The Alpha’s Regret
1525 Words
Dawn bled softly over Silvercrest Valley. The forest steamed with the ghost of the night’s battle—ashes, pine, and the faint copper scent of blood. Birds began to call again, hesitant at first, as if testing whether the world was safe.
Jason stood on the ridge above the pack’s training field, bare-chested, bruised, and haunted. His men were patching wounds, dragging carcasses of fallen rogues to burn. The victory felt hollow. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—white fur streaked with crimson, eyes glowing like the moon itself. She had fought beside him as if she had never left, and that was what terrified him most.
Nora Hale.
The Luna he betrayed.
The ghost he had begged the Goddess to forgive him for.
He tightened the bandage on his forearm until pain shot through his wrist. It grounded him; it reminded him he was still alive, still the Alpha. But even that title felt like a lie when he thought of how easily she’d commanded the battle without a word.
A rustle behind him.
He didn’t need to turn to know.
> “You always did like pretending the view could answer your guilt,”
she said quietly.
He exhaled, mist curling from his breath. “I didn’t expect you to stay the night.”
> “Don’t flatter yourself,”
Nora replied. She stepped up beside him, boots crunching over the frost. Her hair was damp from washing off blood, and a s***h along her cheek glimmered silver where healing had already begun. She wore a dark cloak that hid most of her body—but not her scent. The forest, storm, and something dangerously feminine.
> “The rogues may circle back,”
she continued. “Leaving before sunrise would be stupid.”
Jason looked at her then. Her profile was sharp against the rising light, all strength and silence. He’d thought seeing her again would feel like punishment. Instead it felt like gravity.
> “You shouldn’t have fought with us,”
he muttered. “You could’ve been killed.”
> “Don’t pretend you care, Alpha.”
The word stung. Alpha, not Jason. She spoke it like a curse.
> “You left me no pack,”
she said, voice calm but edged with steel. “Now I’m the kind of wolf who doesn’t need one.”
He swallowed. “I know what I did.”
> “Do you?”
“Every night,” he said. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Silence settled. Wind threaded through the pines. Somewhere below, warriors called orders, but up here, only their heartbeats filled the space.
Nora’s hand brushed the wound on his arm—an instinct, a healer’s reflex she couldn’t smother. Her fingers glowed faintly with pack magic before she caught herself and drew back.
> “You’re still bleeding,” she said.
“You still care,” he answered.
Her eyes met his—silver clashing with gold—and for one impossible second, the bond roared alive. Heat, pain, memory. His wolf pressed against his skin, whining, begging to close the distance. Hers snarled in warning. Two halves of a shattered whole.
She stepped back. “Control your wolf, Jason. I’m not yours anymore.”
> “That bond says otherwise.”
> “That bond died the night you chose power over me.”
The words landed like claws. He didn’t try to defend himself; there were no excuses left. Only regret, heavy and relentless.
---
By noon, the pack house was buzzing. He gave orders mechanically, aware of her presence in every corner. The others avoided looking at her—some in fear, some in awe. Rumors had already spread: the Rogue Queen, the lost Luna, the woman who’d killed ten rogues alone.
In the council room, she stood by the window while he debriefed his Betas. When the meeting ended, they all filed out except her.
> “You plan to stay long?” he asked.
> “Until I find out who’s behind those rogues,” she said. “Then I’m gone.”
> “You could stay,” he said before thinking. “The pack—”
> “The pack?” She laughed softly. “Your pack cast me out. You marked another.”
His throat tightened. “She’s gone.”
> “So now I’m convenient again?”
He stepped closer, jaw tight. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t wake up seeing your face every damned night?”
Nora turned, eyes flashing. “Then maybe you should’ve fought for it.”
The air cracked between them. Power hummed—Alpha and Luna energy clashing, merging, resisting. He could smell the charge of it, feel his pulse sync with hers. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world might shatter if he touched her.
He didn’t. Not yet.
> “You said the rogues aren’t random,” he managed. “What did you find?”
She hesitated, arms folded. “Someone’s using forbidden magic. Moon-binding sigils. They shouldn’t exist anymore.”
> “Meaning?”
> “Meaning your pack is being hunted, Jason. And the threat isn’t outside the valley—it’s inside.”
Her words sank like stone. He wanted to ask more, but she was already walking away.
> “Nora—”
She paused at the door. “Get some rest, Alpha. You look like hell.”
> “You worry too much.”
> “I stopped worrying years ago,” she said, without turning. “Now I just watch people pay for what they did.”
The door shut softly behind her.
Night returned sooner than it should have.
Rain crept over Silvercrest in a thin mist, turning the dirt paths to black glass and wrapping the pack house in a hush that felt almost sacred. Jason couldn’t sleep. He stood on the balcony outside his room, shirt half-open, staring at the border lights flickering in the distance.
Every sound of the forest was her—every drop, every breath of wind. Regret was a physical thing now, sitting heavy in his chest.
Inside, a door creaked. He caught the scent before he heard her steps.
> “You’re going to catch cold,”
she said quietly.
He turned. Nora stood framed by the doorway, barefoot, hair damp, wrapped in one of the healer’s linen robes. Moonlight made her look almost unreal—half angel, half weapon.
> “Couldn’t sleep,”
he said.
> “Guilt has that effect.”
Jason smiled without humor. “So does seeing the ghost of the woman you ruined.”
> “I’m not your ghost, Jason. I’m the consequence.”
Her words were simple, but they sliced through the fog around him. He nodded once, accepting it. “Then stay long enough to finish what you started.”
> “And what’s that?”
> “Making me pay.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then thunder rolled far off, and Nora stepped beside him, resting her hands on the cold railing. The rain hit them both, gentle but insistent.
> “The rogues weren’t alone,”
she said finally.
“There’s something binding them—a curse that smells of old Luna blood.”
> “You think someone from inside—”
> “I think someone wants your throne,” she cut in. “And they’ll burn the valley to get it.”
Jason looked at her profile. “Then you’ll help me stop them?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached up and touched the scar at the base of his throat—the one she’d left when he’d rejected her. Her fingers trembled.
> “You still carry it,” she murmured.
> “I deserve to.”
> “Maybe,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “But guilt doesn’t rebuild a pack.”
He caught her wrist, gently. “Neither does hate.”
The air thickened. Their wolves stirred again—hers wary, his desperate. For a heartbeat they weren’t Alpha and Rogue Queen, but the two young wolves who had once believed in destiny. The rain blurred everything except the heat between them.
She pulled away first. “You should rest. We hunt at dawn.”
> “Nora—”
> “Don’t,” she whispered. “If you say my name like that again, I might forget why I hate you.”
He let her go. She disappeared into the corridor, footsteps fading. Jason stayed until the storm eased, until the horizon began to pale.
When the first light broke, he whispered to the empty air
> I never stop loving you
---
The next morning
The pack gathered in the courtyard. Orders were sharp, weapons gleamed. Nora stood apart, cloaked and armed, every inch the queen she’d become. Jason met her eyes across the crowd. Neither spoke, but the bond pulsed once—acknowledgment, warning, promise.
Somewhere deep in the forest, another howl answered. The war wasn’t over. Neither was whatever still burned between them.
- Writer
