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

Chapter 12 – Another Leak

We don’t sleep.

By the time dawn drags grey light over the trees, Orren’s name has been carved into every wall in my head. Kestrel captain. Quiet. Reliable. The sort of wolf no one looks at twice.

The sort of wolf I never looked at twice.

“Track his last confirmed movements,” Corin orders as we spill out of the infirmary. “Every run, every detour, every human contact. I want his life unpacked down to what brand of coffee he buys.”

Seræn is already on her comm, voice clipped. Marek peels off to get the patrol logs. Tessa disappears back into her boys’ room, clutching them like she’ll never let go again.

Corin catches my wrist before I can follow the others.

“Walk with me,” he says.

It’s not a request. I go anyway.

We step out into the cold morning. Frost rims the courtyard stones, the air sharp in my lungs. Wolves move in and out of buildings, sleep-mussed and tense, catching scent of our mood and straightening.

“I should have seen it,” Corin mutters. “He was there every time. Every damn time.”

I study his profile: the tight jaw, the shadows under his eyes. “That’s the point of wolves like Orren,” I say. “They’re built to fade. You trained him to be invisible on patrol. He just learned to be invisible in your house too.”

“In our house,” he corrects softly.

The word lands warm and dangerous between us. I ignore it.

“We follow the patterns,” I say. “Maelin’s list, Seræn’s data. He didn’t vanish into smoke.”

“Unless someone helped him,” Corin says. “Someone higher up.”

It’s not paranoia. It’s math. A mid-level captain doesn’t build an interstate kidnapping and sabotage network alone.

“Then we find them too,” I say. “But first we cut his line.”

He nods, jaw set. “Seræn will pull footage from the gas station and any traffic cams we can hack along his usual routes. In the meantime, I want physical eyes on every neutral point he used.”

“Starting with the station,” I say.

His gaze snaps to mine. “You’re not going there alone.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” I tilt my head. “You ever wanted to try coffee that isn’t burned to death on Marek’s stove?”

Despite everything, his mouth almost twitches. “You think he’d be stupid enough to show his face there again?”

“I think he’s been smart enough so far that we can’t assume he’s suddenly turned into an i***t,” I say. “But people who run patterns tend to get lazy. If his handler’s there, or someone who knows him, they won’t expect us to walk in together.”

“Because no one believes an alpha leaves his woods,” he murmurs.

“Or that his so-called traitor walks in on his arm.”

Something flickers in his eyes at that, but he lets it go.

“Fine,” he says. “We go. But we do it quiet. No insignia, no scent-marked jackets. Just two tired people buying bad coffee.”

“Speak for yourself,” I say. “I have standards.”

We’re halfway to the garages when Seræn appears at a jog, breath puffing white.

“Alpha,” she calls. “New development.”

He slows. “Tell me it’s good.”

Her expression says otherwise. “Depends on your definition.”

She hands him a tablet. On the screen, a paused image from a grainy security camera: a convenience store aisle, shelves of snacks, a rack of cheap sunglasses. In the corner, a timestamp from two nights ago.

In the center, clear despite the resolution, is Orren. Human-clothed, head slightly bowed, a cap pulled low. He’s passing a small, unmarked envelope to a woman in a blazer.

I lean in. The woman’s face is angled just enough for me to catch her profile.

My stomach lurches.

“That’s her,” I say. “From the gala. The operations director.”

Seræn nods. “Same woman. Different clothes. Same smile.”

On the video, she tucks the envelope into her bag like it’s a receipt and touches Orren’s arm in easy, practiced familiarity.

Corin’s fingers tighten around the tablet. “Date?”

“Night before the barn fire,” Seræn says. “And that’s not all.”

She swipes to the next clip. Another station, another aisle, another exchange. This time Orren is receiving something—a flash drive, maybe, or a key. The timestamp is from last week.

“Right before the pups vanished,” I breathe.

“They’re not just using him to leak,” Seræn says. “They’re giving him instructions. Locations. Targets. Maybe even names.”

Corin hands the tablet back, expression carved from granite. “Do we have audio?”

“Too noisy,” she says. “But I can get us clearer shots from the station’s external cams. License plates. Patterns of arrival. We’re already scraping.”

“Do it,” he says. His gaze slides to me. “You still think we walk in for coffee?”

“More than ever,” I say. My pulse has picked up, but it’s not fear this time. It’s the sharp, cold hum of the hunt turning.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because she doesn’t know we’ve seen this yet,” I say. “And for the first time, we know exactly where she likes to stand when she thinks no one’s watching.”

A gust of wind sweeps through the courtyard, carrying the scents of our pack—worry, anger, stubborn hope.

Corin steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, fingers warm through my jacket.

“Then let’s go,” he says. “Before our ghost decides to change stations.”

As we head for the garage, I glance back at the house, at the windows glowing faintly with morning light.

Behind them, two pups sleep under Elrin’s watch. Tessa cries quietly into Marek’s shoulder. The pack holds its breath.

And somewhere out there, Orren and the woman in the blazer think they’re still three moves ahead.

They don’t know yet:

The wolf they framed as their perfect distraction is done running from shadows.

She’s coming for them.