The Alpha I Chose

Chapter 11

Malcolm

It’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m sitting on the couch in Meadow’s room, the girl asleep in my arms. Her blanket is clutched tightly in one hand, her face tear streaked but peaceful. She fell asleep a few hours ago, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to let her go.

Havoc?

Yes, you old cuddle-bug? He replies, chuckling. I roll my eyes, instantly regretting asking for advice.

Shut up, ass. What do I do?

Climb into bed for more snuggles. We’re tired and she’s pretty.

Okay. She has to be a witch.

My wolf has never called anyone pretty.

Forget it, I say, annoyed. Go back to sleep.

Move slowly so you don’t wake her, lay her down on her bed, and cover her with the sacred quilt, Havoc says, not even hiding the exasperated tone in his voice. You really couldn’t figure that out on your own?

I ignore him, but do exactly as he says. Carefully, I stand, doing my best not to jostle Meadow awake. I carry her the few steps to the bed and gently lay her down before pulling the blanket over her.

Almost immediately, she snuggles into it with a contented little sigh. Then she smiles.

Looking down at her, I can’t help but smile as well. My chest does something strange.

“Nope,” I say, and leave her room, making sure the door latches securely behind me.

~ ~ ~

Meadow

I wake up to the smell of bacon. Which is, in my opinion, one of the most desirable ways to wake up. I smile and stretch before curling back into myself and wrapping my quilt around me.

My eyes shoot open.

“Oh Mother Moon!” I exclaim, slapping my forehead with my palm.

I attacked Alpha Malcolm Sullivan of Stonehaven in a non-consensual hug.

And then I demanded he hug me back. I bury my face in my quilt with a groan.

I’m so going to be sent back to the tornado dungeon.

Girl, relax! Clover pipes up.

It’s the first I’ve really heard from her since the wolfsbane incident, and relief floods through me. She sounds like herself again.

Clover! You’re awake!

Thank the Moon Mother above, she sighs dramatically. I would’ve been devastated if I’d missed out on hugging that growly piece of eye candy.

I wrinkle my nose.

Seriously? I’m about to die. Either from embarrassment or, more likely, for breaking some ancient Alpha treaty about surprise-hugging Captain Grumpy Mal... and you’re drooling?

I bet his wolf is hot too.

Clover! If I could smack her with a pillow, I so would.

Our banter is interrupted by a knock at the door. I jump out of bed, trying to smooth down my undoubtedly wild hair, and rush to answer it.

Flinging the door open, I’m both shocked and excited to find a small brunette girl standing there with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

“Emily!” I exclaim. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Meadow!” She says, smiling at me. “You didn’t seem like you had much with you yesterday, so I brought you some essentials.”

She hands the bag to me and I motion for her to come inside. She follows me in and perches on the couch as I go through the goodies she brought me. My heart swells with gratitude.

There are several outfits, some underclothes, a pair of sandals, a hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, and reaching the bottom of the bag I gasp in surprise.

“You brought me strawberry coconut body wash and shampoo!” I pull it out of the bag and clutch it to my chest in pure excitement.

Emily smiles uncertainly.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” she admits with a shrug. “It just... smelled happy.”

My throat tightens.

“It used to be my favorite,” I whisper.

Used to. Before Garrett decided fruity scents weren’t sophisticated enough for the Luna of Blackwood Ridge. Before he threw out every bottle I owned and replaced them with boring scents that smelled like sadness and despair.

I unscrew the cap and take a deep breath, smiling as the sweet scent fills the air. It smells like summers at the creek, wildflowers, and every version of myself I’d almost forgotten.

“Thank you,” I say softly, blinking away tears. “I missed smelling like me.”

Emily and I spend the next several minutes going through everything she’d packed. Every time I pull something new from the bag, she tells me where she’d found it or who had donated it. By the end, the bed is covered in clothes.

Most are simple, comfortable pieces, but near the bottom of the pile I spot a long sage-green skirt with tiny embroidered wildflowers along the hem.

“Oh!” I gasp, immediately reaching for it.

Emily beams.

“I was hoping you’d pick that one first,” she says. “Mrs. Henderson made it last winter. She donates clothes for wolves in need. She says a fresh start is easier when you feel pretty.”

“I already love Mrs. Henderson,” I declare.

Emily laughs. “So does everyone else.” She reaches back into the bag. “Hang on... I think I grabbed the tank top that goes with it too.”

After digging around for a moment, she triumphantly pulls out a soft brown tank top and holds it up.

“It’s perfect!” I hug both pieces to my chest before darting toward the bathroom.

“Give me ten minutes!” I call over my shoulder. Emily laughs.

“I’ll wait.”

Ten minutes later I practically skip back into the room, freshly showered with my hair in it's usual long braid down my back. I smooth the skirt over my hips before giving it an experimental twirl.

The fabric swishes around my ankles. I spin one more time just because I can, laughing as the skirt fans out around me. I haven’t worn anything that felt this light in months.

I grin.

“I feel like myself again.” I blink rapidly, determined not to cry over a skirt.

“You look gorgeous. But someday,” Emily says gently, “you’re going to have to tell me why you weren’t allowed to be yourself.”

As we head out the door to breakfast, I promise to do just that.