Claimed By The Hidden Alpha

Chapter Eleven

RILEY

The creek runs cold enough to numb, but I stay submerged until my lungs scream protest. Underwater, the world reduces to pressure and darkness—no thoughts, no guilt, no memory of how that rogue's body came apart in my hands like wet paper.

When I surface, gasping, the forest remains exactly as I left it. Pine trees silent witnesses. Late afternoon sun slanting through branches in dusty rays. The normal world continuing while I drown in what I've become.

My hands shake as I examine them. Clean now, scrubbed raw against creek stones until they bled. But I still see the blood. Still feel the resistance of flesh and bone before everything gave way. The wet sound haunts me worse than the screaming.

You saved them.

I jolt upright, water sluicing off bare skin. She stands on the bank, dark hair loose around her shoulders, silver eyes reflecting the creek's movement. Lyra. Of course it's Lyra. She probably tracked me through the woods like I'm some wounded animal that needs collecting.

"How did you find me?"

Her hand touches her chest, right over her heart. Then points to mine. The gesture needs no translation—she felt me. Through whatever bond connects us, she followed my distress like a beacon.

"You shouldn't be out here alone." I wade toward the bank, suddenly conscious of my nakedness. "Those rogues could still be—"

She holds up one hand, forestalling my concern. Her other hand moves in signs I'm getting better at reading: Tom and Kyle are fifty yards back. I'm not alone.

Right. The pack wouldn't let their omega wander unprotected. Not after what happened in the grove.

I grab my shredded jeans from the rocks, pulling them on without bothering to dry off first. Denim clings to wet skin, uncomfortable and grounding. Real. The fabric scrapes against my thighs, a reminder that I still occupy a physical body even if my mind feels scattered across the forest floor.

You've been gone for hours. Her signs come slower now, making sure I catch each word. Everyone's worried.

"Everyone should be relieved I left before I could hurt someone else."

The look she gives me could strip paint. She closes the distance between us in three strides, bare feet silent on creek stones. Her hand reaches for my face, and I flinch back.

"Don't. I'm not—I can't control what I am around you."

Good.

The word transfers directly into my mind as her palm connects with my cheek. That impossible silence blooms between us, drowning out the white noise of guilt and self-loathing. Just her presence, warm and certain, flooding through our connection.

You think I want you controlled? Her thoughts taste like honey and smoke. You think I need you tamed?

"I ripped someone apart." The confession tears from my throat. "In front of Marie and Mia. They'll have nightmares for years because of what I did."

They'll have nightmares about what almost happened if you hadn't. Her thumb traces my jawline, and I have to close my eyes against the sensation. That rogue touched me. Intended to take me. Would have hurt those girls just because they were there.

"There had to be another way."

Name one. The challenge comes sharp through our link. Talk him down? Reason with someone who sees people as commodities? Wait for backup while he dragged me into the woods?

She's right. I know she's right. But that doesn't erase the visceral memory of destruction, the way my wolf celebrated the kill even as my human mind recoiled.

"I scared you." My voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I saw your face. You were terrified."

Her other hand finds my chest, palm flat over my racing heart. I was terrified before you arrived. Terrified during the fight. Terrified when I thought you might leave because you're too stubborn to see yourself clearly.

"What do you see when you look at me?"

The question hangs between us, vulnerable in a way I didn't intend. But her silver eyes hold mine, unwavering.

Everything.

The single word carries weight—past, present, future collapsed into one syllable. She pulls back slightly, creating enough space to sign properly.

I see the boy who reads astronomy books to his little brother. The man who throws himself between danger and people he barely knows. The wolf who recognizes his mate and would burn the world to keep her safe. She pauses, making sure I'm tracking each sign. I see someone fighting so hard to be good that he can't recognize when he already is.

"I'm not good, Lyra. Good people don't—"

Her kiss cuts off my protest.

Soft lips against mine, tentative and sweet, tasting of mint and something wilder. The contact explodes through our bond—her emotions flooding into me without filter. Desire, yes, but also fierce certainty. Pride in my strength. Trust in my control, even when I don't trust it myself.

I freeze, terrified to move, to respond, to take what she's offering when my hands are still metaphorically stained. But she doesn't pull away. Just keeps kissing me with patient determination, like she's trying to convince my body of what my mind refuses to accept.

When she finally breaks contact, my chest heaves like I've been running. Her pupils are blown wide, silver nearly swallowed by black.

Still think you're a monster?

"I think you're insane." But my voice lacks conviction. "I could hurt you."

You won't.

"How can you possibly know that?"

Because I've been in your head. Her signs come faster now, urgent. I've felt what you feel when you look at me. The wolf knows the difference between prey and mate. Between threat and treasure. You couldn't hurt me if you tried.

"That's a hell of an assumption to bet your life on."

