The Alpha's Biggest Regret

CHAPTER 2: Lies and Little Slips

The wall separating our bedroom from the guest suite was constructed of thick plaster and heavy timber, yet as I stared at the dark ceiling, I swore I could feel the space between the rooms shrinking. I had not slept a single wink. My eyes burned with dry exhaustion, but my mind raced, chasing shadows in the quiet dark.

I rolled over, my hand sweeping across the empty space beside me. The sheets were cold. Delroy had slipped out of bed around two in the morning. He murmured something about checking the perimeter guards because the winter winds were picking up. Usually, my inner wolf would settle back into a peaceful slumber knowing her mate was protecting our territory. Tonight, however, she paced relentlessly, her claws scraping against the edges of my consciousness in a constant, restless rhythm.

I pushed the heavy quilts aside and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. The wooden floorboards bit into my bare feet, grounding me in the freezing reality of the morning. I walked to the washbasin, splashing freezing water onto my face. I stared at my reflection in the dim morning light. My silver-gray eyes looked hollow, framed by dark circles. My pale skin lacked its usual warmth. I looked exactly like what I was: a woman carrying a heavy, invisible weight.

After dressing in a simple, high-collared navy dress, I stepped out into the hallway. The air was cool, carrying the familiar scents of aged wood and pine. But beneath that, lingering like a foul stain in the corridor, was the sweet, cloying aroma of vanilla and jasmine. It was thickest right outside the blue room’s heavy oak door.

I hurried down the sweeping staircase, eager to escape the scent. The packhouse kitchens were already bustling. Elicia, our head cook, was pulling a massive tray of roasted oats and salted pork from the iron stove. The rich, savory smell made my stomach twist into a tight knot rather than rumble with hunger.

"Good morning, Luna," Elicia greeted, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her smile faltered slightly as she took in my pale face. "You look tired. Shall I bring your breakfast to the Alpha’s study? He isn't in the main dining hall yet."

I paused, pouring myself a cup of black, bitter tea. "He isn't? Where is he?"

Elicia avoided my gaze, suddenly very interested in scrubbing a clean wooden cutting board. "He requested his breakfast in the southern sunroom. With the guests."

My fingers tightened around the ceramic handle of my mug. The sunroom was a smaller, intimate space. We usually only ate there on rare, quiet mornings when we wanted to avoid the bustling noise of the pack. I thanked Elicia and walked down the long, portrait-lined corridor toward the back of the estate.

As I approached the glass-paned doors of the sunroom, I slowed my steps. The morning light poured through the tall windows, casting a bright, golden glow over the small circular table.

I stopped just outside the doorway, frozen in place.

Delroy was standing near the hearth, casually dressed in a soft gray sweater I had bought for him two winters ago. Róise stood right beside him. She was holding a delicate porcelain teacup, laughing softly at something he had just said. But it wasn't her bright, chiming laugh that made the breath lodge in my throat.

It was his hand.

Delroy’s large, calloused hand was resting flat against the curve of Róise’s lower back. His thumb was slowly, rhythmically stroking the fabric of her dress. It was not a stiff, formal touch. It was not the rigid, respectful distance an Alpha maintained with a pack member. It was deeply relaxed. It was the touch of a man who knew the exact shape of the waist he was holding. It was pure muscle memory.

A few feet away on the woven rug, the young boy, Rowan, was playing with a set of carved wooden blocks. He tried to stack a fourth block, but the small tower wobbled and collapsed.

Rowan let out a frustrated whine. He didn't look at his mother. He scrambled to his feet and ran straight toward Delroy.

"Up," the boy demanded, grabbing a handful of Delroy’s dark trousers.

Any other Alpha would have gently patted the child’s head or called for the mother to tend to her pup. Alphas were not known for their soft, domestic patience with children who were not their own blood.

Delroy didn't hesitate. His stern features melted into a soft, genuine smile—a smile I had not seen directed at me in over a year. He bent down, scooped the boy up under the arms, and hoisted him effortlessly onto his hip. Rowan immediately rested his head on Delroy’s broad shoulder, his small fingers twisting into the collar of Delroy’s sweater. Delroy leaned his cheek against the boy’s dark hair, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

A sharp, piercing ache ripped through my chest. My wolf let out a pathetic, wounded sound. They looked like a family. A perfect, unbroken family standing in the morning sun.

