When an Alpha hates his mate

Ransom of the child

Kidnapped

Davina’s POV

I woke up with a jolt, my wolf howling inside me. Something was wrong. The house was too quiet.

"Dan?" I called, pushing open his bedroom door.

The bed was empty.

The world stopped spinning for a moment, my chest tightening until it hurt. His toy truck lay on the floor, abandoned. His blanket was crumpled near the window—and the window was open.

"No," I breathed, panic clawing at my throat.

Before I could think, Vincent was in the doorway, his hair a mess, his eyes flashing with fury. "Where is he?"

"He's gone!" My voice broke, and for the first time, I didn’t care that he saw me fall apart. "They took him, Vincent!"

His entire body went rigid, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Micah." The name left his mouth like a curse.

I grabbed the note that had been left on the windowsill and shoved it into Vincent’s hand.

Bring me the girl, or the boy dies.

My knees nearly buckled, but Vincent caught me. His hands were firm on my shoulders, grounding me.

"Listen to me," he said, his tone like steel. "We’re going to get him back. Do you hear me? No one touches my son."

I stared at him. My son. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You hate me," I whispered, "but you’d still—"

"Don’t." His voice softened slightly. "I don’t hate Dan. And I don’t hate you as much as I wish I did."

That admission stole the breath from my lungs, but there was no time to process it.

Within hours, we were driving toward Micah’s territory, armed to the teeth. Tim met us at the safe house to give us intel.

"They’re holding him in one of the abandoned warehouses on the docks," Tim said grimly.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. "Then we burn the place to the ground after we get him."

The plan was simple: I would draw Micah out, Vincent and Tim would flank the building, and we’d get Dan.

But nothing about it felt simple when I stood in the middle of that cold, empty warehouse, staring at Micah.

He smirked when he saw me. "Ah, the prodigal mate," he said, circling me like a predator. "You know, you look just like your sister."

The words sliced through me like a knife. "What?"

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, you didn’t know? She’s been my mistress for years. I would’ve killed you the moment I heard you existed, but where’s the fun in that?"

My stomach twisted, but I kept my face blank. "Where’s Dan?"

Micah’s smile widened. "You’ll see him—if you play nice."

Before he could get closer, a gunshot rang out. Vincent’s voice roared through the building.

"Let her go!"

Chaos erupted.

Bullets flew, wolves shifted, snarls echoed off the walls. I ducked behind a crate, heart pounding, before sprinting toward the small room where I could hear Dan’s muffled cries.

"Mommy!"

I grabbed him, clutching him to my chest as relief flooded through me.

Vincent appeared seconds later, blood streaked across his cheek, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Is he hurt?"

I shook my head, unable to speak.

Vincent pulled us both against him, his chest heaving. "Good. Then let’s finish this."

By the time it was over, Micah was gone,escaped into the night—but we had Dan back.

That night, after Tim took Dan to safety, the adrenaline didn’t wear off.

I found Vincent in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

"You could have died," I said quietly.

He looked up at me, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "So could you."

I crossed the room slowly, my body still trembling from everything that had happened. "You saved him, Vincent."

His jaw tightened. "We saved him. Together."

The space between us felt charged again, but this time there was no shouting, no anger—just an ache that had been building since the moment we met.

When he stood, we were chest to chest. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

"I can’t lose you," he said, his voice rough. "Not again."

And then he kissed me.

This kiss wasn’t like the last one. It was still fierce, but there was something desperate, something tender hidden beneath the fire.

I melted into him, clutching his shirt as his mouth moved against mine. The kiss deepened, leaving us both breathless, and when he lifted me, carrying me to the bed, I didn’t stop him.

That night, every wall between us burned to ashes.

For a few stolen hours, there was no Micah, no past, no hate,only us.

___

I woke up, my body aching in ways that had nothing to do with last night’s battle. Vincent was sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, staring out the window like the world had wronged him.

"You’re awake," he said without turning. His voice was cold, clipped, as though he regretted everything that had happened between us.

I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around me. "I guess you’re already planning how to tell me this was a mistake."

His head snapped toward me, eyes sharp and burning. "It was a mistake," he said, each word laced with venom. "But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine."

My wolf purred at that, but my human side bristled. "You can’t have it both ways, Vincent. You can’t hate me and keep me in your bed."

He stood, towering over me, his jaw tight. "Watch me."

I rolled my eyes, slipping out of bed and grabbing my clothes. "I’m not your possession. If you hate me so much, reject me again and be done with it."

Something flickered in his gaze, a dangerous mix of fury and longing. "I tried that once," he said quietly. "It didn’t work."

The air between us was suffocating. Part of me wanted to throw something at him. The other part wanted him to drag me back into that bed.

Instead, he turned and grabbed his jacket. "We’re leaving in ten minutes. Micah won’t stay hidden for long, and I want him found before he tries again."

The next few days were brutal.

Vincent barely spoke to me unless it was about tracking Micah. And yet, he never let me out of his sight. If I went to train, he was there. If I went to eat, he sat across from me, silent, watchful, possessive.

And every time his golden eyes slid to my lips, I remembered the way they’d looked last night, dark with hunger.

"You’re distracted," he said one evening as we sat in the war room, maps and intel scattered across the table.

I met his gaze. "So are you."

His jaw clenched. "I can’t afford distractions. Micah is still out there, and he won’t stop until one of us is dead."

"Then we find him," I said fiercely. "We end this."

Vincent leaned forward, his hand brushing over the map, stopping just inches from mine. "You’re not going near him without me. If Micah wants you, he’ll have to go through me first."

The protectiveness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

"Why do you care?" I whispered.

He stared at me for a long, unblinking moment, then said, "Because you drive me insane. Because I hate that I can’t hate you."

My heart thudded painfully.

For the first time since this all began, I saw something raw in him—something almost human. And it terrified me more than Micah ever could.