Betrayed by my Alpha

Chapter 6 - Mother

Varek had not returned the first day, much to Tahla’s relief. She needed time to think, time to prepare, and his absence gave her both. But the thoughts followed her out of her home and into the morning air, circling as she settled Azran onto her hip and started down the path.

Several possibilities turned over in her mind as she walked. Ironpeak had been one of the most powerful clans for generations. Whatever had driven Varek to the sanctuary's border with his hands open was not a small thing. War, perhaps. A sickness moving through his people. Some fracture in the clan's structure that had split it from within. She could not settle on any one answer, and the not knowing irritated her more than she wanted to admit.

Azran was not helping.

"And then Zephael said I could try the longer staff," he was saying, bouncing slightly against her side with the energy of a child who had apparently stored up every word he had ever wanted to say and chosen this walk to release them all at once. "But I said the short one was better because I could carry it and he said I had to build my strength first so I said I was already strong and he made me lift a rock to prove it. I could lift it, Mama. A big one."

"I believe you," Tahla said.

"It was very heavy."

"I am sure it was."

"Heavier than you."

She glanced down at him. "Let us not test that."

He grinned, satisfied, and returned to his account of the rock, which seemed to grow larger with each telling. Tahla listened with half her attention and let the rest settle into the rest of the walk. This was their routine, hers and Azran's. Short rounds through the sanctuary in the mornings, stopping at doors, exchanging greetings, keeping a hand on the place. She had learned early that a leader who stayed in one spot became distant without meaning to. People needed to see her moving among them.

They stopped at several homes along the outer ring, where the Lunaris's seven newest members had been housed while they found their footing. Zephael had put his most trusted men to the work of looking into their histories before any of them had been permitted inside the borders. All seven had come through clean, their stories holding up under careful scrutiny. People worn down by circumstances that were beyond their power. The Lunaris knew how to recognise that.

Tonight, there would be a welcoming ceremony. A large fire built in the middle of the clearing, long tables spread with food, the whole sanctuary gathering to sit together and make room for seven more. It was one of the traditions Tahla was most fond of. It reminded her of why they had built this place.

Azran wriggled out of her arms as they turned deeper into the sanctuary, where the trees grew thicker and the homes sat further apart. He ran ahead the moment he spotted the familiar outline of the small house at the end of the path, its posts wound round with flowering vines, its front garden tidy and full of colour. The thatched roof was beginning to show its age in one corner, and Tahla made a mental note to have someone look at it before the rains came.

She did not get the chance to call after him before he had already pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

She sighed. They were going to have that conversation again.

A laugh came from within, melodious and warm, and then an older woman appeared in the doorway with Azran seated gently on her hip and a look of complete delight on her face.

"Moon's peace, Mother," Tahla greeted.

"Moon's peace, my child." Zorah said as she set Azran on his feet and smoothed a hand over his chaotic hair. He immediately bolted back toward the garden, apparently having forgotten something of great importance among the flower beds. Zorah watched him go, then looked at her daughter with a calm expression on her face.

"Zephael informed me of what transpired," she said simply.

"Yes." Tahla exhaled. "I came to ask your advice."

Zorah stepped back from the doorway. "Come inside. I have just made wine."

The living space was small and comfortable. Zorah had put so much love into the place since she arrived at the sanctuary. Woven rugs in deep reds and browns were laid across the floor, worn soft from years of use. A low table sat in the centre, and Zorah moved around it, returning from the back of the house with a clay pitcher, two cups, a bowl of fruit from the garden, and a plate of smoked meat. Azran, who had apparently resolved whatever business had called him to the garden, appeared in the doorway with grass on his knees and stationed himself directly in front of the plate.

Zorah smiled at him. He was a healthy boy. A sturdy, busy, wonderful boy, and she took pleasure every time she saw it.

She poured wine for her daughter and settled across from her, waiting.

Tahla turned the cup in her hands. "I asked Zephael to let Varek in. If he returns." She paused. "I want to know why he needs aid. His clan has been powerful for longer than most can remember, and something has broken badly enough that he is coming to other clans' borders with his hands open." She looked up. "My mind will not rest until I understand it. But I am not certain it was a wise decision."

Zorah was quiet for a moment. Then: "What is it you are afraid of?"

"That wanting to see him suffer is making me reckless." Tahla said it plainly, the way she had learned to say difficult things to her mother, without softening them first. "I want to look at him and know that he has lost everything. That what he did came back to him." She shook her head. "But I do not want that to make me a bad leader. I do not want to bring something dangerous into this place because I could not keep my own feelings out of the decision."

