Rising
978 Words
MOE
I woke up before the sun even thought about rising. My eyes felt gritty from barely sleeping, but I didn’t care. Today was the day. I had packed everything I needed into two suitcases and a duffel bag the night before—mostly Milo’s things, some clothes, my scrubs, and the divorce papers. Everything else could burn for all I cared.
I moved quietly through the guest room, grabbing the last few items. Milo was still asleep in the portable crib Matthew had brought over late last night. I picked him up gently, wrapped him in a soft blanket, and held him close against my chest. His little silver eyes stayed closed, trusting and warm. That was all the motivation I needed.
I dragged the suitcases down the hallway as quietly as I could, one at a time, then carried Milo down the stairs. The house was silent. Strangely, there was no sign of Alpha Ing. No deep voice, no heavy footsteps, no intense gray eyes watching me. Part of me felt relieved. Another part—the stupid part that remembered how close he had stood last night—felt a tiny flicker of disappointment. I shoved it away fast. I had bigger things to focus on.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and there was Damien. He stood in the foyer like he had been waiting for me, arms crossed, hair messy like he hadn’t slept either. Laura was nowhere in sight. Good.
He looked at my bags, then at Milo in my arms, then back at my face. “You really mean it? You’ve broken things between us, Moe?”
His voice sounded rough, like he still couldn’t believe it. His eyes searched mine, almost lost for a second. The old Damien—the one I fell for years ago—flickered there before the cold Alpha took over again.
I frowned and shifted Milo higher on my hip.
“What about Milo?” Damien’s jaw tightened as he asked. “He’s my son.”
I laughed. It came out sharp and tired. “Since when? Since Milo was born, when have you ever actually acknowledged him as your son? Held him? Fed him? Changed a single diaper? Please don’t get me started, Damien. You treated him like an inconvenience right alongside me. Don’t pretend now.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t wait. I grabbed the handle of the bigger suitcase and dragged it toward the front door. The wheels bumped over the tile floor. The sound echoed in the quiet house. Damien followed a few steps behind but didn’t try to stop me. Maybe the threat about his father last night had actually worked. Or maybe he was still in shock about the bond.
My cab was already waiting outside, headlights cutting through the early morning gray. I had booked it last night through a ride app and given Matthew’s address. I loaded the bags into the trunk with one hand while balancing Milo. The driver, a quiet older guy, helped without saying much. Perfect.
I slid into the backseat, settled Milo on my lap, and shut the door. “Let’s go.”
The cab pulled away smooth. I didn’t look back at the house. Not once. The weight on my chest lifted a little more with every block we drove. Freedom tasted close. I rested my cheek against Milo’s soft hair and closed my eyes for a second, letting myself breathe.
But after a few minutes something felt off. The turns the driver was making didn’t match the route to Matthew’s place. I sat up straighter and looked out the window. We were heading toward a part of the city I didn’t recognize—bigger houses, gated properties, away from the pack neighborhood.
“Hey,” I said, leaning forward. “This isn’t the way to the address I gave you. Can you turn around?”
The driver didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. He just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel.
My heart picked up speed. “Stop the car. Now.”
Nothing. He acted like he couldn’t hear me at all. I raised my voice. “Pull over! Let me out!”
I started to yell, really yell, banging on the back of his seat with my free hand while clutching Milo tight. The baby stirred and whimpered. Fear clawed up my throat. This wasn’t a wrong turn. This was something else. I fumbled for my phone to call Matthew, but the driver hit a button and the locks clicked down. Child locks. Great.
“Stop the f*****g car!” I screamed, louder this time. My voice cracked. Milo started crying for real. I rocked him, trying to keep calm for his sake, but panic was winning. Who the hell was this guy? Had Damien set this up? One last power move?
The cab kept going, turning onto a quiet street lined with massive homes. My stomach dropped. I kept yelling, threats spilling out mixed with pleas, but the driver stayed deaf to all of it. Sweat prickled on my back. My wolf pushed forward, ready to shift if I had to, but I couldn’t risk it with Milo in my arms.
Finally the car slowed and pulled up to a sleek modern house set behind a low stone wall. The gates opened automatically. The cab stopped right in front of the wide front steps.
I stared out the window, breathing hard, still ready to fight.
Alpha Ing stood there on the steps. Tall, calm, arms loose at his sides like he had been expecting us. The early light caught the silver in his hair and the sharp lines of his fitted shirt. Those stormy gray eyes locked right on me through the car window.
My mouth went dry. What the hell was this?
- Writer
