ALPHA'S REGRET His Fated Human Luna

Chapter 9 Borrowed Scent

Paige's POV

Fraser does not say hello.

He waits half a second, then cuts the thought out of my mouth.

"No."

I am still in the bathroom doorway. Keys in my palm. Steam on the mirror. Toby's towel on the rack. He is taking too long with a shirt, head tilted toward my phone.

"Declan walked into a pack." I keep it flat. Repeat it. "Tonight we bring him home."

"You and the little one stay put." Fraser's voice has no give. "Pack land is not a door you kick. A stranger's scent hits the patrol before the stranger does. What's the small one's name?"

"Toby."

"Toby." He says it like he is nailing it down. "Don't think five years old made that easy. He is clever. Most grown wolves couldn't walk out."

Toby's head snaps up. I did not put it on speaker. He heard anyway. His eyes light. Then he pretends the shirt is difficult.

"So I wait here."

"I go." No room in it. "I bring Declan. I taught him roads. Scent. When to run. If it turns bad, that brat finds a hole. You lock the door. Keep the small one where you can see him."

Declan is five. He is walking into a house that taught my other kid to wait for a hit. Fraser being right does not make that sit.

"Fraser—"

"Hang up. Do what I said. Do not follow."

The dial tone beats him there.

I take the phone down. His name still on the screen. Calling back will get me the same word.

I already lost one. I just got him back. I am not sitting in this apartment while the other one is in that house.

And someone is going to answer for the marks.

I take the laptop to the living room. Search anything that looks like pack and get noise. Bowls click down the hall. Dad is in the kitchen. He heard Fraser. When Fraser and I fight about the kids, Dad cooks. He does not pick a side. He feeds whoever is left standing.

The bedroom door opens a c***k.

Toby stands in it. Hair still wet. Declan's shirt too long in the sleeves. He did not come out to talk about a shirt.

"Back to bed, Toby. You've been running since yesterday. Sleep."

He shakes his head. Small. His shoulder tucks first, like the no might cost him. Then he says it anyway.

"I can take you." His voice is thin and clear. "That man said I was good. I can get you in. They won't see. We find Declan."

I smile. Get a dry towel. Pull him in and rub his hair.

"That man is Fraser. My godfather. A wolf. Everything Declan knows, he got from him. Don't let the praise fool you. Fraser is stubborn. Almost nobody moves him."

"He won't take you." Toby does not blink. "He said you and me stay. He said Declan will run. Declan won't. He swapped. To help me. And—"

He bites his lip.

"Fraser's been gone too long. They'll smell him first. Worse than us."

He watches my face. When I don't shove it away, the words come faster.

"I know the way. Side door. Staff path. Patrol looks at night. Day they don't. I came out that way. Put my old clothes on. They smell the coat first. If they don't sniff hard... they miss it."

The fear is still there when he says patrol. I don't miss it.

My stomach drops. Fraser may be right. Neither of us should go. Least of all him.

"You're scared." I hold him tighter.

He nods into my neck. No brave act.

"Declan's there. That woman too." Muffled. Warm. "You can't sit. You don't trust Fraser to go alone. They'll smell that. The worry."

I kiss his forehead. Turn the keys in my hand.

"Then we go. Shoes. The ones you came in are in the basket. I'll take the coat. I'm here. Nobody touches you or Declan again."

He nods hard.

We slide past the kitchen. Dad is still busy with bowls. A note on the table. Don't worry. Then the car.

I drive. He will not take the child seat. Passenger. Belt yanked to the last hole, both hands on it. He says he can point and watch.

Fine. I am bad at sneaking. Fraser walked me out of a house once. Fraser just said this kid is good. I listen.

Toby cracks the window. Nose up. He points. We follow.

When he shuts it, I know we are close.

"Head down." Voice small. Eyes on the trees. "Past the pines, that's pack. Air changes. You won't smell it. Don't breathe big."

Lights leak through the pines. People moving. A big house in the middle of it. Too many windows for one family.

I know this house.

Stone pillars at the gate. Gallery windows. The oil painting of Callum's father looking down like judgment itself. I walked those windows with keys in my fist and a pregnancy test in my pocket.

I hit the brake.

I lived here. Not just with a man who turned out to be a wolf. With all of them. The cold neighbors who never came over. Wolves.

I reach for the door. Toby's fingers catch my sleeve. Light.

"Not yet." He swallows. "Night, patrol walks that path. Day has workers. Mixed smells. Tonight they catch you. The coat is only a layer."

"Then Declan stays in that house until morning."

"They think he is me." Toby corrects it. "We go now, they smell two."

He is five. He is right.

I pull past the lights. Let the trees eat the house.

He shows me where to stop. A place patrol will not catch the engine. I shut it off. Cold comes in. I hold him. The dirty coat over both of us. I rock him until his breathing slows.

I do not sleep.

Light through the pines. I keep watch for the other one.

Dawn is not up yet when the main drive starts moving. A car with ivory ribbon on the hood. A van with the back doors open and more white flowers than a funeral.

A wedding?

My brow goes up. Then down. Unexpected. If the whole pack is busy, we take Declan in the noise.

Toby sits up like a shot. He stares at the ribbon longer than I do.

"Do you know whose?"

"I... don't." His eyes flick to the big house. Too fast. "Don't."

He pushes the coat at me. "We can go. Put this on. Too many people. Can't just hang it."

Fine. Not the wedding cover I wanted.

I put it on. Shoulders wrong. Zipper sticks halfway. I leave it.