I forced my feet to move. I stepped into the doorway, letting the heel of my boot strike the floorboards loudly.

Delroy’s hand snatched away from Róise’s waist so fast it was a blur. The sheer guilt in that rapid movement was louder than a scream. His posture instantly stiffened, his jaw locking as his blue eyes darted to mine.

Róise turned, her green eyes wide and innocent, though a faint flush crept up her neck. "Oh! Good morning, Luna Evie. The Omegas brought us tea. I hope we aren't intruding on your morning routine."

"Not at all," I said. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—calm, smooth, completely hollow. I walked further into the room, setting my mug on the table. "Did you sleep well, Róise? I know the first night in a new place can be difficult."

Róise offered a sweet, trembling smile. "I slept wonderfully, thank you. Delroy was so kind. He made sure our hearth fire stayed fed so Rowan wouldn't catch a chill."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. He made sure our hearth fire stayed fed.

I looked at my mate. "You were tending fires at two in the morning? I thought you were checking the perimeter."

Delroy’s eyes narrowed into a dark, warning glare. He adjusted Rowan on his hip. "The night shift reported a drop in temperature. I checked the halls to ensure the guests were provided for. Is that an issue, Evie?"

"No," I replied, keeping my chin high. I turned my attention to the little boy. I needed to break the picture they were painting. I stepped closer, holding my arms out and offering a warm, motherly smile. "You look heavy, little one. Come here, let me take you so the Alpha can eat his breakfast."

Rowan took one look at my outstretched hands and immediately shrank away. He buried his face deeper into Delroy’s neck, whimpering softly.

Instead of encouraging the boy, Delroy took a distinct, large step backward, physically pulling the child away from me.

"Leave him be, Evie," Delroy snapped, his voice sharp and loud in the quiet room. "You’re scaring him. You always come on too strong."

Elicia had just walked through the doorway carrying a fresh platter of fruit. She stopped dead in her tracks. The two Omegas behind her lowered their heads instantly, their eyes glued to the floor.

A hot, burning rush of shame flooded my cheeks. He had rebuked me. He had spoken to me like a scolding parent dealing with an unruly child, right in front of the pack staff. He made me look like an aggressor in my own home, all to protect a woman who was supposed to be a stranger.

I slowly lowered my empty hands. I did not look at the Omegas. I looked only at Delroy.

"My apologies," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I turned on my heel and walked out of the sunroom, my spine completely rigid.

I didn't go to the dining hall. I marched straight to Delroy’s private study at the front of the estate. I paced in front of his heavy mahogany desk, my hands trembling with a mixture of raw hurt and brewing, protective fury. I waited. Ten minutes later, the door handle clicked.

Delroy walked in, closing the door behind him. He looked annoyed, already reaching for a stack of border patrol logs on his desk.

"What is it, Evie?" he sighed, not looking at me. "I have a lot of work to catch up on today. I don't have time for your moods."

"My moods?" I repeated, the incredulity bleeding into my tone. I stepped around the desk, forcing him to look at me. "I want to know what is going on, Delroy."

He flipped open a leather-bound folder. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I saw your hand on her waist," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "I saw how you looked at her. And the boy... he reached for you. He demanded you pick him up like he has known you his entire life. Why is a stranger's child so comfortable with you?"

Delroy slammed the folder shut. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet study. He stood up, towering over me, his broad chest rising and falling with sudden anger.

"Are you actually insane?" he demanded, his voice a harsh, biting growl. "Are you listening to yourself right now?"

I refused to step back. "I am not blind. Your thumb was stroking her waist. That is not how an Alpha comforts a grieving widow. That is intimacy."

"It's called compassion!" Delroy shouted, leaning forward until he was entirely in my space. The scent of pine and heavy, warning Alpha pheromones filled the air. "Something you clearly know nothing about. The woman lost her mate. That boy lost his father. I am their Alpha. It is my sworn duty to protect them, and of course the boy seeks a father figure. He is terrified and alone!"

