Prologue. The dream and the whip. In the outskirts of Lyken Ridge, far from the main town’s heart, where the roads narrowed and the lights faded, stood an aging two-bedroom house surrounded by weeds and silence. Behind that house, nature reclaimed itself.

 Vast woods stretching endlessly, folding into the ancient mist soaked forests of Cra. The trees there had no boundaries, no fences, no voices, only secrets. Inside the small house, the storm raged. Rain slammed against the roof like thrown stones, and thunder rolled with a guttural growl of something restless. The world outside had turned wet and wild.

 But in the second bedroom upstairs, a girl slept. 17-year-old Alice. She was beautiful, even in stillness. long blonde hair falling like a halo around her pale face and blue eyes that when open held too much sorrow for someone her age. She was kindest in a cruel world, comforting to creatures that others feared. Her silence wasn’t emptiness. It was survival.

That night, the television downstairs played loud enough to shake the floorboards. Static, gunshots, shouting, the kind of noise that tried to drown out everything real. But Alice knew it well. It meant he was still down there. Her father, Donald Matthew, a large, muscular man, built like a wall and just as cold.

 His dark brown hair had started to gray at the temples, though he was barely 40. His demeanor filled the house like a choking fog, dominant, angry, unpredictable. He had fallen asleep or passed out on the couch again. The whiskey bottle still in his hand, his boots still muddy. Even the neighbors wouldn’t dare complain. Not after the last time. Upstairs, Alice curled up in bed, too scared to use a blanket.

 Her room was always cold, her mattress thin. The window leaked at the edges, letting the icy air crawl across her skin. She shivered, arms wrapped around herself. Her lip was split from earlier. A flash of rage from her father had backhanded her into the corner wall. She hadn’t cried, not out loud, anyway.

 The bruise on her mouth bled slowly onto her pillow, but her breathing steadied because tonight of all nights, she was falling into a dream. And somehow, against all odds, it was a good one. She didn’t question how she got there. Dreams didn’t require logic. They were only moments, bright and fleeting. And in this one, Alice was running, not from anything, not toward anything, just running. Her body was no longer her frail human shell, bruised and shivering.

 In the dream, she was a silver wolf, large, graceful, breathtaking. The ground blurred beneath her paws, leaves bursting beneath her weight. The golden light of sunset painted the trees and molten fire, and she darted through the woods with wind in her fur and laughter in her lungs. She had never felt so alive. She had never felt so free.

 No voices screaming her name, no fists, no silence forced upon her, no cold, no fear, only wind and warmth until everything changed. The golden hue faded. Smoke crept along the forest floor, black and slow like oil. Trees caught fire without warning, crackling, hissing, clawing upward into the sky.

 The woods around her burned alive. She skidded to a stop, but she was already deep inside, trapped. She turned left, flames. She turned right. More smoke. She ran forward, but the fire raced faster than her paws could move. It surrounded her. She coughed, choked. Smoke filled her lungs and suddenly the warmth was gone. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her legs gave out.

 She collapsed onto the burning grass and just as her vision darkened. She saw him. Lightning split the sky. Followed by a growl that shook the dream itself. From the roaring inferno stepped a massive figure, a brown wolf easily triple her size. towering, eyes glowing faintly beneath the ash.

 A beast with presence, power, and something else, something almost familiar. But before she could reach for him, before she could call out, she woke up with a scream. Her eyes shot open to darkness. Her body jerked upward, soaked in sweat. Her throat burned as if the smoke had been real.

 Her fingers clawed at the bed sheet, panic rushing in like flood water. It took her a second to realize it was still night. The rain still fell. Thunder still echoed. And she was alone. Or so she thought. Her breaths came shallow quick. She blinked rapidly trying to clear her vision, trying to ground herself. Then she saw it. A shadow, a figure at her door. She froze. The shape was broad, familiar.

 Not the wolf, not from her dream. No, worse. When her vision cleared, her stomach sank. It was Donald. Her father stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the hallway light. His posture was stiff, unblinking. And in his right hand, he held something long, coiled, hissing against the wood floor like a serpent, a whip.

 Her eyes widened, her limbs locked. He tilted his head to the side, his voice low and thick from liquor, but no less cruel. “How dare you wake me up, cupcake?” he slurred. He flexed the whip in his hand, the leather stretching as he took a slow step forward. And in that moment, Alice’s fear snapped.

 She had been silent for so long, too long. She had swallowed screams for years. But this time, her voice came out cracked and raw from a throat that hadn’t spoken since childhood. “Help!” she screamed. Once, twice. The word tore from her like a blade from flesh. But no one answered. Not the neighbors, not the wind, not even the storm, just her voice echoing off the walls as the man stepped forward and the whip raised.

Welcome back to my channel. This is an audio book for The Alpha’s Tormented Mate. A tale of love, pain, betrayal, and redemption set in a world where light and darkness collide. Written and narrated by Cauliflower Campbell. If you’re new here, my channel creates stories for adults and teenagers with lessons and experiences to learn from. We post mainly on Saturdays.

 Our videos are in different genres and also in different forms. There are fulllength audio books and short chaptered audiobooks. Go to my channel page, subscribe, and check out the playlists for more fantasy, romance, thriller, mystery, suspense, and adventure.

 Prepare yourself for a breathtaking adventure filled with werewolves, forbidden magic, and a love that defies destiny. Don’t forget to subscribe to my channel. Become a member of my channel for exclusive and early access to stories and second parts of books. Let the story continue. Chapter 1. The silent girl. Alice had not spoken a word since the age of six.

 The day her mother, Iris, a beautiful woman with a calm demeanor, blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes just like her daughter, died in a tragic car accident while her parents were driving her to school. She remembered that morning. Her mother had been humming softly in the car, one hand on the wheel, the other brushing Alice’s bangs gently from her face at a red light. The sun had barely risen, painting the sky as sleepy gold.

 Iris smiled at her in the mirror. That smile burned in Alice’s mind like an after image. Then the crash happened. Metal screams, glass, then silence. Her father, Donald, a broken, abusive man consumed by grief and resentment, laid the blame squarely on her tiny shoulders every day, always blaming her for his misfortunes.

 If she hadn’t been driving your useless self, he would slur, “She’d still be alive.” His voice always stung worse than his fists. From that day on, her home became a prison of fear and pain. Bruises became her second skin. silence. Her only defense. She was the quiet girl, the strange one, the ghost in the school hallways. Nobody noticed her. Not really.

 She’d always wear a hoodie and block her ears from noise, pulling the sleeves down past her wrists, hiding the evidence. The day after, he brutally flogged her with the whip. He’d gone to his room and collapsed into a drunken stouper. Her back had bled through her shirt.

 She’d cleaned herself with a towel she kept hidden beneath her bed, biting into it to muffle the sound. That night, she thought of escaping, just disappearing. But where would she go? Who would take her in? She had no one to become a burden to, so she stayed. She moved quietly through the house that morning. Donald was still passed out. His snores echoed through the walls, his bottle rolling empty across the carpet.