Toby is already out. Side path. Nose working. He comes back with a handful of dirt and smears it on his own wrists. His own throat. Only him.

"My smell is thin." Like it is ordinary. "People walked here. I put it on. They won't catch me first."

His wrists are small. Old marks. Fresh red from his own hands.

Five years old.

He has to borrow dirt so his own people do not turn on him. His father lives in the biggest house on that drive. Five years. He let this happen.

The anger is hot. Declan is still in there. I want Callum's face under my fist.

"I'll get Declan. You can wait. You don't have to go in."

"I have to—" Too loud. He cuts it, hand on his chest. "Roads aren't simple. I go with you. Breathe small. Heart quiet. They hear it. If we sound chased, they smell it too."

I breathe. Slow it down. "Hold my hand. We see him, we take him, we leave."

"Okay."

Wet needles. Side path. The van from this morning, doors still open, workers hauling. Nobody looks. We go around.

My shoes soak. Toby walks half a step ahead, like I have always belonged on this dirt.

We pass the stacked flowers. He glances. I take a bunch. Delivery. Water runs down my wrist, over the coat. I look up.

A boy on the path. Dark shirt. Radio. Eighteen, maybe. Patrol.

Toby is behind me before I blink. My body between him and the radio.

The boy sniffs. Face crumples.

"You're not—" He stops. Inhales again. Unsure. "Who are you with? And a kid?"

Good. He has not said human yet.

"Flowers." I nod at the van in the trees. "Late. Short staff. Nobody home to watch him."

I show my hands. Empty except stems. No bag. No prop. The coat does not fit. I look like I hauled buckets.

He still leans in. Sniffs my wrist. The grimace deepens.

"That's not hall. That's—" His eyes go to Toby.

Toby does not look up. He shrinks into my shadow. I wave the boy off.

"The van." Real irritation. He is between me and Declan. And I do not know if this kid ever made Toby small on purpose. "You want me to sign in, or you want the hall empty when they start?"

He glances toward the ribbon. Duty and gossip pull the same way.

"Stay off the Alpha's corridor. Alpha and Luna are already in. They'll use that hall after." He steps aside like I will be someone else's problem in ten minutes. "Back garden still needs flowers. This whole thing got thrown together. You bump the Luna, you came in with arrangements. Keep the kid close."

"Fine."

Luna.

The word still wants to make me laugh. It doesn't.

Toby pushes my waist. Gentle. Move.

Stone under the moss. I know this stone. I walked it when I thought this was home.

Gallery windows. That same oil painting. Callum's father, looking down like judgment itself.

West hall. I used to take this turn for coffee. Now it is chairs. Rows of them. Doors thrown open on a bigger room.

Five years. Same stone. Same pine. Flowers and chairs for today. Everything else sits here like I never crawled out.

My mouth goes dry. I do not stop. Toby's hand tightens. He knows where. He pulls.

Through.

Voices from the gap. Not setup noise. Someone holding a room.

The flowers still work. Guards are watching the center, not us. I follow their eyes for one second. A man with a book on the dais. He looks like a pastor if a pastor worked for wolves. We walked into a ceremony nobody invited us to.

I still do not know which Luna this is for.

I never asked Fraser how many a pack is allowed.

We slide along the back. A woman with a tray almost elbows me. A stem drops. I put it back. Toby picks up the other one like he has always done this. In this house, he probably has.

"You're not in uniform," she mutters.

"Van. They're short."

She does not thank us. She does not look at our faces. Good. We breathe. We keep walking.

A laugh up front. Soft. Female. Practiced. Sweet underneath, and something I almost know.

I do not look there yet.

Toby tugs my sleeve. Points beside the sound.

I see Declan.

Front. Small. Other kids behind him. He does not fidget. He watches hands. Black suit. Shirt too stiff. Hair combed by someone who does not know he hates it. He looks past the grown-ups, into the crowd, like he caught a smell he is not allowed to follow.

His name tries to leave my throat. I bite it until I taste iron.

Toby's fingers on my sleeve again. He felt that.

I cover his hand. One step. Only one.

I need to see who they stood him next to.

Then a shape I know walks up beside him.

Tall. Light hair like both boys. The shoulder I used to sleep on. The mouth I watched on another woman's throat.

Callum.

He is not looking at me. Not at Declan. At nothing. Jaw locked. Like every second in this room is a sentence he did not agree to.

Then the woman from the study steps up on his other side. Ivory. Soft smile. Winning. The red on her neck is gone. She has had years to hide it.

The hall blows open with sound.

The man with the book smiles wider. He looks to the first row. An old man gives him a nod. Then he lifts a hand, and the room goes down.

I know that old man from a canvas. Callum's father. He would not see me when I lived here. Now he smiles. Thin. Watching his son and that woman like this is what the house was for.

At Callum's shoulder: the friend who used to argue on the phone in our kitchen. Soren. His face is no better than Callum's. Eyes on Callum's hands. Not a wedding. A job. Like the groom might break something.

The man with the book is in front of them now. I do not know if wolves call him a pastor. I only have the church word. Add it to the list I never asked Fraser.

The woman in ivory faces him. Spine as straight as it goes.

"Celeste Maren." His voice is not loud. It reaches the back anyway. "Do you take Callum Drayton as your husband, as Luna of this land?"

"Yes!" No pause. Hungry. "I do!"

Celeste.

Five years ago I caught her with my husband. Today I get her name.

The hall hits harder than before. They like her. The cold neighbors. They always did.

He turns to Callum.

"Callum Drayton."

My name for him. In a stranger's mouth. In this room.

"Do you take Celeste Maren as your wife?"