Caught Between Two Alphas

Chapter Seven

Sophia

Three nights after Alcyde held me back from killing Anson, we meet again at the training grounds.

The moon is waning now, just a sliver of light through the pines. I arrive first this time, warming up with the forms he taught me, feeling how much stronger my body has become in just weeks of Lou's brutal regimen and his midnight sessions. My muscles move with purpose now, no longer fighting against Sophia's softness but working with it. When he emerges from the shadows, he's carrying two bottles of water and wearing an expression I can't read—something between determination and dread.

"You came," he says, like he wasn't sure I would.

"You asked me to."

We don't spar immediately. Instead, he leads me to the aluminum benches at the field's edge, where the gym lights cast long shadows across the trampled grass. He sits close enough that our knees almost touch, and I can smell cedar and rain on his clothes, like he's been walking the forest boundaries all day.

"I need to tell you something," he starts, voice rougher than usual. "About why I'm really doing this. About what's at stake."

I wait, watching how his hands clench and unclench on his thighs, the way his jaw works like he's fighting the words.

"My father didn't die in a rogue attack," he says finally. "That's the story we tell, but it's a lie. The truth is uglier. He went into that fight knowing he wouldn't come back. The Council wanted him out—said he was too old, too traditional, too set in the old ways. They gave him a choice: step down voluntarily or be removed. So he chose his own ending rather than let them force him out like a common criminal."

The confession hangs between us, heavy as stone. I think about the man I barely knew, Anson's and Alcyde's father, always so proud, so unbending.

"Anson never wanted to be Alpha," he continues, staring at his hands. "He wasn't supposed to take over for a while—he had time to build his own life. But when Dad died, he had no choice. The pack needed leadership, and I was too young, too untested. The Council would have eaten me alive. So he stepped up, even though it's been destroying him piece by piece ever since."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He turns to face me fully, and in the harsh light, I can see exhaustion carved into every line of his face. "Because I need you to understand what we're really doing. This isn't just about exposing Anson's weakness or my ambition. It's about saving the pack before the Council tears it apart from the inside."

"You want to be Alpha," I say. It's not a question.

"I want the pack to survive," he corrects, but then his shoulders drop. "But yes, I think I'm the only one who can make that happen now. Anson's broken—has been since Hannah died. The Council smells blood in the water. If we don't act soon, they'll install a puppet Alpha, probably one of their choosing from another pack, and we'll lose everything that makes Silverfrost what it is."

I think about the omega barracks, the harsh reality I've discovered since dying. "What exactly makes Silverfrost worth saving?"

He's quiet for a long moment, considering. "It could be better. Should be better. When Hannah was Luna, she had plans—real change for omegas, for everyone. Protection laws, education programs, actual representation in pack decisions. But she died before..." He stops, jaw clenching hard enough that I hear his teeth grind. "She was murdered, and everything she wanted to build died with her."

My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "You really believe she was murdered?"

"I know she was." His voice turns to steel. "Hannah would never kill herself. Never. She was the strongest person I knew. Someone wanted her gone, and they made it happen. Made it look like suicide so no one would ask questions."

We sit in silence, both lost in memories of a woman only one of us knows is still alive.

"Did you love her?" The question escapes before I can stop it.

His answer is immediate. "Everyone loved Hannah. But for me... she was like the sister I never had. The one person who saw me as more than just Anson's little brother. She made me believe I could be something more." His voice breaks slightly. "And someone took her from us. From me."

Finally, he stands, offers me his hand. "Come on. Let me show you something new. If you're going to get close to Anson, you need to be prepared for anything."

The training is different tonight. More intense, more intimate. He teaches me throws that require perfect synchronization, holds that leave us tangled together, breathing hard. His hands are everywhere—adjusting my stance, guiding my movements, showing me exactly where to apply pressure to bring down someone twice my size.

"The key is using their strength against them," he murmurs, chest pressed against my back as he demonstrates a reversal. His breath is warm on my neck, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cool night air. "Anson's bigger than you, stronger. But that makes him slower. Predictable. He telegraphs his moves because he's used to winning through brute force."

"You want me to fight your brother?"