Alice quickly packed some of the snacks he kept for himself, a halfeaten protein bar, a can of soda, two slices of dry bread. She slipped them into her bag. Then she put on her school uniform, a pleated navy skirt, white shirt and tie. She slid her hoodie over her head, letting the worn fabric hug her face and frame her in shadows.

 The sky outside was atmospheric and cloudy in the downtown of Lyken Ridge. The clouds hung low like heavy thoughts. The air smelled of wet pavement and pine trees. She walked to her high school in silence. The streets were slowly waking up. A few early buses growled by. Shopkeepers rolled up their gates. She passed a diner where the same tired man always flipped the open sign around 7:15.

Everything was routine. Everything except her pain. She stepped into the gates of Lyken Ridge High unnoticed as always. She had no friends and always kept to herself. She was a loner. Inside the school hallway, lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked. Students laughed and called out to each other.

 Alice ducked her head and walked toward her first class. A group of girls stood near the lockers. “That mute girl again,” one whispered, not quietly enough. “I bet she talks to ghosts or something,” another sneered. “She probably can’t even read,” someone else added with a giggle.

 “Alice walked past them, her eyes on the floor, her hands clutched her sleeves tightly. Her heartbeat didn’t rise. She was used to this, numb to it. A tall boy with dirty blonde hair and a Letterman jacket bumped into her on purpose as she passed. “Watch where you’re going, freak,” he said. “She said nothing. She always said nothing. In class, the teachers barely acknowledged her. Even after being best in class, the roll call would pause briefly and then skip.

 She never raised her hand. She didn’t make eye contact. Her grades were excellent, but she kept her head low. At lunch, she sat alone on a bench behind the gym, unwrapping one of the stolen snacks. The bread was stale, but she ate it anyway. Her bruises achd with every bite. Across the field, students laughed and played.

Somewhere, someone tossed a football. Someone else called for pizza. She chewed in silence. The bell rang, and she returned to her next class. then the next, each one blurring into the other. Chapter 2. A glimpse of fate. The hallway smelled of cheap deodorant, ink, and the lingering tension of teenagers trapped too long under fluorescent lights.

 Alice Matthew walked the familiar path to her locker, her boots thutting lightly on the dull tile. As she rounded the final corner, her steps slowed. It was worse today. At first glance, they looked like harmless decorations, colorful, glittery, even cheerful. But up close, the message was cruy clear.

 Her locker door was covered in glittery stickers, band-aids, cartoon bruises, and fake inspirational quotes. “Heal fast, honey,” one said in curly pink writing. Another had a poorly drawn heart with the words, “Patch it up.” Inside, it was even worse. Torn pages of her books had been crumpled and shoved into the corners. Ripped photographs of her and her mom, taken when Alice was only four, fluttered to the ground.

 She bent slowly to pick it up, brushing dirt from the torn edge. She shoved the mess back into the locker and closed it gently, as if any sudden movement would shatter her even more. Her heart clenched. She didn’t cry. Not anymore. She’d spent too many nights holding herself silent through Donald’s rage. Too many mornings painting over bruises with cheap concealer.

 Crying was a luxury she’d stopped affording. She was used to being the girl from the broken home. The girl with bruises that didn’t come from sports, the girl who smiled less and studied more. Alice pushed her earbuds in, cranked the music until the bass shook her ribs, and headed to class. There in the back corner, her desk was always the same, slightly chipped, initials carved into the wood by someone long gone. She liked it. It had history, scars like hers.

 She slid into her seat and opened her worn notebook, scribbling journal entries the moment her pen touched the page. It wasn’t homework. Not yet. Just inked thoughts and half-finished poems, lines that bled from her like pressure from a wound. Every stroke of ink was her rebellion, her escape. The bell rang. Teachers droned. Hours passed in a blur of noise and shadows.

 When school ended, Alice barely noticed. Her body moved on muscle memory, collecting her things, slipping through the crowds. The hallway would be full again. And she wasn’t in a rush to go home. Home wasn’t safe. Her part-time job at Milliey’s corner store was the in between, the peace before the storm. Outside, the sun was dipping low, golden, tired, bleeding light through the clouds.

 She reached the school steps just as a commotion stirred behind her. Laughter, running feet. A boy, no older than 12, dashed past her, chased by a group of friends. His tousled brown hair bounced with every step, and his eyes, vivid emerald green, filled with joy, sparkled with youth she barely remembered feeling. He stumbled. Reflex kicked in.

 Alice caught his elbow before he hit the ground, steadying him. “Wo, there. Careful.” He blinked up at her, panting, eyes wide. “Thanks.” And then he was gone, sprinting down the hallway, lost in the crowd of boys. She watched him go with a faint, unfamiliar ache in her chest, a longing for a time when things were that simple. She smiled faintly, just a moment, a flicker of warmth, but it lingered.

 She stepped outside. The air had cooled, tinged with the scent of cut grass and approaching dusk. The parking lot buzzed with students leaving, horns honking, engines grumbling awake. Then something made her turn. Loud engines purred nearby. Then she saw them. Two gleaming GMC Hummer EV pickups sat by the edge of the lot, polished and menacing in the fading light.

Around them stood a group of four to five men, young, maybe early 20s, all muscular, all sharpeyed. There was something wild about them, something untamed beneath the clean lines of their clothes. Their skin was lightly tanned, their posture relaxed yet watchful. And then she saw him.

 The boy she’d helped ran up to the tallest among them, a man who stood slightly apart from the rest. His green eyes locked instantly with the boys, softening as he crouched down to listen. The boy pointed back toward her. Alice’s stomach flipped. The man straightened slowly. He turned his gaze toward her, his eyes locked with hers, sharp, bright, and impossibly intense. Not cruel, not kind either, just awake.

It was not a casual glance. It was a collision, as if he was seeing through her, peeling back the layers she’d spent years burying. He didn’t just see her. He studied her as if he could read the worry etched into her face, the secret she kept tucked beneath her skin. His green eyes were the same as the boys, but older, deeper, intense in a way that made her breath catch. There was no smile on his lips yet. His gaze held nothing threatening.

 In fact, it felt like gratitude more genuine than any word, like a silent thank you for helping the boy Alice felt her heart leap into her throat. She swallowed hard, chest tightening with an emotion she couldn’t name. It wasn’t fear. It was an attraction. Not exactly. It was something wilder, something primal, a flicker of something dangerous. Heat flooded her face.

 She looked away fast and walked too fast toward the road that led to Milliey’s store. She walked faster. She didn’t dare glance back, but she felt his gaze linger, the weight of it burning between her shoulder blades. And for the first time in a long time, she felt something other than anger or pain. Milliey’s store wasn’t far.

