine.

“And where does that leave us?” I ask. “Do I sleep in your bed and your war room until the numbers line up the way you like?”

His hand falls away. For a second, I see it—the ache, the war inside him between mate and alpha.

Then he exhales, low. “It leaves us here. You at my side. Under scrutiny, yes, but also under my protection. Until I know who’s bleeding us.”

I want to believe that’s enough.

It isn’t.

“Protection without trust isn’t protection,” I say. “It’s a prettier cage.”

Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, anger, I can’t tell. He doesn’t argue.

“Then help me break the lock,” he says instead. “Find me the real traitor, and I’ll drag them into the light myself.”

His words are a promise and a challenge both.

Fine.

My heart may still be tangled around his, but my claws are my own.

“Careful, alpha,” I murmur, turning toward the door. “When I do, you might not like how close they’ve been standing to you.”

Behind me, his answer follows, rough-edged and quiet.

“Closer than you?”