His hands slide down my arms, adjusting my grip. "I want you to be ready for anything. The way he looked at you the other night—there was recognition there. Something familiar he couldn't place. If he figures out what you're hiding..."

"What do you think I'm hiding?"

He spins me to face him, and we're close enough that I feel his breath on my face, see the gold flecks in his blue eyes. "I don't know. But it's something big. Something that makes you hate him with the kind of rage that only comes from personal betrayal. The kind that makes you want to tear his throat out with your teeth."

I meet his eyes steadily, fighting the urge to confess everything. "Maybe I just hate Alphas who abuse their power."

"Maybe." But his thumb brushes my cheek, gentle, searching. "Or maybe you're someone who lost everything to an Alpha's cruelty and came back for revenge."

The truth of it—how close he is to the real story—makes my breath catch.

"Would that change things?" I ask. "If I was here for revenge?"

He considers this, hand still cupping my face. "Depends. Is your revenge aimed at Anson specifically, or the whole pack?"

"Just the ones who deserve it."

"Then we want the same thing." He steps back, but the ghost of his touch lingers. "Let me show you the rest of the plan."

Back at his cabin, the maps are spread across the table again, but now they're covered in new markings—patrol routes in red, Council meeting times in blue, Anson's daily schedule in black. He's been watching, planning, preparing for this moment maybe since Hannah died.

"He's weakest in the afternoons," Alcyde explains, tracing a finger along the timeline. "Three to five, specifically. That's when he drinks the most, when his guard is completely down. The meetings, the pressure, the memories—they all hit him hardest then. If you can get close to him during those hours, make him trust you, maybe even make him need you..."

"You want me to seduce your brother?"

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes—jealousy maybe, or possession. "I want you to get information. Find out what he knows about Hannah's death. Who was involved. Why it happened. How you do it is up to you."

"And if he tries something?"

"Then you use what I taught you." He leans across the table, intense. "But Sophia, listen to me—he's not stable. Hannah's death broke something fundamental in him. He loved her, in his own twisted way, and losing her... it shattered whatever humanity he had left."

"Made him dangerous," I finish.

"Made him unpredictable. Which is why I need to know—are you absolutely sure about this? Once you start, there's no backing out. The Council is already suspicious of any changes in pack dynamics. If they think we're moving against the Alpha, if they get even a hint of what we're planning..."

"They'll kill us both."

He nods grimly. "Or worse. They'll make examples of us. Public execution, probably. The kind that reminds everyone why you don't challenge the hierarchy."

I think about the rope around my neck, Anson's tears as he strangled me, his whispered apologies about curses and necessity. "I'm sure. But I need something from you first."

"Name it."

"The truth about how you feel. About me. About us. Because if we're using each other, I need to know where the line is. What's real and what's just part of the plan."

He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. Then he rounds the table in two quick strides, backs me against the wall. His hands plant on either side of my head, caging me in, and I smell the whiskey on his breath, the pine soap on his skin.

"There is no line," he says roughly. "Not anymore. You want the truth? I think about you constantly. Dream about you. Wake up reaching for you. I know you're hiding something massive, and I don't care. I know this is dangerous, stupid, probably going to get us both killed, and I still don't care."

His forehead touches mine, and we're sharing the same air. "So yeah, we're using each other. But that doesn't mean this isn't real. Doesn't mean I won't burn this whole pack to the ground if something happens to you."

I reach up, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer. "Good. Because I need to know you'll be there when this goes sideways. When the truth comes out."

"Always," he promises, and seals it with a kiss that tastes like whiskey and revolution, like everything I've wanted since coming back to life.

The next afternoon, I stand outside Anson's office, heart hammering against my ribs.

The door is open. He's hunched over his desk, bottle of bourbon barely hidden behind stacks of reports that look untouched. He looks worse than before—hollow-eyed, unshaven, shirt wrinkled like he slept in it. Maybe he did. The Alpha who killed me is dissolving into something pathetic, and I can't decide if that makes my revenge sweeter or more bitter.

I knock once.

"If it's about the rosters, leave them outside," he says without looking up.

"Not here about rosters."

His head snaps up. Recognition flickers across his face—not of who I was, but of something familiar he can't place, like a song he knows but can't remember the words to.

"Sophia, right?" But not really a question. "Come in. Sit."