I already have. She steps closer, until our bodies nearly touch. Heat radiates from where we almost connect, magnetic pull fighting the last inches of distance. Six months I've carried this bond. Painted your face. Dreamed your wolf. Felt every transformation, every hunt, every moment of fear and rage and loneliness.

Her hand hovers over my chest, asking permission. I nod, not trusting my voice, and her palm settles over my heart.

I know you, Riley Stoker. Better than you know yourself. And I'm not afraid.

The declaration undoes something in my chest. Not the wolf—that's been pacing and growling since the creek—but the human parts, the pieces that have been locked down tight since Dad died. Since I woke up in this impossible life surrounded by impossible truths.

"I don't know how to do this." The admission costs more than violence ever could. "How to be what you need. What the pack expects. How to exist in my own skin without feeling like I'm wearing someone else's bones."

Then learn. Simple, direct, infuriating in its clarity. Stop running from what you are and start figuring out how to live with it.

"And if I can't?"

Then we'll figure it out together. She pulls my head down, pressing her forehead to mine. The position feels sacred somehow, intimate beyond the physical. But you don't get to make that choice alone. Not when it affects us both.

Through our connection, I feel her absolute conviction. No doubt, no fear, just bone-deep certainty that whatever I am, whatever I become, she's already chosen to stand beside me.

"You're impossible." But I'm smiling despite everything. "Completely, utterly impossible."

So I've been told. Her answering smile transforms her face, and something in my chest cracks open. Now come home. Nana's making her healing stew, and Miranda wants to discuss defensive training. Plus, Marie and Mia have been asking about you nonstop.

The thought of facing those girls after what they witnessed makes my stomach clench. "They probably hate me."

They've been arguing over who gets to sit next to you at dinner. She starts walking, trusting I'll follow. Mia thinks your fire ability is the coolest thing she's ever seen. Marie wants to know if you can teach her to fight like that.

"They're children. They shouldn't—"

They're pack children who understand violence isn't always evil. She glances back over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Coming?

Tom and Kyle materialize from the trees like they've been part of the landscape. Both acknowledge me with brief nods, no judgment visible in their expressions. Professional masks firmly in place.

"Alpha wants a debrief when you're ready." Tom falls into step beside me, movements casual but alert. "No rush. Tomorrow morning works."

The walk back feels longer than it should. Every shadow could hide threats, every bird call might signal danger. But Lyra walks ahead with perfect confidence, bare feet finding purchase on uneven ground like she's walked this path a thousand times.

Probably has. This is her home, her territory, her pack. I'm the interloper trying to fit into a world that operates on rules I'm still learning.

We emerge from the forest into late afternoon chaos. The compound buzzes with activity—patrol rotations changing, workers securing the perimeter, someone shouting about dinner preparations. Normal life continuing despite this morning's breach.

"Riley!"

Mia barrels across the yard before anyone can stop her, slamming into me with enough force to stagger anyone human. I catch her automatically, and she wraps thin arms around my waist in a death grip.

"We were so worried! Marie said you might leave without saying goodbye, and I told her that was stupid because obviously you wouldn't do that, but she said—"

"Breathe," I manage, awkwardly patting her back. Over her head, I catch Lyra's expression—soft and knowing, like she's watching something important.

Marie approaches with more restraint, but her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You came back."

"Where else would I go?"

"Anywhere." She says it matter-of-factly, adult observation in a teenager's voice. "When something bad happens, people leave. That's just how it works."

The casual acceptance of abandonment hits harder than it should. These girls have seen pack members come and go, learned young that nothing's permanent. That even family can vanish when things get difficult.

"I'm not going anywhere." The words surprise me, but they feel true. "Not without saying goodbye. And probably not even then, since your mom would hunt me down."

That earns a watery laugh. Marie steps forward, then hesitates. "Can I hug you? Or is that weird? I don't know the rules for this."

"There are no rules." I open my arms, and she crashes into me with Mia, both girls clinging like I'm the last solid thing in a liquid world. "Except maybe that you two need to stop growing. You're getting too tall."

"I'm the same height as yesterday," Mia points out, muffled against my chest.

"Exactly. Stay that way."

Miranda appears on the porch, expression unreadable. But when our eyes meet, something in her face softens. She nods once—acknowledgment or approval, I can't tell which—before disappearing back inside.

"Come on," Marie finally releases me, swiping at her eyes. "Dinner's almost ready, and if we're late, Dylan eats all the good bread."

They drag me toward the dining hall, chattering about their day like nothing happened. Like I didn't spend hours convinced I'd become exactly the monster I feared. Lyra follows at a distance, giving the girls space but maintaining her presence like an anchor.

The dining hall smells of rosemary and roasted meat, long tables already filling with pack members. Conversations pause as we enter, dozens of eyes tracking my progress. But there's no fear in their gazes. Curiosity, yes. Assessment. But also something that might be respect.

