The Alpha Who Tried to Unmate Me

Chapter 15 – Volen’s Smile

They made us wait.

Five minutes in the sleek glass lobby of the Compatibility Center, sitting on tasteful gray chairs that smelled like money and fear. Daxen paced. Ishan pretended to scroll through his tablet while actually tracking every security camera blink.

I watched the reflection of my own face in the polished elevator doors and tried not to think about the last time I’d seen this building from inside a gurney.

“Breathe,” Ishan murmured.

“I am breathing,” I said.

“Try doing it with air, not knives.”

The elevator chimed. A woman in a navy suit appeared, badge clipped to her lapel, smile perfectly neutral.

“Mr. Marq will see you now,” she said. “Alpha Vaelir is already upstairs.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

“Of course he is,” I muttered.

The ride up was too smooth, too quiet. My ears rang with echoes from the annex—Selyne’s laugh, the scrape of claws in concrete, the not‑quite‑letters carved into the floor.

When the doors opened, Volen Marq’s office was exactly what you’d expect from a man who thought he could quantify love.

Minimalist. Expensive. Sterile.

Floor‑to‑ceiling windows let in a wash of city light. A single abstract painting hung on the far wall in calculated splashes of red and gray. Volen stood near his desk, hands clasped, suit immaculate.

Corren was by the window, jaw hard enough to crack teeth, eyes on the skyline. He turned as we entered. For a half‑second, our gazes locked, and I saw the flicker of relief he didn’t have time to hide.

“Ms. Vexen,” Volen said, as if greeting an old colleague instead of a former subject. “Beta Rull. Mr. Verrek. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“You didn’t give us a choice,” Daxen said.

Volen’s smile didn’t shift. “When the safety of the city is at stake, choice becomes a luxury.”

“Funny,” I said. “I remember you saying something similar the day you cut me open.”

He spread his hands. “We provided a service your pack requested. It saved a great deal of long‑term instability.”

Corren’s aura flared, a subtle spike of dominance. “We’re not here to rehash old contracts.”

“No,” Volen agreed. “We’re here because someone has been abusing our protocols. I assume you’ve seen the latest scene.”

He tapped a control on his desk. A screen descended from the ceiling, flickering to life with images from last night’s alley. The dead wolf. The blood. Me on my knees, hands stained.

The footage had been scrubbed, angles chosen carefully. From this view, there was no sign of Selyne’s fleeting silhouette. Just me and the corpse and an ocean of scent only wolves could read.

“Public feeds have been… contained,” Volen said. “For now. But the pattern is clear. The killer is using Ms. Vexen’s signatures to cloud our instruments. And yours.”

“Our instruments,” I echoed. “Nice word for leashes.”

He inclined his head, accepting the jab. “Regardless, this puts us in alignment, does it not? We both want the same thing.”

“Do we,” I said.

“To stop whoever is destabilizing the city,” he said smoothly. “Before panic sets in. Before humans start demanding more drastic measures.”

“By ‘drastic,’” Ishan said, “you mean expanded authority for your program.”

Volen gave him a bland look. “I mean anything that threatens the delicate balance we’ve achieved. We’ve worked very hard to integrate packs peacefully.”

“At the cost of their bonds,” I said. “At the cost of wolves like Selyne Varra.”

Something cold flashed in his eyes. “Subject Varra was an unfortunate outlier. Not every procedure yields ideal results.”

“She’s not an outlier,” I said. “She’s a mirror. You break enough bonds, you get ghosts. You know that.”

He let that sit for a moment, then turned to Corren. “Alpha Vaelir. You understand the stakes. Your pack holds a central position in this city’s structure. If the public loses trust in the program, they lose trust in the packs attached to it.”

“That trust was built on a lie,” Corren said quietly.

Volen studied him, then shifted his gaze back to me. “There is a practical solution. You bring Ms. Vexen fully under our supervision. We isolate and study the anomaly. We adjust protocols. In exchange, we guarantee your pack’s continued right to the city. No more questions about your… unfortunate history with bond severance.”

My stomach turned. “You want to put me back on your table. Dress it up however you like.”

“We want to stabilize a dangerous situation,” he said. “You are uniquely positioned to help.”

“Because you built the bomb out of me,” I said. “Now you want me to hold still while you rewire the detonator.”

Across the room, Daxen’s hands had curled into fists. Ishan’s jaw muscle twitched once.

Volen’s smile thinned. “The alternative is significantly worse for you,” he said. “And for your pack. Humans are already frightened. The attacks—your… appearances—have given them a convenient story. ‘Rogue severance subject.’ ‘Broken bond gone bad.’ It wouldn’t take much for them to demand your removal as a condition of continued peace.”

He let that sink in, eyes on Corren now, not me.

“Which leaves you with a simple choice, Alpha,” Volen said softly. “Prove your commitment to stability by cooperating fully with the program… or watch your pack lose everything you’ve built.”

My heart hammered. The room felt suddenly too small.

Corren stood very still, shoulders squared, gaze locked on Volen’s.

“I’ll do what I must for my pack,” he said.

He didn’t look at me when he said it.

Something inside my chest—a leftover thread of bond, a shard of trust—pulled tight, waiting to see whether he would cut it again.