 A 15-minute walk through cracked sidewalks and shadowed corners. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and warm smells wrapped around her instantly. Spices, fried dough, sweet bread. “There’s my girl,” Millie called from behind the counter. Her round face lit up like a full moon apron covered in flower as she wiped her hands on her apron. Hungry, Alice gave a tired nod.

Starving. Millie pulled out a stool behind the counter and a plate of warm rice and peppered stew. Eat first, work later. As she ate, the corner store slowly dimmed with the fading sun. Customers trickled in and out, but in the quiet lulls, Millie would glance at Alice and frown slightly as if she could sense the storm that always followed her home.

 But Millie never cried. She offered food, work, and safety. And that was enough. And like every day, Alice obeyed. Because here in Milliey’s tiny store with its flickering lights and faded posters, she wasn’t invisible. She was just Alice, a girl with aching feet and calloused palms and a future she hadn’t given up on yet.

 Later that night, as darkness crept in, and Millie locked the front door, Alice packed up, waved goodbye, and stepped back into the dark. The walk home was short but heavy with dread. Alice wrapped her coat tighter and stepped back into the night. She prayed Donald wasn’t home, that he was out drinking himself stupid, forgetting she existed. At home, the lights were off.

 Her heart pounded faster. She slipped inside each step slow, soft. The house smelled of old beer and cigarette smoke, but it was silent. Upstairs, her door. She closed it and locked it quickly. Then she sank to the floor, back against the wood, eyes closed. safe for now. But her mind drifted to the boy’s green eyes and then to the man’s. Chapter 3. A house that hated her.

 By the time Alice reached the gate, night had completely swallowed the neighborhood. The quiet buzz of crickets barely covered the pounding of her heart. The street lights flickered above her like they might go out any second, leaving her completely alone. But she wasn’t afraid of the dark. She was afraid of what waited inside the house.

 Her shoes crunched softly on the gravel driveway as she approached the porch. That’s when she heard it. The television loud. Too loud. Some action movie. Gunshots, shouting, explosions, blaring through cheap speakers, vibrating the windows. She froze at the sound, her pulse skipping. Donald was home. The blaring TV was his message to her.

 his twisted way of saying, “Welcome to hell, cupcake.” Alice hesitated at the door. The worn out handle was cold under her fingers, as if warning her not to go in. She tightened her grip on her bag and pushed the door open with slow dread. The warm air from the living room hit her first, thick with the stench of beer, cigarette smoke, and old grease.

Her eyes scanned the hallway. The light from the TV lit up the dark living room in violent flashes of color, but he wasn’t there. Donald usually slouched on the old couch, legs spread wide, one hand nursing a can of beer, the other flipping the remote between channels, even though he wasn’t really watching.

But today, he didn’t sit there. Alice’s breath came faster. Her fingers clutched the strap of her backpack. She moved quickly and quietly, sticking close to the wall as she passed the living room, praying he wasn’t there. He wasn’t. She made it to the staircase and climbed quickly but carefully.

 Each creek of the old steps like a warning shot. The door to her room was slightly a jar. Her stomach dropped. That door was always locked. She always checked it before leaving for school. Panic licked at her spine. She pushed it open. Donald was sitting on her bed, her breath caught in her throat like a fish hook.

 He leaned back casually, legs crossed, arms stretched behind him as if he belonged there. His greasy blonde hair was flattened from the couch, and his eyes, small, cold, and mean, were waiting for her. “Come in, cupcake,” he said softly, almost sweetly. It was the kind of voice he used when he wanted to scare her more than when he yelled. the quiet tone that meant something worse was coming.

Alice stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind her, even though every instinct screamed to run. She dropped her backpack by the wall. Her hands trembled slightly. Donald didn’t blink. “Did you pick my snacks from the drawer?” he asked, his gaze pinning her in place like a knife. Alice stammered, trying to gather her words. “No, I didn’t.” His head tilted to the side.

 A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. Don’t lie to Daddy, Cupcake. Her legs weakened. The room suddenly felt too small. Her breath came in short bursts, and her voice wavered. “I I was hungry.” He stood slowly, almost deliberately, like a predator savoring the moment before the pounce.

 “You were hungry,” he repeated, the words dripping with mockery. He moved. Alice didn’t wait. She bolted. He lunged, fingers snatching at her wrist, but she twisted away, her bag skidding across the floor. She darted down the stairs, heart hammering, breath rasping. She didn’t look back. She knew what came next. The whip cracked through the air, his belt, the one he always used when he was especially angry.

 Pain seared across her back, hot and immediate. She screamed, but didn’t stop. The kitchen door slammed behind her. She locked it, hands fumbling, chest heaving, tears blinding her. Then silence. Just the sound of her own gasping breath, and the faint distant thrum of the TV still playing upstairs like nothing had happened.

 She slid to the floor, back against the cold cabinet, legs folded tightly against her chest. Her body shook from adrenaline, from pain, from shame she didn’t deserve. Her shirt stuck to her back where the belt had landed. She didn’t dare look at it. And in the dark kitchen, she stayed, too scared to leave, too exhausted to cry.

 Eventually, her head leaned against her knees. Her eyes slipped shut, and that’s where she slept. The morning sun was still pale and watery when Alice stirred. Her neck achd from sleeping on the hard tile and her body throbbed in places she didn’t want to think about. She didn’t move right away. She just listened. Silence. Donald’s room was down the hall, door shut. The low we of his snoring barely audible.

 The sharp scent of alcohol drifted down the stairs. He’d passed out again, wasted. She stood slowly. Her back screamed in protest, but she grit her teeth and moved anyway. She walked upstairs quietly as if not to disturb a bear in hibernation. She didn’t look at his door as she passed it. In the bathroom, she turned on the shower and let the water run hot.

 She stripped carefully, wincing as the wet fabric peeled away from her skin. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the red welt across her back. She didn’t cry. She just stepped into the shower, letting the water scald her, letting it wash everything away. When she got dressed, she moved with a precision of a soldier. Her outfit hid the bruises.

 Her face hid everything else. Another day, another battle. She left the house quietly. The world outside hadn’t changed. Birds chirped. Cars passed. The sun rose like it had no idea what kind of monsters existed behind closed doors. Alice walked towards school, her steps steady. But something in her had shifted, and in the back of her mind, a pair of green eyes waited, watching.

Chapter 4. The Wolf in the Woods. It happened on a fogdrenched evening, one of those dusky, windless hours where the world seemed to hold its breath. The sun was sinking behind the hills of Lyken Ridge, bleeding soft orange light across the sky like an open wound. Mist coiled low along the tree roots and gravel paths, swallowing sound and color. It wasn’t raining, but the air was wet enough to cling to skin.

 Alice walked alone, her bag slung over one shoulder, boots scuffing the familiar trail through the backwoods of downtown like in Ridge, a shortcut she’d taken many times. It wasn’t the safest path, but it was quiet, hidden, and far from the school buses and cruel eyes she preferred to avoid.

