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

Chapter 13 – Rumors and Rot

The gas station looks like every other tired outpost on the highway: flickering sign, cracked asphalt, a row of pumps that have seen too many winters. If I didn’t know better, I’d have walked past it a hundred times without noticing the rot underneath.

“Remember,” I murmur, tugging at Corin’s borrowed hoodie. “You’re not an alpha. You’re a grumpy boyfriend who hates fluorescent lighting.”

He snorts under his breath. “Method acting.”

We step inside. Warm, stale air hits my face—coffee, fryer oil, cheap cologne, wet rubber. Underneath, faint traces of wolf, old and thin. No Orren today. Good.

Or bad. Depending on how much of a fight I feel like having.

A bored clerk scans us from behind a counter piled with lottery tickets. A middle‑aged man in a reflective vest stirs sugar into a coffee by the window. Two teenagers argue softly over which energy drink will kill them first.

Normal. That’s the danger.

I drift toward the coolers, pretending to study the labels. Corin lingers near the coffee machines, jaw tight, every instinct screaming at him to catalog exits and threats instead of creamers.

“She usually comes mornings,” Seræn had said, pointing at the timestamps. “Weekdays. Alone or with a different runner.”

It’s a weekday. It’s morning. We wait.

“Stop glaring at the donuts,” I mutter without moving my lips. “You look like you’re about to alpha them into submission.”

“That’s because I might,” he murmurs back. “They’re a crime against flour.”

The corner of my mouth twitches.

The door chimes.

Even before I turn, my wolf pricks up her ears. Expensive perfume, city air, a thread of the same chemical cocktail from the barn, toned down beneath soap and office detergent.

Operations Director, Party Edition, has become Operations Director, Morning Shift.

She walks in like she owns the place. Blazer swapped for a sleek black coat, hair twisted up. She flashes the clerk a bright, practiced smile, then beelines for the coffee area…toward Corin.

Of course.

“Morning,” she says, reaching past him for a cup. “Rough night?”

He gives a noncommittal grunt. He’s good at it. If I didn’t know him, I’d mark him down as generic, harmless male #3.

Her gaze flicks over him, dismissive, then lands on me between the rows of sodas.

For a beat, our eyes lock.

There’s nothing in her expression. No recognition, no hitch. Just a brief, assessing sweep, the way you’d look at any stranger.

It’s almost insulting.

I grab a bottle at random and wander closer, feigning indecision at the pastry case.

She stirs her coffee, nails perfectly manicured. “You’d think they’d figure out how to make something drinkable by now,” she muses aloud.

Corin huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe they don’t want us staying awake for the drive.”

She looks at him again, curiosity flickering. “Long route?”

“Long enough,” he says. “Mountain roads. Lots of trees. Not enough guardrails.”

“Sounds fun.” Her smile widens a fraction. “Careful out there. Some people take advantage when it’s hard to see what’s around the bend.”

My fingers tighten around the bottle.

She doesn’t know who we are. Or she’s better at lying than anyone I’ve ever met.

Either way, she’s fishing.

“Some people,” I say lightly, “have gotten very good at hiding in blind spots.”

She glances my way, really looking this time. Her eyes are cool, calculating, taking in my worn jacket, my scuffed boots, the scar along my thumb.

“You from around here?” she asks.

“Here and there,” I say. “I get bored easy.”

“Mm.” She takes a sip of coffee, grimaces, hides it with a smile. “Well. Enjoy your boredom while it lasts.”

She taps the counter, pays in cash, and walks out. No envelope, no exchange. Just a normal woman buying terrible coffee on a weekday morning.

My heart is pounding anyway.

Corin waits until the door shuts, then murmurs, “She recognized neither of us.”

“Not consciously,” I say. “But she clocked us. If Orren’s her forest contact, he’s the one who knows our faces, not the other way around.”

“Then we follow her,” he says.

“Already on it.”

I’ve palmed a small tracker chip Seræn gave me, sticky on one side. When the director set her cup down to pay, I’d brushed past, “accidentally” jostling her bag.

The chip is now stuck to the underside of her leather strap.

We watch through the grimy front window as she climbs into a silver SUV and pulls out, merging onto the road.

“Can Seræn get a signal?” Corin asks.

“She’d better,” I say, already dialing. “Because if this woman is half as important as Orren’s videos suggest, she’s not going back to a nine‑to‑five.”

On the second ring, Seræn picks up. “Tell me you got her.”

“She got herself,” I say. “Silver SUV, heading east. Tracker’s on. Your play, gamma.”

“Got it.” Keys clack faintly on her end. “She’s not going back to the city. She’s going up. Into the hills.”

My pulse jumps.

Into the hills is where their hidden facility was.

“Let her run,” Corin says quietly beside me. “We follow the leash.”

Outside, the SUV’s taillights disappear around the bend.

For the first time since the barn fire, it doesn’t feel like we’re chasing smoke.

We’ve got a line on the hand holding the match.