Zorah set her cup down and leaned forward slightly. "You listen to me," she said, and her voice had a very strong edge that Tahla remembered from her childhood when her mother meant every word with her full chest. "I do not fault you for needing to see him suffer. Not for one breath. He tried to have you killed so he could take Soraya to his bed without consequence. He is a wicked man. He took something extraordinary and threw it into the dirt so he could satisfy himself, and he deserves every hard thing that has found him since." A short, sharp exhale through her nose. "You are not a bad leader for feeling that. You are a good woman who was wronged terribly and who has still, somehow, built something beautiful out of what he left you with. Those two things live together. They are allowed to."

The tears came before Tahla could stop them. She wiped them quickly with the back of her hand, blinking, but more followed. She set her cup down and reached across the table, and Zorah came to her, folding her into her arms the way she had when Tahla was small, before everything, before any of it.

Then something small and determined wedged itself between them with considerable force, and both women broke apart laughing.

Azran looked between them with great satisfaction, as though resolving the situation had been his intention all along.

Tahla pressed her lips to the top of his head and held him for a moment. Then she looked at her mother over his curls.

"If he returns," she said quietly, "I want Azran here with you. Far from him. He does not need to know Azran exists."

Zorah nodded. There was no argument in her face. "He will be perfectly safe with me. We will have a fine time." She kissed Azran's cheek, and he accepted it with tolerance. He was very accustomed to being kissed by his mother and grandmother. "Varek will never lay eyes on my grandson. I will see to it personally."

"I will post two warriors outside as well. If that is alright."

"More than alright." Zorah waved a hand. "Post as many as you need. The garden has room."

Tahla smiled. She sat for a while longer, the three of them together in the small warm room, and let herself be still. Azran ate his way steadily through the fruit and most of the meat. Zorah told him something about the garden that made his eyes go wide. The fire in the corner burned low. But there was work to do. There was always work to do.

She kissed her son and told him she would return for him before the welcoming fire was lit. She told her mother she loved her. Then she stepped back out into the afternoon and went to find her warriors.

The meeting ran long.

She had expected that. Planning for Varek's potential return required more careful thought than a simple patrol adjustment. She went over it with Zephael and her four most senior fighters, mapping out routes, discussing where he would be permitted to walk and where he would not, deciding who would shadow him through the Lunaris and at what distance. She was thorough. She had always been thorough.

Varek would be watched from the moment he crossed the border to the moment he left. He would see only what she permitted him to see. He would speak to no one without one of her people nearby. And under no circumstances would he be told about Azran, or brought anywhere near Zorah's home.

By the time she was satisfied, the sky beyond the window had deepened from orange to a dark, heavy blue.

She made her way through the Lunaris as the welcoming fire was rising in the clearing. Voices carried across the evening air, laughter and the low hum of the sanctuary settling into celebration. She paused at the edge of the clearing long enough to watch. Seven new faces, still careful, still taking in the warmth around them with disbelief. They had not expected these people to show them such kindness. Her people moved around them, offering food, offering seats, offering the simple presence of those who understood what it was to have arrived here with nothing.

Her chest ached, but it ached in a good way.

She turned and walked on toward her mother's home.

The light inside was amber and low when she entered. Zorah was seated by the small hearth, and Azran was curled against her side with his eyes at half-mast, losing his long battle with sleep. He had dirt on one ear that had survived a bath. Zorah was running a hand slowly over his hair, and neither of them noticed Tahla for a moment.

She stood in the doorway and looked at them.

She told herself she would not cry again.

Zorah looked up and smiled after she smelled Tahla’s scent, and Tahla crossed the room and sat beside her mother and explained, quietly, the shape of the plan. The warriors' names. Their rotation. Which path Varek would be brought along. Which parts of the sanctuary remained closed to him. Zorah listened without interrupting, her hand still moving gently over Azran's hair.

When Tahla finished, her mother simply said, "Good."

That was enough.

Azran shifted and made a small discontented sound without waking. Tahla reached over and tucked his blanket more firmly around his shoulders. He settled again immediately. She watched his face go smooth and trusting in sleep, all the noise and motion of him quieted, and she felt the familiar ache of loving something so much it frightened her.

"Stay tonight," Zorah said. It was not quite a question.

Tahla glanced at the door, thought briefly of her own house, her own hearth, the perfectly reasonable option of walking back to it.

"Alright," she said.

She did not move from her place. The fire crackled. Azran breathed slowly beside her. And after a while, without meaning to, Tahla leaned her head against her mother's shoulder, and Zorah's arm came around her.

She was a leader. She was an alpha. She had built something out of ruin that even she sometimes could not quite believe was real.

But in this small room, with the fire low and her son sleeping and her mother's arms around her, none of that weight had anywhere to land. She was simply her mother's daughter. Held. Warm. And most importantly, safe.

She closed her eyes.

For tonight, that was enough.