 Usually, she walked this route with a few other stragglers from school, but today the others had moved on ahead. She had slowed to watch the sky change, to breathe, to feel something besides survival. The hush of the forest was oddly comforting. Birds stirred in the branches above. Twigs snapped in the distance. Fog wo between tree trunks like living thread.

 Then she heard it, a low, pained whimper. Alice stopped. The sound was faint but unmistakable, somewhere between a growl and a cry. Animal, but not like any she’d heard before. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart stuttered. She scanned the dense brush to her left. That’s when she saw him.

 The massive wounded wolf creature lay curled beneath a fallen tree, half hidden by dead leaves and underbrush. His golden brown fur was soaked with blood, the color darkening around his leg, where a rusted steel bear trap clamped cruy over his limb. The teeth of the trap had sunk deep into muscle, and every rise and fall of his chest was labored, shallow.

Alice didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She should have, but instead she stepped closer. Her movements were slow, measured, as if drawn by some instinct that defied logic. The wolf didn’t growl, didn’t bear his teeth. He just watched her. His eyes glowed softly. Emerald green, not wild, aware, alive. Something in those eyes made her throat tighten. She knelt beside him, trembling slightly, her palms facing up.

 “Hey,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He blinked slowly. The fog shifted behind her. “I’m going to help you.” “All right.” Alice found a long, sturdy stick and wedged it into the rusty trap. She pushed with all her strength. “Nothing.” The stick cracked and splintered uselessly in her hands. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

 The wolf whimpered, “Soft, broken.” She threw the shattered wood aside and scoured the area, hands shaking as she rustled through brush and branches. Finally, she found a rusted iron rod half buried beneath the dirt. She dug it out and returned to the trap. Mud coating her fingers. She braced herself. Tried again. The rod bent. She tried again.

 Sweat dripped from her temple, breath coming in gasps. She bit her lip, growled softly through her teeth. Come on, come on. With one last push, the trap creaked open just enough. The wolf pulled his leg free with a sharp wet sound, and whimpered, collapsing to the ground. Blood oozed from the wound. Alice quickly reached into her bag, grabbed the tiny water bottle she hadn’t touched all day, and poured the last few drops over the leg.

She tore the bottom hem from her shirt and wrapped the gash, tying it tightly. It’s okay now,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay.” The wolf’s breathing began to slow, not relaxed, but no longer fighting. He watched her with a gaze that made her feel like she wasn’t just being seen. She was being understood.

 She sat beside him for a while, hands stained with blood and dirt, clothes torn, hair clinging to her damp cheeks. The world around them was still and heavy. She could hear her own heartbeat. Eventually, the wolf stirred, rising shakily to his feet. “You can’t walk alone,” she murmured. “Come on.” And so together they walked through the woods, him limping, her steady, she guided him through the trees, past the broken fences and rusted signs near the edge of town until they reached the old warehouse, abandoned, forgotten.

 It sat just a block from Milliey’s corner store, shielded by Ivy in time. She pried open the heavy side door and let him inside. The warehouse smelled of dust and decay, but it was dry, quiet, safe. She laid down an old car cover from a stack of tools in the corner and helped the wolf settle onto it. He groaned low in his throat, but didn’t resist.

I’ll be back, she said softly, brushing a hand over his blood matted fur. He didn’t flinch. She slipped out through the broken back exit and joged to Milliey’s shop just a street away. Her heart still thundered in her chest, but her hands moved fast, grabbing a few raw cuts of meat from the cooler. Millie was in the back, probably restocking. Alice left a note by the register.

 Taking these, we’ll pay later and darted out again. Back in the warehouse, she knelt beside the wolf creature and offered him the meat. He sniffed, then tore into it with quiet hunger. Not wild, just desperate. She covered him gently with the remainder of the car cover as best she could and whispered, “You’ll be okay now. I’ll check on you again.

” She stood tired, dirty, but something in her chest felt lighter. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know she’d just saved Gabriel, the younger brother of Alpha Michael of the Redwood Pack of Cra. She didn’t know that Gabriel had shifted into wolf form hours earlier to go for a run and tried to escape an ambush and had limped his way south until he collapsed near her path.

 And she didn’t know that from the shadows of the woods several pairs of eyes had watched her every move. Michael stood still, concealed by trees. his Beta Rio and some of his pack members flanking him. They had followed Gabriel’s scent trail. What they found was not a battlefield, but a girl, a human girl, kneeling beside their wounded packmate like a guardian spirit.

 Michael’s jaw clenched as he watched Alice tear her shirt to dress the wound, as she touched Gabriel without fear, as she led him, his brother, into shelter and came back with food. His men exchanged looks, but Michael’s eyes never left her, not once. When Alice finally closed the warehouse doors and turned toward Milliey’s shop, wiping sweat and blood from her face, the shadows swallowed her steps.

 But the gaze that followed her was more than curious. It was claimed. Chapter 5. The wolf who watched. Michael had seen many things in his lifetime. He had stood at the edge of pack wars, teeth bared, blood on his hands. He had fought through betrayal from those who once called him brother.

 He had witnessed the fall of alphas, the rise of cowards, and the ruthless burn of loyalty turned to ash. But never, never had he seen someone like her. Alice, she was not fierce in the way wolves were. She didn’t growl. She didn’t bear her fangs, but she carried her pain like armor. Wore her silence like a blade. Moved through the world as if she owed it nothing, but still gave everything to survive.

And that day in the woods, when she knelt beside his wounded brother without hesitation, without fear, something in Michael’s world shifted. She didn’t flinch from blood, didn’t tremble at Gabriel’s enormous wolf form. She helped. She gave. She looked into Gabriel’s eyes like they were just a boys. And in that moment, Gabriel had not been the alpha’s brother.

 He had been a boy in pain. And she had been the only soul in the world kind enough to stay. Michael had watched it all from the shadows. And afterward, he couldn’t stop. At first, it was just curiosity, a quiet surveillance. He trailed her from afar, making sure she made it home from Milliey’s shop.

 She always walked alone, head down, shoulders stiff, her backpack looked too heavy, her steps too tired. Then one afternoon, she cut through the alley behind the gym. Michael sensed the shift before he saw it. Three students, boys with sharp grins and cruel laughs, waited by the dumpster. One of them had a baseball bat he didn’t need for any game. The other two were laughing already.

Michael didn’t hesitate. By the time Alice emerged on the other side of the alley, untouched, unaware, the three boys were on their knees behind the dumpster, pale-faced and panting. One of them had peed himself. Their bikes, flattened tires, bent frames, chains missing.

 None of them ever went near her again. That week, Michael stayed closer. He started to learn her routines. The way she listened to music too loudly to block out the world. The way she always looked over her shoulder when entering her home as if hoping it would be empty forever. And when it wasn’t. When Donald came stumbling down the stairs, yelling loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Michael heard it, too.

 He didn’t shift that night. Didn’t need to. He called two of his pack men who owed him more than loyalty and pointed them toward a bar three blocks down where Donald would end up as usual. By the time Donald came home, he was limping. His nose was broken. His wallet was gone. His pride shattered.

