The Alpha Who Hated His Mate

Chapter 4: The Path Behind the Mill

Lyra’s pov

I ran because Wren asked me to, though every step away from that cottage felt like tearing something loose inside my chest, a second wound layered over the hollow place the rejection had already carved out of me.

The path behind the old mill was narrow and overgrown, barely visible in the dark, and I stumbled more than once over roots hidden beneath fallen leaves. Branches caught at my nightgown, scraping thin lines across my arms that I barely felt over the pounding terror driving me forward. Behind me, the sounds of the cottage grew distant, swallowed by the forest, until I could not tell whether the silence meant Wren had survived or whether it meant something far worse.

I did not stop. I could not let myself stop, not with her voice still echoing in my ears, not with the memory of silver light pouring from my own hands fresh and terrifying in my mind. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs shook beneath me, until the trees around me became unfamiliar in a way that told me I had crossed some boundary I had never crossed before, past the territory markers Wren had mentioned, into land that belonged to no pack I recognized.

It was there, deep in unfamiliar forest with dawn still hours away, that I heard footsteps behind me again, fast and purposeful, gaining ground with every second. I forced my exhausted body into a final desperate sprint, but I was eighteen years old and had never trained for anything more strenuous than helping Wren tend her garden, and whoever pursued me had clearly trained for exactly this. A hand closed around my arm, spinning me around, and I opened my mouth to scream.

It is alright, a low voice said quickly, before any sound could escape me. I am not here to hurt you.

I stared up at a stranger I had never seen before, tall and broad through the shoulders, his eyes a striking pale gray that seemed to catch what little moonlight filtered through the canopy above us. He held both hands up, palms open, the universal gesture of someone trying to prove they meant no harm, though every instinct in my exhausted, terrified body told me to trust nothing and no one.

Who are you, I demanded, backing away until a tree trunk stopped me from retreating further.

Rowan, he said simply. I serve the Redthorn Alpha. I was sent to find you before the Nightshade wolves did.

The name Nightshade meant nothing to me, though something in the way he said it, careful and grim, told me it should. The Redthorn Alpha rejected me three nights ago in front of the entire pack, I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound braver than I felt. Why would he send anyone looking for me now.

Rowan's expression shifted, something complicated crossing his features before he schooled it back into careful neutrality. That is not my story to tell, he said. But I promise you, staying out here alone is not safe, not with what came for you tonight still hunting these woods. Let me take you somewhere secure, at least until sunrise.

I wanted desperately to trust him. The alternative was continuing alone through unfamiliar forest with predators somewhere behind me and no destination ahead, and even at eighteen, exhausted and terrified as I was, I understood that alone was not a strategy so much as a slow surrender. Still, I hesitated, thinking of Wren, of the cottage I had left behind, of everything I did not understand about my own blood and the strangers who seemed to want it so badly.

My aunt, I said. She stayed behind to fight them off. I cannot just leave her.

Rowan's expression softened slightly. I have people watching the cottage already, he said. If she is alive, we will bring her to you. You have my word.

It was not much of a promise, coming from a stranger I had known for less than five minutes, but exhaustion and fear had worn away whatever caution I might have had left, and something in his steady gray eyes made me want to believe him despite every reason not to. I nodded, and he led me deeper into the forest, moving with a quiet efficiency that told me he had done this before, whatever this was.

We reached a small hidden camp perhaps twenty minutes later, tucked into a hollow between two rocky outcroppings, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look. A handful of other wolves waited there, all of them watching me with a curiosity they tried and failed to hide, though none of them approached or spoke directly to me. Rowan settled me near a small fire, pressed a rough wool blanket into my hands, and disappeared briefly, returning with water and a strip of dried meat that I accepted with hands still trembling from adrenaline.

You are safe here, he said, settling across the fire from me. For tonight, at least.

Why does your Alpha care what happens to me, I asked, unable to hold the question back any longer. I am nobody. I was nobody until three nights ago, when apparently my hands decided to start glowing without my permission.

Something flickered across Rowan's face, and though he did not answer directly, the careful way he avoided my eyes told me he knew more than he was willing to share. Get some rest, he said instead. We will talk more once you are somewhere properly secure.

I did not sleep, not really, though I sat with my eyes closed and my back against a rock for what remained of the night, listening to the quiet murmur of voices around the camp, catching fragments I was clearly not meant to hear. Words like Moonborn and prophecy drifted through the darkness, along with Kael's name spoken more than once, in tones of quiet respect that told me whatever these wolves believed about their Alpha, it was not the coldness he had shown me at the ceremony.

Dawn broke gray and cold over the hollow, and with it came movement through the camp, wolves rising and gathering their things with the practiced efficiency of people used to relocating quickly. Rowan found me again as the sun cleared the trees, his expression grave in a way that made my stomach drop before he had even spoken.

We received word about your aunt, he said carefully.

I stood so fast the blanket slipped from my shoulders, my heart climbing into my throat. Is she alive, I demanded.

She is, he said quickly, and the relief that flooded through me nearly buckled my knees. Injured, but alive. She is being cared for. She asked us to tell you she loves you, and that she is proud of you, and that you should trust the man who is coming to collect you today, whatever your instincts tell you about him.

Something cold settled in my chest at those words, a warning I did not fully understand yet. What man, I asked slowly.

Rowan hesitated, glancing past me toward the tree line, where I could hear the distant sound of approaching footsteps, unhurried and confident in a way that told me whoever approached had nothing left to fear from hiding.

Kael, Rowan said finally. He is coming himself.

I stared at him, certain I had misheard. That is not possible, I said. He rejected me. He stood in front of the entire pack and told them he did not want me. Why would he send warriors to save my life and then walk out of these woods to see me himself.

Rowan did not answer, though something in his face told me he understood far more about the answer than he was willing to share. I did not have time to press him further. The footsteps grew closer, unhurried and confident, and a moment later a figure stepped through the tree line into the pale morning light, tall and broad shouldered, dark hair pushed back from a face I had spent every night since the ceremony trying and failing to stop picturing.

It was Kael.