What Remains Unclaimed

CHAPTER 4

I wake up with the full intention of fixing everything.

That is the first thought in my head before duty, before strategy, before the endless weight of being Alpha presses down on my chest. Lila’s voice from the night before lingers with me, quiet and hurt, and it sharpens my resolve in a way nothing else has managed to do in a long time.

I will make this right.

I plan it carefully. A proper apology. Not rushed. Not half spoken. Something deliberate. Something that shows her she matters, not just in words, but in action. I tell myself I will go to her house in the afternoon, when the pack is calmer and emotions have cooled. I will ask her to walk with me, somewhere private. No audience. No excuses.

I even rehearse what I am going to say while I get dressed.

Then the runner arrives.

He is young and breathless and terrified, which immediately sets my nerves on edge. He barely waits for permission before speaking, words tumbling over each other in panic.

Southern territory. Rogue movement confirmed. Not just scouts this time. A group large enough to test our borders. Large enough to be dangerous.

I feel the shift instantly, the way my focus snaps into place whether I want it to or not. This is not something I can delegate. This is not something that can wait. If I hesitate here, if I choose wrong, people could get hurt.

I issue orders quickly. Patrols reinforced. Borders locked down. A strike team assembled within the hour. We are not reacting blindly, but we are not ignoring this either.

And then the second report comes in.

The rogues are moving fast. Too fast.

Which means if I stay, I risk being one step behind them the entire time.

I swear under my breath and make the decision before I can second guess it.

I am going with the team.

It is the right call. I know that. I would expect the same from any Alpha standing in my place. Still, as I pull on my gear and head for the clearing, something twists uncomfortably in my chest.

I should tell her.

The thought is there, clear and insistent.

I glance toward the path that leads deeper into the pack territory. Toward her house. Toward the place where I should be going instead.

Just five minutes, I tell myself. I can explain. I can tell her this is important. That I will be gone for a short time and I will come back. That this does not mean I forgot her again.

But the team is waiting. The clock is ticking. The urgency is real.

I convince myself she will understand once I explain later.

That is the lie I lean on as I leave the pack behind.

The mission takes longer than it should.

It always does.

The rogues are not where we expect them to be. They split, scatter, regroup. They test us, probing for weaknesses. We track them through rough terrain, pushing ourselves hard, staying alert long past the point of exhaustion.

Every quiet moment, my thoughts drift back to her.

I check my phone the first time during a short break, my heart jumping when I see no messages from her. I tell myself that is normal. That she is busy. That she is giving me space.

I type out a message anyway.

I had to leave the pack unexpectedly. Rogue activity. I will explain everything when I am back. I promise.

I stare at the screen for a long moment before sending it.

No response.

Hours pass.

By the time we confirm the rogues have retreated far enough to stand down, the sky is dark again. My body aches, but the familiar restlessness inside me has nothing to do with the mission.

I check my phone as soon as there is signal.

Still nothing.

A cold, sinking feeling settles in my gut.

I send another message.

I should have told you sooner. That is on me. I am not ignoring you. Please believe that.

The words look hollow even to me.

The ride back to the pack is silent. My warriors are tired, satisfied that we prevented something worse. They joke quietly among themselves, relief bleeding through the tension.

I feel none of it.

All I can think about is the door I stood outside of the night before. The way she said she did not want to wait. The way I promised I would not disappear again.

And yet here I am.

Doing exactly that.

When we finally return, I do not go to my quarters. I do not report to the council. I head straight for her house, dread curling tighter with every step.

The lights are on inside.

That should be reassuring. Instead, it makes my chest ache.

I stop in front of the door and hesitate. The bond hums, but it feels distant now, strained, like a thread pulled too tight.

I knock.

No answer.

I knock again, softer this time, my forehead resting briefly against the wood.

“Lila,” I say quietly. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

Her scent reaches me faintly through the door. Hurt, sharp and unmistakable. She is home. She is just not coming to see me.

I step back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

I did this.

Again.

I pull my phone out one last time, my thumb hovering over the screen. Then I stop. Words are not enough anymore. I have already proven that.

The realization hits me with brutal clarity.

I cannot keep doing this to her.

No matter how important the pack is, no matter how justified my reasons feel in the moment, the outcome is always the same. She is left alone, waiting, wondering where she stands. Wondering if she matters.

And the worst part is that I know exactly what that feels like.

I grew up watching it happen.

My mother waiting by windows. By tables. By doors. Telling herself she understood. Telling herself this was the price of loving an Alpha. Slowly shrinking around the edges until there was nothing left but patience and disappointment.

I swore I would never be that man.

But intentions mean nothing if actions keep proving otherwise.

I walk away from her house slowly, every step heavy with the weight of the decision forming in my mind.

By the time I reach my quarters, it is solid.

Clear.

Unavoidable.

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the wall, hands clasped tightly together.

If I stay on this path, I will hurt her again. And again. And again. Not because I want to, but because being Alpha will always demand pieces of me at the worst possible times.

Lila deserves more than apologies and promises I cannot consistently keep.

She deserves someone who shows up. Someone who does not make her question her worth. Someone who does not turn her into another woman waiting for an Alpha who always has somewhere else to be.

If I truly care about her, then the hardest thing I can do might also be the right one.

I have to step back.

Create distance before the damage runs deeper. Before the bond twists into resentment and pain. Before I become the man I despise most.

The thought makes my chest ache, but there is a strange clarity in it too.

I am Alpha.

And sometimes leadership means protecting people from yourself.

I lie back and stare at the ceiling, the silence pressing in around me.

Tomorrow, I will do what I should have done from the beginning.

Even if it costs me the one thing I wanted for myself.