 Alice never saw Michael, never heard his name. But that week, she felt it. the quiet, the space to breathe, the way her shoulders didn’t rise so high and her eyes stayed open a little longer. She didn’t smile, not fully, but something loosened in her step. Michael noticed every flicker of change from the high branch of a tree outside her school.

 He watched her walk across the courtyard, headphones in, a book pressed to her chest. When the wind blew her hair across her cheek, she tucked it behind her ear in that same motion she always did. That same habitual grace. She wasn’t like anyone he knew. She was human, fragile, but not weak. There was something else in her, something unnamed.

 She carried a quiet weight, like she’d seen too much, survived too much, and didn’t know what to do with it anymore. Her pain wasn’t loud, but it had shape. And Michael could feel it in his chest like an echo. That was what held him there. That was what made him send his men again and again whenever danger flickered too close to her.

 Not because she needed a savior, but because no one no one should bear that kind of weight alone. It was a Thursday night when it rained. She had no umbrella, walking home in her hoodie pulled tight, shoes squelching through puddles. The street lights flickered. Thunder rolled lazily across the horizon. Michael followed from the rooftops, silent, fast, unseen.

 She didn’t know it, but when the stray dog behind her started barking low and menacing, she wasn’t alone. Michael landed behind it in a blink, eyes flashing. The dog whimpered and ran. She never even turned around. Just kept walking and he kept watching. In the warehouse where Gabriel had once bled, Michael now stood alone, staring at the makeshift bed she’d made for his brother. The torn piece of her shirt still lay in the corner, blood stained, faded.

 He picked it up, held it gently. It was a fragment of fabric, nothing more. But to him, it was a symbol of something rare, something good in a world that had forgotten how to be kind. He closed his fist around it.

 He remembered the night Alice returned to the warehouse, bringing bandages, another bottle of water, and a meatloaf. Gabriel was gone, but she didn’t feel bad. She just folded the cover neatly and whispered, “Hope you’re okay.” Then she left. She didn’t know Michael had been there minutes before. Didn’t know he’d sent Gabriel with pack members home, limping but alive. Didn’t know he’d stayed hidden in the rafters to watch her.

 He would continue watching, always from the shadows. Not as a stalker, not as a stranger, but as something else, something he couldn’t name yet. Something that felt terrifyingly close to human. Chapter 6. the sunset bench. It started as a feeling, small things at first. Alice began to notice it, not like a flash of light or the bang of thunder, but like the slow warmth of sun creeping into a cold room.

 A coat placed silently over her shoulders. An umbrella opened above her before rain touched her skin. A presence she couldn’t name, but somehow trusted. At school, the world hadn’t changed, but it had softened at the edges. She no longer found cruel notes stuffed in her locker. The kids who used to whisper when she walked past now kept their distance. Their eyes darted away when she looked at them.

Something unseen stood between her and the world now. Something protective. And though she didn’t know his name, not yet, she felt him watching. Not in a way that frightened her, but in a way that let her breathe. That evening, after a long shift at Millie shop, after stacking crates, sweeping corners, and washing her hands raw from cleaning spilled oil, Alice took her usual meal, macaroni and cheese with a side of kleslaw in a plastic bowl. Millie offered her a smile.

 Eat something good before you walk home. You look like wind could blow you away. Alice smiled faintly and nodded. She took the bowl, left the store, and crossed the quiet road until she reached the old bench behind the train station. It was a place most people ignored.

 Faded wood, half hidden by tall grass and wild flowers, but it had the best view of the sunset in downtown Lyken Ridge. There she sat, fork in one hand, thoughts in the other. The sky burned orange and lavender stre with hints of deep pink. The kind of sky Iris loved. Alice could almost hear her mother’s voice. Look, baby. The sky is trying to make up for yesterday. Her chest achd.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. She just sat and remembered. She didn’t hear him approach, only noticed the slight change in air, the shift of weight on the bench beside her. She tensed for just a second, turning her head. Him? The man from the parking lot at school.

 The one with eyes like green fire and shoulders like a wall. He said nothing, just sat beside her, close enough to feel far enough to respect her space. Alice looked at him, really looked, and her breath caught. He was beautiful in the quiet kind of way. strong jaw, a slight shadow of stubble, brown hair tousled like it was used to the wind. His eyes, those eyes, they weren’t just green.

 They were deep, luminous, patient. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. The silence wrapped around them, not awkward, but honest, a shared space between two people who carried too much. The only sound was the distant wor of evening traffic and the chirping of cicas warming up for the night. Alice didn’t know why, but she started to cry.

 No sobbing, no gasping, just slow, tired tears running soundlessly down her cheeks. She didn’t look at him, didn’t need to. A moment later, a folded handkerchief was offered silently in her peripheral vision. Crisp white, embroidered with simple initials, Mr. She took it, wiped her face slowly. He still didn’t speak. That made it better.

 She didn’t want words. She wanted someone to understand. And somehow he did. When the last golden rays faded into violet dusk, Alice stood. Her fingers curled around the handkerchief, then released it. She held it back out to him. He accepted it without a word. She looked him in the eyes for a long second. “Thank you,” she whispered, then turned and walked away.

Michael didn’t move at first. He watched her walk slowly as if the weight of her day was finally catching up with her. He kept his distance, hands in his jacket pockets, footsteps soundless as usual, but he followed just far enough. He didn’t want her to know. He just needed to see her safely home.

 Each street lamp they passed flickered like candles against the creeping dark. Somewhere in the neighborhood, dogs barked. A radio played faint beats from a nearby house. Alice crossed the narrow alley that led to her street. Her house came into view.

 Michael stopped across the street and faded into shadow, watching her unlock the gate, slip inside and disappear. Only then did he exhale. What he didn’t know, what neither of them knew, was that behind the thin curtain of a window, Donald Matthew watched from the cracked blinds of the living room window, his beer resting forgotten beside him.

 Donald sat still in the armchair like a predator disturbed. His eyes squinted, his fists clenched. The man who walked behind Alice, too tall to be a kid, too calm, too confident. Donald couldn’t hear their conversation, if there even was one. But he saw, saw how close he stood, saw how he trailed after her like a bodyguard, like a silent shadow.

 A part of Donald wanted to burst through the door, confront him, throw fists and slurs, mark his territory like the drunken beast he was. But something stopped him. The look in that Michael’s eyes, the stillness of him, it made Donald uneasy. So instead, he sat back down in his armchair and drank. Drank until his vision blurred.

Drank until the rage turned soft. Eventually, his eyelids drooped and closed. Outside, Michael lingered. He didn’t approach the house, didn’t test the gate, or knock on the door. Instead, he turned and walked two houses down. The neighbor, an old woman named Mrs. Colin, sat out on her porch. Michael greeted her with a nod. Good evening.