I perch on the edge of the chair, keeping my posture carefully neutral—not submissive but not challenging either.

He studies me like I'm a puzzle with missing pieces, and maybe I am.

"Lou says you've been training with my brother."

"He offered to help."

"Alcyde doesn't help omegas. He barely notices them exist." His eyes narrow, and I see the Alpha intelligence that made him dangerous once. "So what makes you special?"

"Maybe he just recognizes potential."

He laughs, bitter and broken. "Potential. Right." He pours himself a drink, offers me one. When I decline, he shrugs and downs both. "You remind me of someone."

My pulse spikes, but I keep my voice level. "Who?"

"My Luna. Hannah." His voice cracks on her name like glass breaking. "Same way of holding yourself. Like you're too good for this place but trying to hide it. Like you know secrets the rest of us can only guess at."

"I wouldn't know. I never met her."

"No?" He leans forward, bourbon heavy on his breath, eyes searching mine. "Funny. Because sometimes when you move, when you turn your head a certain way or laugh, it's like watching a ghost."

I force myself to stay calm, even as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. "Grief makes us see things that aren't there."

"Maybe." He's quiet for a moment, then suddenly: "What do you know about her?"

I only hesitate for a moment before replying. "People say she killed herself."

His fist slams the desk hard enough to rattle the bottles. "People are wrong. Hannah was murdered. I—" He stops, face draining of color, like he's just remembered who he's talking to.

"You what?"

He shakes his head, pours another drink with trembling hands. "Nothing. Forget it."

But I see it in his eyes—the guilt, the knowledge, the crushing weight of what he's done.

"You know who killed her," I say softly, leaning forward. "You know exactly what happened."

He meets my gaze, and for a moment, the Alpha facade cracks completely, showing the broken man underneath. "Yeah. I know."

"Who?"

"I—"

He's about to answer when footsteps echo in the hall. The moment shatters. His face hardens back into Alpha lines, the mask sliding back into place.

"Tomorrow," he says. "Three o'clock. Come back, and maybe I'll tell you everything. Maybe I'll finally tell someone the truth."

I stand to leave, but his hand catches my wrist. The touch sends electricity through me—not desire but memory. Those same hands around my throat, squeezing.

"Be careful with my brother," he says. "Alcyde wants things he can't have. Always has."

"Like what?"

"Like everything I've ever touched." His grip tightens slightly. "Including you, apparently."

I pull free, step back. "I'm nobody's possession."

"No," he agrees, something dangerous flickering in his smile. "But you're definitely somebody's secret. And I'm going to figure out what it is."

I find Alcyde at the north training ground, pacing like a caged wolf.

"How did it go?"

I tell him everything—Anson's recognition, his near-confession, the warning about Alcyde himself.

"He knows something," I finish. "About Hannah's death. He almost told me. I think... I think he wants to confess. The guilt is eating him alive."

"Tomorrow, then." Alcyde pulls me close, checking for injuries even though Anson never touched me beyond that grip on my wrist. "You're sure you want to go back? He's getting suspicious. If he figures out who you really are..."

"I need to know the truth. The whole truth. Someone needs to... find out what really happened, for Hannah's sake."

"Even if it destroys everything?"

I think about the pyre, my body burning while my killer watched and cried. "Absofuckinglutely.."

He kisses me, fierce and protective. "Then we do this together. Tomorrow, you get his trust, get him to tell you everything. And then we take him down."

"What if he..." I don't finish. Even to Alcyde, I can't reveal who I truly am. Not yet.

"Then we run." His hands frame my face. "Together. Always together. I'll give up everything—the pack, the territory, all of it—to keep you safe."

"Why? You barely know me."

His hands cradle my face, gentle but unyielding, and then his mouth claims mine. The world dissolves until there is only the heat of his lips, the hunger in his kiss. Breathless, I cling to him, my body trembling as he devours every defense I have left. When we finally tear apart, gasping, his forehead presses to mine. His voice is rough, gravel scraping against velvet. “I know you. I see you.”

I nod, but we both know the truth—there's no running from this. Tomorrow, everything changes.

The storm that's been building since I died is about to break.

And when it does, only one of us will be left standing—the Alpha who killed me, or the omega who came back for revenge.