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

Chapter 7 – Blood in the Snow

Corin doesn’t sit back when I say I met a ghost. He goes still.

“Explain,” he says.

So I do.

I don’t give him everything. Not yet. Not the way Maelin’s eyes lingered on the house when she said my alpha. Not the way part of me wanted to lean into the old Varrow rhythm and let someone else be the dangerous one for once.

But I give him the bones.

“I found a note on our bed,” I say, pulling the crumpled scrap from my pocket and smoothing it on my palm. “From Maelin. She’s been tracking the attacks on Duskvale and Varrow. She thinks the same hand is feeding both sides.”

His gaze flicks to the paper, sharp. “You left the house alone. At night. After we just agreed we have a traitor with inside access.”

“It wasn’t exactly a stroll to the lake,” I snap. “I went to a neutral ground Varrow kids used before we were smart enough to be scared of anything. She met me there. She didn’t cross our border.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice roughens. “You went without telling me.”

“If I’d told you, you’d have shut it down,” I say. “Or marched in with half the pack and turned it into a standoff. She would’ve vanished. We’d have nothing.”

His jaw works, something feral flickering under the surface. “So you decided to make that call alone.”

“Someone has to,” I bite out. “Maelin gave me this.”

I unfold the scrap she’d handed me, the list of dates, locations, codes. Corin takes it, reading fast. I watch his eyes as they skim, seeing the exact moment recognition hits—his pack’s pain mirrored on paper Maelin got from the other side.

“These line up with our incidents,” he says, voice hoarse. “Not all, but enough.”

“The pattern’s bigger than just us,” I say. “Whoever’s bleeding you is bleeding Varrow too. That means they’re here and there, or close enough to both to pull strings.”

He exhales through his nose, a sharp, controlled sound. “You should have brought this to me before you left.”

“I didn’t have it before I left.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

The room feels too small, too full of his scent and mine and the ghost of every fight we haven’t had yet.

“Do you trust Maelin?” he asks suddenly.

I blink. “As far as I can throw her after she’s shifted.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” I rub my forehead. “She’ll sell anything that isn’t nailed down if it benefits her. But she hates being played. If someone’s using her home territory as a board, she’ll flip it just to watch the pieces scatter.”

He studies me for a long, heavy moment. “You’re sure she’s not the leak here?”

“I’m sure she gets more out of this by warning me than by setting me up,” I say. “And I’m sure she’s not the one who knew exactly when we moved that barn inventory and when your patrol shifted last week.”

Silence stretches between us, taut as a tripwire.

“I’ll have Seræn cross-check these codes with our own logs,” he says at last, folding the scrap. “Quietly. No one else sees this yet. Not until I know who’s going to flinch.”

My shoulders ease a fraction. “That’s what I would do.”

“I know.” His gaze softens for a heartbeat. “That’s why you should’ve been in that war room from the start, not at the edge of it.”

It’s the closest thing to an apology I’ll get tonight.

“Lysa—” he starts.

Whatever he was going to say dies as a sharp knock rattles the door.

“Alpha!” Seræn’s voice, clipped and urgent. “We’ve got something— you both need to see this.”

Corin’s eyes lock with mine. For a second, I see the choice there: finish this argument or answer the call.

He goes to the door.

Seræn stands there half-shifted, hair wild, boots tracked with snow. Her nostrils flare as she takes in the room, my clothes, his expression. Her gaze flicks to my empty hands. It’s gone in a blink, but I see it: the rapid assessment, the click of new data into whatever set of probabilities she’s running in that quick mind of hers.

“There’s been an attack?” Corin asks.

“Not exactly.” She swallows. “Patrol Kestrel found something on the north trail. Two somethings.”

Her eyes cut to me, then back to him.

“It’s easier if you see.”

We follow her out into the night.

Snow has started to fall, soft and fine, blanketing the tracks around the central clearing. Wolves cluster in a loose ring near the training ground, bodies tense, ears pricked. The scent of alarm hangs heavy, undercut by something older. Familiar.

Blood. Fear. And under it, the acidic tang of human rubber and oil.

The patrol parts as we approach. In the center of the circle lie two burlap-wrapped bundles, about the size and shape of—

My stomach drops.

“Pups?” I breathe.

“Alive,” Seræn says quickly. “Just sedated. We think.”

One of the bundles stirs, a tiny whimper leaking through the coarse fabric. Elrin is already kneeling beside them, hands gentle but sure as he peels the sacks back.

Two young wolves blink up at the night—one maybe eight, the other twelve, faces streaked with dirt and dried tears. Their wrists and ankles bear the angry red marks of restraints. There’s tape residue at the corners of their mouths.

A chorus of low growls ripples through the pack.

“Easy,” Marek rumbles, stepping forward. “They’re here now. We snarl later.”

Elrin checks their pupils, their pulse, murmurs reassurance. “They were dosed with something, but not heavily. I can clear it.”

Corin crouches, his whole body coiled tight. “Where?”

“Half a mile past the north border,” Seræn says. “Just…left there. No tracks we could follow. Snow covered most of it, and whatever vehicle they used stopped before our scent line.”

I inhale, slow and deep, letting my wolf sort through the layers.

Sedative. Human sweat. Gasoline. Tinny, recycled air from cheap vans. A hint of Varrow on the younger boy, Duskvale on the older.

And laced through both, faint but sharp, a scent I’ve only just learned to hate: the same chemical cocktail I smelled at the burned barn. The same signature in Maelin’s list of codes.

They wanted us to find them.

Corin looks up at me.

“What do you see?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear.

Once, that question would’ve filled me with joy. Now it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff with someone’s hand gripping the back of my neck.

I swallow, eyes on the pups.

“I see someone sending us a message,” I say. “And using our children as ink.”

His jaw clenches. “From Varrow?”

The old me would’ve hedged. Softened. Tried not to make it worse.

The new me doesn’t have that luxury.

“I smell Varrow,” I say. “And us. And humans. And something that isn’t loyal to anyone but money.”

I meet his gaze, let him see the truth I’m not sugarcoating for his sake.

“And if Maelin’s right,” I add quietly, “this is only the beginning.”