"He didn't look terrified!" I shot back, my heart pounding against my ribs. "He looked like he was greeting his—"

"Stop!" Delroy roared, slamming his fist onto the mahogany desk. I flinched, my wolf dropping her belly to the floor in submission to the Alpha command.

Delroy stared down at me, his blue eyes entirely devoid of warmth. They were cold, calculating, and cruel.

"You are paranoid, Evie," he said, his voice dropping into a low, venomous sneer. "You are twisting innocent gestures into ugly accusations because you are insecure. You are seeing ghosts where there are none."

"I am not insecure," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

"Yes, you are," he stepped closer, backing me toward the heavy bookshelf. "You watch a grieving mother walk into this packhouse, and instead of helping her, your first instinct is toxic, pathetic jealousy. You see her holding her child, and it reminds you of your own failures."

A cold sweat broke out across my skin. "Delroy, don't."

He didn't stop. He wanted it to hurt. "You haven't given this pack an heir in seven years, Evie. Seven years. Maybe if you focused on your duties—on giving this pack a future—you wouldn't have so much free time to invent these paranoid fantasies about a widow."

The words were a brutal slap across the face. They knocked the breath from my lungs. A coppery taste flooded my mouth as I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep my chin from trembling. My inability to conceive had been a quiet, shared sorrow between us. Now, he was weaponizing it, turning my deepest pain into a blade to defend another woman.

I stared at the man I had loved since I was a teenager. He looked entirely foreign to me.

Delroy straightened his jacket, his face an emotionless mask. "Get your head straight, Evie. Start acting like a Luna. Because right now, you are acting like a bitter, barren child."

He walked past me, pulling the heavy study doors open and letting them slam shut in his wake.

I stood alone in the quiet room for a long time. The silence was ringing in my ears. I felt sick. My stomach churned, and a cold numbness spread from my chest to my fingertips. Was I crazy? Was the stress of running the pack finally causing me to fracture? He sounded so convinced, so righteously angry.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my burning eyes, trying to regulate my breathing.

I needed air. I needed to get out of this room before the walls crushed me.

I walked out of the study, my legs feeling like lead. I climbed the grand staircase slowly, intending to lock myself in my bedroom until my hands stopped shaking.

As I walked down the East Wing corridor, I noticed the heavy oak door of the blue room was slightly ajar.

I didn't want to look. I wanted to keep walking. But a soft, melodic humming drifted through the crack in the door. I slowed my steps, my bare feet making no sound on the woven runner rug.

I peaked through the narrow gap.

Róise was standing in front of the tall vanity mirror. The morning sunlight caught the golden strands of her hair. She was humming a lullaby. A very specific, old lullaby. It was the song Delroy’s late mother used to sing. Delroy had only ever hummed it to me in the darkest, quietest hours of the night when we were entirely alone. How could Schuyler’s widow possibly know a melody so deeply private to the Alpha bloodline?

My breath hitched.

Róise reached into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a long, delicate gold chain. She lifted it up, letting the heavy pendant catch the light before bringing her hands behind her neck to clasp it.

I stared at the reflection of the necklace in the mirror. It was a heavy gold oval, engraved with a tiny, intricate rose on the front face.

Three years ago, Delroy returned from a diplomatic trip to the human city. He was devastated, claiming he had been robbed by rogues on the road and had lost his grandmother’s antique gold locket. I had spent an entire week organizing search parties, scouring the muddy borders in the freezing rain to find it for him. He had held me, kissing my forehead, telling me it was gone forever.

I watched, paralyzed, as Róise smoothed her fingers lovingly over the gold rose resting perfectly against her collarbone.

She caught my reflection in the mirror.

Róise didn't gasp. She didn't look away. Instead, a slow, sharp smile spread across her lips. Her green eyes locked onto mine through the glass, devoid of any fear or innocence. It was a look of pure, triumphant ownership.

My paranoia vanished, instantly replaced by a cold, terrifying clarity.