 She eyed him suspiciously until he smiled and offered to help her bring in her laundry. After 5 minutes, she was telling him all about Alice’s father. The way he kept the girl quiet and invisible. The nights she heard shouting and the mornings she pretended not to. Michael listened. When the street grew quiet and no noise came from Alice’s house, he nodded to himself.

 He thought Donald must have passed out, and so he left. The fog rolled in again that night, thick and low across Lykan Ridge, but the shadows no longer felt as dangerous. Not to Alice and not to Michael. Something had begun to shift between them. Not love, not yet, but something just as rare. Recognition. Chapter 7. The storm breaks.

Alice couldn’t explain it, not with words, not even to herself, but she felt him, even when she didn’t see him. The world had begun to shift around her in quiet ways. Where once the streets home from Milliey’s store felt cold and sharp, they now held a strange warmth, as if someone had drawn a boundary around her, invisible, but real, a shield.

 And she wasn’t used to being protected. She’d never known it. But now, every time her fingers trembled locking the front door, every time she heard footsteps behind her and found no one, only to spot a figure later watching from the trees or the shadows. She felt safe. It was confusing. He never spoke, never stepped too close after the sunset by the bench.

 He was always distant, but near, present, in a way she didn’t know how to name. and she kept noticing the faint outline of someone outside Milliey’s as she walked out with her food. The figure seated on the bench across the street as she swept the shop floor before closing. The tall man behind her as she crossed the alley, just far enough not to be threatening, but never far enough to be absent.

 She didn’t know his name, still didn’t know he was the brother of the wolf she had helped. But something inside her had already begun to shift. quietly, slowly, like a frost melting from a window pane. One evening, the first flicker of fate broke the silence. Alice had dropped her pen walking out of Milliey’s, she hadn’t even noticed, her mind foggy from exhaustion, her thoughts drifting.

 But when she sat on her usual bench with her hot chocolate and ham sandwich, watching the sun dip low, she heard footsteps crunch softly in the gravel behind her. She turned. He was there. Emerald eyes, hands in his coat pockets, that same calm energy that had once shared a bench with her in total silence.

 This time he held something out. A pen. Her pen. I think this is yours, he said, voice low and rough, but oddly gentle. Alice looked at it, then at him. It wasn’t the pen that made her breath catch. It was the moment. Thank you, she said, her voice barely above the wind. He nodded. I’m Michael Redwood. She paused. I’m Alice Matthew.

That was it. Just names, a returned pen, but the air between them seemed to change. When she returned home that night, her feet were heavier. She kept glancing back, not out of fear, but because she wanted to see if he was still there. He was always a few steps behind, hands in pockets, hood drawn up against the breeze.

 A few days later, Michael stepped inside Milliey’s store just as Alice was clocking out. Millie raised an eyebrow as the tall stranger approached the counter. “Hi, I’m a friend of Alice’s,” Michael said, not entirely sure what to call himself. Milliey’s face softened instantly. Oh, you’re the one she’s been bumping into lately. He nodded once.

 She doesn’t say much, Millie added, pouring coffee. But she’s been smiling more, eating all her food. Even talks sometimes. I figured someone was watching out for her. Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Millie smiled wider. Good. She needs someone around. But not everyone was smiling.

 inside the house that had never been a home. Donald had started to notice too. The subtle shift in Alice, the quiet change, the faint peace in her shoulders, the stillness in her eyes that used to scream. It made him uneasy. He fed on fear, her fear, and now it was slipping. He saw her walk home that night, saw the tall man shadowing her from across the street again today.

 Donald’s jaw clenched, his drink spilled. Rage built in the back of his throat. He waited. Waited until she thought he was passed out drunk in front of the TV. Waited until the footsteps had faded. And then he rose. The storm outside had started as a whisper, but by nightfall it roared. Thunder rolled over the hills like distant war drums.

Rain slashed against the windows, angry and cold. Trees groaned in protest as wind bent them back. Alice stepped in through the front door, shaking off her jacket, soaked from the short walk in the downpour. The house was dark, quiet. She took that as a gift. She went upstairs, closed her door, changed into dry clothes. That’s when she heard it click.

 The unmistakable sound of the front door locking. She froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. A moment later, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Her body moved on instinct, she backed toward the window, fingers fumbling to open it, but it was stuck. Swollen from the rain. The door burst open before she could force it. Donald filled the frame. He was soaked, wildeyed, holding something in his hand. A new belt, thicker, meaner.

You bringing men around now, huh, Cupcake? He slurred. You think I don’t see you? I saw him following you, protecting you like you’re something worth saving. Alice backed against the dresser, chest rising fast. “Your cursed cupcake,” he snarled. “It should have been you who died, not your mother.” Then he swung.

 The belt cracked across her shoulder. Her scream drowned in thunder. She stumbled, crashing into the wall, ribs protesting. He hit her again. again. Her legs gave out. Her vision blurred. Something in her snapped. She didn’t scream anymore. She didn’t beg. She ran. Blood dripping from her nose. Breath coming in ragged sobs. Alice bolted down the stairs.

 Donald’s voice echoed after her, angry, broken. The front door was locked. She turned to the back, luckily found the screen door already hanging loose, and slammed it open. Then she was in the rain, running, barefoot, shirt torn, wind howling through the trees like wolves mourning. She didn’t stop. Her lungs burned. Her feet tore against rock and root.

 But she didn’t stop. The forest behind her house blurred with speed. The darkness alive around her. Branches slapped her skin. Lightning cracked overhead, but she kept running through pain, through breathlessness, through memory. She didn’t look back. And then she saw it. Chapter 8. The link. The rain had swallowed the world. Trees bent in the wind like they were bowing to something unseen.

 The clouds rolled heavy and black above Lyken Ridge, and thunder echoed through the mountains like the growl of something ancient. Alice could barely see. Her bare feet slapped against wet stone and forest floor. Her breaths were short, sharp, and filled with blood. Every rib screamed, every step jarred pain through her spine.

 But she ran through the storm through the dark and then a cabin. Light spilling from its windows. She clung to the porch rail, dragging her body forward, her blood washing down her legs with a rain. Her hand found the door knob. It was warm. She turned it. The door swung open. Inside, five men turned mid laugh. Soda cans in hand, feet up on the coffee table.

 The room alive with warmth, light, and music. They were tall, broad, good-looking, faces she half recognized from that parking lot days ago. The Hummer, the little greeneyed boy incident, the one who had stared at her like she was a secret worth keeping. But now everything fell silent. No one moved. Alice stood in the doorway like a ghost.

 Rain soaked her clothes until they clung to her skin. Her nose was bleeding. Her lips swollen. Her arms and legs bore fresh bruises. The left side of her rib cage throbbed with a fire she couldn’t contain. She looked like prey who’d outrun the predator, only to stumble into a den of wolves. And still no one moved. Then Michael stepped in from the kitchen.

