The Alpha's Shattered Bond: His secret Lycan Heir

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SEVEN YEARS LATER

Seven Years of Not Dying

~VINA HALE~

If my eighteen-year-old self—the one who spent her nights

scrubbing bacon grease off marble floors—could see me now, she’d probably have a literal aneurysm. Or at the very least, she’d ask for my skincare routine.

It has been exactly seven years, two months, and four days since Jace Blackwood decided I was a “cosmic mistake.” Seven years since I was tossed into the basement like a piece of spoiled fruit.

Looking back, I really should send him a thank-you note. Maybe a gift basket filled with glitter and very aggressive bees. Because being rejected by a narrow-minded Alpha was the best career move I ever made.

I’m currently standing in my laboratory. And when I say “laboratory,” I don’t mean a damp corner of a kitchen with a cracked mortar and pestle. I mean a sun-drenched, high-ceilinged sanctuary filled with bubbling glass vats, rare mountain herbs that cost more than a packhouse, and enough ancient scrolls to make a librarian weep with joy.

The Hidden Sanctuary isn’t just a place; it’s a middle finger to the rest of the werewolf world. Tucked away in a valley that literally bends light to stay invisible, it’s the only place on earth where "Rank" is a four-letter word.

I’m no longer Elara the Invisible. Around here, and in whispered rumors across the four territories, I am known as The Pale Healer.

I walked over to the mirror and picked up my signature accessory: a delicate, hand-carved silver half-mask. It covers the upper left side of my face, trailing down my cheek in filigree vines.

It’s not because I’m scarred—though Jace certainly tried his best to leave emotional ones—it’s because legends require a bit of theater. Plus, it’s much easier to be a world-renowned medical genius when people can’t see you rolling your eyes at their stupidity.

I adjusted the mask, catching my reflection. My "rankless" scent? Gone. In its place is something that makes even high-ranking Alphas stop and sweat.

It’s a Lycan aura—thick, electric, and smelling of ozone and crushed jasmine. It’s the kind of scent that says ‘I can heal your broken bones, or I can break them again with a thought.’

Of course, I spend most of my day “masking” it. I’ve learned to coil my power deep inside, wrapping it in layers of mental ice so I just smell… neutral. Like a ghost.

“Mom! Leo is doing it again!”

The scream shattered my professional brooding. I sighed, set down a vial of Moonshadow nectar, and headed toward the living quarters.

“Doing what again?” I called out.

I walked into the common room just in time to see my seven-year-old son, Leo, hovering three feet off the ground. He wasn't flying—he was just vibrating with

so much raw Alpha energy that gravity was apparently struggling to keep up.

“I’m just practicing my pounce!” Leo chirped, his eyes flashing a brilliant, mischievous gold.

Leo is my daily cardiac arrest. He is a carbon copy of Jace Blackwood, right down to the stubborn jawline and the way his hair refuses to obey the laws of physics. Looking at him is like looking at a ghost of my first love, but with a

personality that is 100% mine.

He’s sassy, he’s loud, and he has a hero complex that is going to be the death of me.

“Leo, down. Now,” I said, using my ‘I’m a Lycan Queen, don’t test me’ voice.

He dropped to the floor with a soft thud, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, Mom. I got excited.”

“He was trying to impress the guard wolves again,” a quiet, cool voice said from the corner.

I turned to see Maya. My daughter. My heart. My little Lycan enigma.

If Leo is a summer storm, Maya is a deep, moonlit lake. She doesn't have a wolf; she has the Lycan blood, pure and ancient. She’s scary-smart, the kind of child

who stares at you and you feel like she’s reading your bank PIN and your darkest secrets simultaneously. She has my dark hair, but her eyes are a startling,

translucent violet—a gift from the King’s lineage.

She was sitting in a window seat, a book on advanced herbology in her lap. She’s seven. She should be playing with dolls. Instead, she’s currently correcting my notes on hemlock ratios.

“I wasn’t trying to impress them,” Leo huffed, crossing his arms. “I was showing them who’s boss. I’m an Alpha, Maya. It’s in my DNA.”

Maya didn't even look up from her book. “You’re a headache, Leo. That’s what’s in your DNA.”

“Kids, please,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I have a big shipment of Wolfsbane extract to process today. Can we go one hour without a sibling rivalry that threatens the structural integrity of the house?”

Leo ran over and wrapped his arms around my waist. He’s already tall for his age, his head reaching my ribs. He smelled like sunshine and pine—a scent so close to Jace’s that for a second, my heart did a stupid, traitorous little

skip.

“We’ll be good, Mom,” Leo promised, looking up at me with those big, golden eyes. “I’ll go help Silas in the training yard.”

“Don’t call him Silas,” I corrected automatically. “He’s the King.”

“He told me I could call him Silas,” Leo said with a shrug. “He said Alphas don't need to use titles with friends.”

I felt a pang of guilt. Silas has been everything to these kids. He’s the one who held my hand through the night-terrors of the rejection. He’s the one who

taught me how to harness the Lycan fire in my blood. He wants to be their father. He wants to be my… well, he wants more than I’ve been able to give him.

Because even after seven years, the hole in my soul where the bond used to be hasn't fully healed. It’s just been covered with scar tissue.

“Just be careful,” I told Leo. “And Maya, please try not to use your telekinesis to hide your brother’s shoes again.”

Maya offered a tiny, elegant smirk. “I make no promises, Mother.”

They scrambled out of the room, leaving me in the sudden, ringing silence of the laboratory.

I sat down at my desk, looking at the silver mask sitting next to a pile of letters. My life is perfect. I have power. I have children who are healthy and strong. I have a King who would burn the world down to keep me safe.

I should be happy. And I am. Mostly.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments when the sun hits the mountains just right, I remember the smell of sandalwood and rain. I remember the way the golden light

looked before it turned to ash.

I picked up my pen and opened my diary.

Note to the Moon Goddess: ‘I know you think you’re clever. You took away my mate and gave me a kingdom. You took away my pack and gave me a legacy. But we both know the other shoe is going to drop eventually.’

I’m the Pale Healer now. I’ve spent seven years learning how to fix everything that’s broken.

But as I look at Leo’s Jace-like face and Maya’s King-like eyes, I realize there’s one thing I still haven’t figured out how to heal.

My own past.

And something tells me the past is about to come knocking on the Sanctuary’s invisible door.

I was successful, powerful and the Mother of Two Chaos Incarnates.

A little advise, ‘when you rebuild your life from scratch, make sure the foundation is made of something stronger than a man’s promise. Silver and spite work much

better.’

I have work to do.

There’s a plague in the North that needs my attention, and if I don't finish this serum, I’ll never hear the end of it from Silas.

But first, I need to find Leo’s shoes.

I have a feeling they’re currently floating in the fountain.