Chapter 10: The Alpha's Heart (Aiden's POV)
1001words
Luna has been there for as long as I can remember. A constant presence, her scent as familiar to me as my own. As children, she followed me everywhere, her small hand in mine, her laughter the soundtrack to my rare moments of freedom from training. I never questioned her devotion. Never examined why her smile made something in my chest loosen, why her tears made my wolf snarl with protective fury.
"An Alpha cannot be ruled by sentiment," my grandmother would say, her voice cold as she pulled me away from play. "Attachment is weakness. The pack must always come first."
So I learned to stiffen when Luna hugged me. To ignore the hurt in her eyes when I canceled plans. To pretend I didn't notice how she blossomed from the awkward girl who chased me into a woman whose scent made my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.
When we were sixteen and her first heat triggered my rut, confirming what everyone had suspected—that we were true mates—I felt equal parts terror and relief. Terror because I didn't know how to be what she needed. Relief because some primal part of me had always known she was mine.
Our mating ceremony three years ago should have changed everything. Instead, I brought all my old fears into our marriage. Every time I found myself relaxing in her presence, enjoying her touch, craving her company, my grandmother's voice would echo in my mind: weakness, distraction, failure.
So I kept my distance. Maintained control. Told myself it was for the best—that I was protecting her from the parts of me that were too rough, too damaged for someone as gentle as Luna.
Eliza was... convenient. Not in the way pack gossips implied—she was truly like a sister to me. But her constant needs gave me an excuse to avoid the intensity of what I felt for Luna. When Eliza called, I answered, grateful for the distraction from the confusion of my own heart.
Our anniversary was supposed to be different. I'd planned to try, really try, to be the mate Luna deserved. But then Eliza collapsed at the main house, and Grandmother insisted I take her to the hospital immediately. "Family obligation," she called it, though now I wonder if she orchestrated the whole thing.
When Luna called from that cellar, something in me refused to believe it was real. Not because I didn't trust her, but because the alternative—that she was truly in danger while I sat in a hospital waiting room for tests that would reveal nothing more serious than dehydration—was unthinkable.
By the time I realized my mistake, by the time I tracked her scent to that abandoned farmhouse and found the cellar empty, the damage was done. The look in her eyes when I found her—pain, yes, but worse, resignation. As if I'd finally confirmed what she'd always feared: that she didn't matter to me.
I said terrible things. Accused her of attention-seeking when she was traumatized and hurt. My wolf howled in protest even as the words left my mouth, but I couldn't stop them—couldn't bear to show how terrified I'd been, how the thought of losing her had shattered something fundamental inside me.
When she left, I told myself it was temporary. Luna always came back, no matter how badly I behaved. She was the constant in my life, the one person who saw past the Alpha to the man beneath.
Except this time, she didn't come back.
The first week without her, I functioned on autopilot. The second week, I couldn't sleep, her scent still lingering on our sheets. By the third week, I was a wreck—snapping at pack members, missing important meetings, staring at my phone willing it to ring.
That's when I knew. What I felt for Luna wasn't obligation or habit or even simple desire. It was love—had always been love—though I'd been too stubborn, too afraid to name it.
Finding Victor Blackwell wasn't difficult. Confronting him alone was reckless, but I couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt. I needed to look in the eyes of the man who had terrorized my mate, who had made her feel helpless when I should have been protecting her.
I didn't expect his friends. Didn't anticipate the ambush. The fight was brutal and quick—five against one, though I managed to ensure Victor would never threaten Luna again before they overwhelmed me.
The pain was excruciating, but as I lay bleeding in that abandoned warehouse, all I could think was: at least she's safe now.
Jacob found me hours later, barely conscious. The pack doctor said I was lucky to be alive. Three broken ribs, punctured lung, deep claw marks down my back that will never fully heal. I made them all swear not to tell Luna. She'd made her choice to leave, and I wouldn't use my injuries to manipulate her return.
But in the quiet of night, when the pain medication wore off and sleep eluded me, I found myself reaching for her across our bond. Somehow—perhaps because of our child growing within her—I could project my consciousness to where she slept. Could watch over her, ensure she was safe, occasionally dare to brush a ghostly touch across her cheek.
I told myself it was enough. That I could live with just these stolen moments if it meant she was happy, building the life she deserved.
Then today, seeing her in person—her scent mingled with our child's, her body nurturing the life we'd created together—I realized I've been lying to myself again.
It's not enough. It will never be enough.
I want my mate back. Not as a possession or an obligation, but as my partner, my equal, my heart.
I just don't know if I've realized it too late.