 Two bottles of cherry soda in his hands, condensation trailing down the glass. What’s with the silence, guys? He saw her. The bottles hit the wooden floor and shattered. Red fizz bleeding out like broken veins. Alice, he breathed. His voice was a crack of thunder. Shock, rage, fear. She opened her mouth.

 No sound, but they all heard it inside their heads. Her voice, clear, trembling, desperate, rippled through their minds like wind through leaves. Help me. And then her eyes closed. She collapsed. Michael caught her before the floor could. His arms wrapped around her broken form, cradling her like she might vanish. Her blood soaked through his shirt, warm and real.

 His heart thundered against her ear. Alice, no. No, no. The pack stood frozen, stunned by what they just felt. She had used the mind link. All of them heard it. But she was human. Only an alpha’s mate could reach them that way. Only his mate. And yet she had never once given off his scent. Never once triggered the bond.

 Not until now. Michael’s eyes blazed. He turned to his men. Voice a roar. Sweep the perimeter now. Someone dared hurt her. Someone dared touched what’s mine. The room exploded into motion. In the forest nearby, Donald had reached the treeine, panting from rage and adrenaline.

 He had followed her, belt still in hand, shouting her name through the storm. But when he saw the cabin, saw the men, saw the truck parked out front, massive and armored, saw the greeneyed giant holding Alice like she was something precious. He froze. Even in his drunken haze, he could tell. He was outnumbered, outclassed, out of time.

 He turned back into the dark. Inside, Michael looked down at Alice’s face, her bruises, her lashes trembling against her pale cheeks. Her breath came in soft, labored hitches. He felt something crack open inside him. He should have known. He should have known. If he had realized she was his, he never would have stayed in the shadows. Never would have waited.

 Never would have let her go home to that monster. Michael bent his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m here now. Rio, his beta, got the keys to the GMC. It’s ready.” Michael nodded once, lifting Alice as gently as he could. She weighed nothing in his arms, a paper doll, a bruised flower.

 He carried her out into the storm, the rain pouring over both of them like a baptism. Lightning struck the ridge above them. Michael’s body convulsed, his bones cracked, splintering, reshaping. His jaw elongated, his spine stretched, claws tore through skin. His emerald eyes widened, burning with fury and instinct. In moments where once stood a man, now towered a wolf twice the size of any shifter, thicker furred, broader shouldered, a beast made of rage and protection. He shook the rain off his coat and roared.

 Rio threw the truck into gear, tires spinning as they carved through the muddy slope behind the cabin. Michael ran beside the vehicle, massive paws pounding the ground so hard it trembled beneath him. The trees blurred past. Branches snapped. The storm howled behind them, but Michael was faster. He reached the Redwood mansion first.

 Two doctors were already waiting by the tall row iron gates, medical bags in hand. The pax healer and the human trauma physician they kept on retainer. Rio skidded the truck to a halt. Michael was already there, back in human form, soaked and shirtless, carrying Alice in his arms like glass.

 Third floor, he said. No one questioned him. They opened the doors. He took her to his own chamber. Massive, warm walls painted in dark oak and lined with books and art she would never have guessed he owned. The bed was freshly made, thick with furs and soft sheets.

 He laid her down gently, brushing the wet strands from her forehead. She whimpered once. Just once. Michael’s breath caught. The doctors worked quickly. The bruises, the swelling, the cracked ribs, the belt welts on her back. Michael paced like a caged animal, fists clenched, jaw set. At one point, Rio placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re shaking the floor.

” “She used the link,” Michael said, voice gravel. She called out. “I heard her. We all did. But her scent, Rio started. I know, Michael snapped. I don’t care. She’s mine. Hours later, the storm passed. The doctors left. Alice was asleep, breath slow but steady. Her hands curled gently under her chin.

 Someone had changed her into a clean shirt, wrapped her ribs, bandaged her lip. She looked peaceful. Finally, Michael sat beside the bed. He didn’t touch her, just watched her, guarded her, waited. The answers would come. But for now, she was safe. And nothing, no man, no storm, no force in this world would hurt her again. Chapter nine. The truth beneath a silence. Alice awoke to a bird song.

 For a moment, she didn’t move. She lay very still beneath soft downy covers wrapped in warmth that didn’t come from her own limbs, but from the bed itself. Thick sheets, a comforter that smelled like fresh laundry, and something faintly earthy, like pine and sandalwood. Her fingers curled into the fabric. She opened her eyes slowly. The ceiling above her wasn’t cracked or stained.

 It was smooth, high, and painted in elegant cream. There was a chandelier, not a goddy one, but tasteful, casting a golden light from the low burning morning bulbs. Across the room stood tall oak wardrobes, a dresser, and a bookshelf. The curtains were drawn, but golden light peaked from the sides. Alice blinked, then sat up.

 Pain lanced through her ribs like a red-hot whip. She gasped and fell back into the pillows, groaning softly, her mind spiraling. Where? Where am I? She reached down and felt the bandages wrapped tightly around her rib cage. Her bruises had been cleaned. She was in fresh clothes, an oversized shirt she didn’t recognize. Then it hit her.

 The woods, the storm, the cabin door swinging open, the emerald eyes, the arms catching her just before she hit the ground. Michael. And suddenly she heard it. Not in the room, in her head. Morning, Alice. Her heart slammed against her chest. She sat up too fast and cried out. The voice was calm, young, familiar. Gabriel.

 Then, before she could process anything, another voice joined. It’s me, Michael. She froze. Her eyes widened. This wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t hallucinating. Her breath came fast, her fingers clawing at the sheets. She was hearing voices in her head. “No,” she whispered aloud, shaking her head. “No, no, no. Then look out the window.

” Alice turned slowly, the curtains were thick velvet, but light poured from their edges. She reached out, every movement stiff, and tugged one side back. Sunlight streamed into the room. The window overlooked a massive courtyard, well manicured gardens, stone paths weaving through flower beds, pine trees lining the back edge of the estate.

 A sleek black GMC Hummer EV pickup truck was parked on a gravel loop below. And there, leaning against the side of the mansion, standing in a black hoodie with the sleeves rolled, was Michael. He was looking up straight at her. And then pain flared again. She lost her balance. Alice fell with a thud to the floor, landing hard on her side.

 She gasped, biting down a scream as pain ricocheted from her ribs to her spine. Footsteps thundered down the hall. The door slammed open. Alice. Michael was there in an instant, rushing to her side. His hands were gentle as he helped her up, lifting her slowly back onto the bed with effortless strength.

 Her chest heaved, but not from pain, from panic. Her eyes searched his face. “Michael,” she whispered. “What’s happening to me?” He sat beside her, crouched at her level, eyes steady and unblinking. “Why did I hear your voice in my head?” she asked, voice trembling. “What are you?” He exhaled slowly, as if he’d rehearsed this answer for a long time. “I’m a wolf,” he said quietly. a werewolf shifter. Alice stared at him.

You’re serious? He nodded. Our kind has existed for thousands of years. We originate from a Centra, a land deep in the north, hidden and protected. We’ve lived alongside humans for centuries in secret. She blinked. I’m human, Michael, she whispered. I was born human. My dad is just a regular man.