"Saved our blessed healer," someone murmurs. "Took down two rogues single-handed."

"Did you see what was left? Nothing but ash and righteousness."

"About time someone showed Hunter what a real alpha looks like."

The praise feels unearned, but I keep my expression neutral as the girls guide me to their usual table. Lyra slides in across from me, and having her in my line of sight eases something I didn't know was tight.

Dinner passes in a blur of passing plates and casual conversation. The pack slowly relaxes around me, the tension from this morning's attack easing into evening normalcy. Someone tells a joke that's probably funnier than it sounds. Dylan does indeed try to hoard bread until Marie smacks his hand.

Through it all, I'm hyperaware of Lyra. The way she signs responses to questions from neighboring pack members. How her eyes find mine across the table, holding for a beat too long before looking away. The small smile that plays at her lips when Mia recounts the mushroom expedition with dramatic embellishment.

"—and then Riley just appeared, like he teleported or something! One second nothing, the next boom! Fire and fury and that rogue didn't even know what hit him!"

"I ran," I interrupt quietly. "Fast, but not teleportation."

"It looked like teleportation," Mia insists. "One second Lyra's about to get grabbed, the next you're there and everything's on fire."

"Because that's not terrifying at all," Marie adds dryly, but there's no malice in it. "I'd give anything for fire powers. All I can do is shift faster than most. Totally boring."

"Shifting fast isn't boring." Kyle leans over from the adjacent table, grinning. "Saved your ass during border training last month."

"That was one time!"

The conversation flows around me, comfortable and chaotic, and I let myself exist in it without overthinking. Just another dinner, another evening, another moment of normal in a life that's been anything but.

After dinner, pack members disperse to evening activities. Someone starts a fire in the central pit, and guitars materialize from nowhere. Music drifts across the compound, old songs I half-recognize mixed with things that sound like they were written for voices that aren't quite human.

Lyra touches my elbow, gesturing toward the path that leads away from the main buildings. Away from the noise and the people and the expectations. I follow without hesitation.

We walk in comfortable silence, the evening warm enough that I don't miss a shirt. Lightning bugs blink between the trees, nature's own constellation. The forest settles around us, a living presence that's becoming familiar instead of foreign.

Her cottage appears through the dusk, windows glowing softly. She pushes open the door, and I hover on the threshold.

"You sure? Because I can—"

She reaches back, catches my hand, and pulls me inside.

The space smells like her—oil paint and wild honeysuckle, herbs drying in bundles overhead. Canvases lean against every available surface, and I'm struck again by how many of them feature my face. Different angles, different moods, but always me. Always seen with more clarity than I've ever managed in a mirror.

"These are incredible." I move deeper into the room, drawn to a half-finished piece on the easel. It shows the moment in the grove—my wolf mid-transformation, flames dancing along my skin, eyes gone gold with protective fury. But she's captured something else too. The fear underneath the rage. The boy terrified of what he's becoming.

She stands beside me, our shoulders nearly touching. Her hand finds mine, and the connection blooms between us.

I see all of you, her thought whispers through my mind. The darkness and the light. The fear and the strength. All of it matters. All of it makes you who you are.

"Who am I?" The question comes out raw. "Because I don't know anymore. The life I planned is gone. The person I thought I was doesn't exist. All I have left is this—" I gesture vaguely at myself, at the wolf lurking under my skin, "—and I have no idea what to do with it."

So we figure it out. She turns to face me fully, both hands finding mine now. You don't have to have all the answers today. Or tomorrow. Or next month.

"The pack expects—"

The pack can wait. Her signs are emphatic, brooking no argument. Right now, you need to stop trying to be what everyone expects and just be.

"I don't know how."

Then let me show you.

She rises on her toes, and this time when she kisses me, I don't freeze. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer, and she melts against me with a soft sound that goes straight to my gut. The kiss deepens, her fingers tangling in my hair while our bond crackles with shared heat.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, her pupils are blown wide. Her pulse hammers visibly in her throat, and I want to press my lips there, feel her heartbeat against my mouth.

Stay, she thinks at me, simple and direct. Not for s*x. Not yet. Just... stay. Let me hold you. Let me prove you're not the monster you think you are.

Every instinct screams to run, to put distance between us before I hurt her. But her silver eyes hold mine, steady and certain, and I find myself nodding.

She guides me to her bed—a nest of quilts and pillows that smells overwhelmingly of her. I hesitate at the edge, but she simply crawls in and holds out her hand. Waiting. Patient.

I shed my ruined jeans and join her in just boxers, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. She curls into my side, head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Her hand splays across my heart, and the contact floods our link with contentment so pure it makes my chest ache.

Sleep, she thinks at me, already drifting. I've got you.

And somehow, impossibly, I do.