 Brutal, drunk, but normal. Michael nodded, waiting. But my mom, she looked away. My mom died when I was little. I don’t remember her much. My dad never talks about her. After she died, he changed, got worse, started drinking, started blaming me. Michael leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. Then that’s where we’ll start. We’ll find out who she was. Alice, together, I promise.

 Her eyes shimmerred, but she swallowed the tears. Michael let the silence sit. Then he added softly. Last night, you spoke to me. Not with words. You reached me and every wolf in my pack through the mind link. I thought I said it out loud, she whispered. He shook his head. Only the mate of an alpha can do that. Alice froze. What? He nodded slowly.

 And yet you did. Before she could process it, a soft knock sounded on the door. Gabriel stepped in, sunlight catching in his tousled hair. He looked so much like Michael, only younger. Just a boy, but his eyes held an ancient gleam. In his hand was a small bouquet of tulips, orange and cream. “Hi, Alice,” he said shily. Alice’s breath caught.

 I remember you,” she said slowly. “You were the boy who almost tripped at school.” He grinned. “That was me.” He came closer and handed her the flowers. “I got these for you.” She took them slowly, her fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you. You saved me,” Gabriel said softly. “Back then and when I was the wolf.

 I owe you my life.” Alice blinked at him, then turned to Michael, eyes wide. He’s the wolf from the woods. Michael nodded. Yes. That evening, he ran into rogue wolves from Ashclaw, an exiled group. They’ve been crossing Redwood borders, causing chaos. Their leader, Cross, wants control. But he’ll never get it.

Not while I breathe. Alice turned back to Gabriel, eyebrows raised. You fought them? You? Gabriel shrugged modestly. I can fight, he said. We train young, Michael smirked. Every wolf in my pack learns early. Self-defense isn’t a choice, it’s a necessity. Gabriel grinned. I could show you around when you feel better. She needs rest.

Michael interjected gently. Gabriel nodded, not offended. Alice smiled. It’s nice meeting you, Gabriel. You, too, he said, raising a hand in farewell. Michael ruffled his brother’s hair and nudged him out of the room. “Out, go bother Rio.” “Fine,” Gabriel called over his shoulder. The door clicked softly shut. Moments later, it opened again.

Michael returned, this time pushing a polished silver trolley lined with warm dishes, freshly cut fruit, croissants, orange juice, eggs, pancakes, and slices of crispy bacon. The aroma filled the room. Alice stared, stunned. “Not because of the food, but because someone had done all this for her,” Michael wheeled it beside the bed.

 “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said. “So I brought a little of everything.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Not of pain, of something far rarer. Gratitude. Hope. I I don’t even know what to say,” she whispered. Michael smiled, brushing a golden lock of hair from her face. You don’t have to. Just eat. He stepped back toward the door.

 I’ll give you some privacy, Michael. He turned. Thank you. His gaze held hers a second longer. Then he nodded and quietly closed the door behind him. Alice sat there, the tulips in one hand, a fork in the other. She ate slowly, thoughtfully, not because she was unsure, but because she hadn’t felt this full in a very long time, full of warmth, of safety, of possibility.

 And yet, Michael’s words stayed with her. Only an alpha’s mate can use the mind link, her mother’s past, her father’s hatred, her own hidden self. She had questions now and slowly she knew the answers were going to come. Chapter 10. The name she didn’t know. Days passed. They were soft at first, like tentative rays of sun peeking through clouds that had loomed for far too long. Alice began to heal.

 Not just her ribs or the bruises on her arms, but the quiet raw wounds inside her. The ones no one could see. the ones she’d buried beneath silence, sarcasm, and survival. She learned the ways of the shifters.

 Michael taught her about the Redwood Pack, their role as guardians of the ancient forests stretching across Lykan Ridge. They weren’t monsters or myths. They were watchers, protectors, warriors of balance. The Redwood Wolves didn’t rule from fear. They protected through legacy. And Michael, he was their alpha. Fierce, respected, unshaken. But with her, he was something else entirely. Gentle, patient, soft-spoken in the mornings, quietly watchful at night.

 He never pushed, never pride. He waited until she was ready to speak, ready to share. And somehow she did. It started with a sentence, then a laugh, then full conversations by the fire, where Michael’s dry humor coaxed her into telling him stories from school, the ones she had buried beneath years of pain.

 He made her laugh, truly laugh, the kind that surprised her every time it left her lips. Her silence was no longer a cage. It had become a thread between them, a quiet understanding. And some nights when the darkness still triggered memories, when she woke drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, he was there sitting beside her just holding her hand, saying nothing and yet saying everything.

One morning, Michael appeared with a cocky smirk and keys to one of the trucks in hand. “Come on,” he said. “You’re going shopping.” She blinked. “With who?” with me and Gabriel,” he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Gabriel peeked from behind him, already halfway into his sunglasses. “Let’s go, Barbie.

” Alice rolled her eyes, but Michael caught the way her cheeks turned pink. The ride to the mall was surprisingly normal. She sat up front, window cracked, the wind playing with her golden curls. Gabriel played DJ from the back seat, switching between indie tracks and early 2000s bops while groaning dramatically when Michael vetoed his choices. At the mall, they went all out.

 They insisted she pick anything she wanted, but more often than not, they picked for her. Gabriel threw pastel summer dresses over her arm, calling her their human Barbie doll. Michael had a surprisingly sharp eye for style. soft cardigans, light jeans, flowy skirts, and a strange attachment to hoodies, especially when he found one in her favorite shade of navy.

 When she came out of the dressing room in it, he nodded. That’s the one, she stared at him. Just saying, he added with a shrug. You look like yourself in it. It was the first time in a long while she didn’t flinch when she looked in the mirror. They grabbed lunch at a small restaurant tucked near the edge of the mall. Alice had a grilled chicken sandwich with curly fries.

 Gabriel wolfed down two bacon cheeseburgers. And Michael, to no one’s surprise, ordered black coffee and a salad. Does he ever eat like a real person? Alice asked Gabriel, smirking. Gabriel leaned in, whispering like it was top secret. I’ve never seen him eat dessert. I’m convinced he’s emotionally allergic to joy. Michael just lifted an eyebrow.

 And yet I put up with you. They all laughed. But they didn’t know. They were being watched. A man leaned against a pillar on the second floor of the mall. Camera glasses tracking every move. He whispered into a small mic clipped to his jacket. Cross. The heirs are with some new girl. Static. Then a low grally voice.

 Who is she? Is she familiar? The man looked again. Michael’s hand brushed against Alice’s as they walked. Gabriel nudged her and she laughed, nearly dropping a designer bag. No, she’s new. But they’re close, like family. God damn it, Cross growled. The Redwoods don’t have family. They’re all that’s left. Keep watching. Report everything. The line went dead.

 By late afternoon, the trio left the mall, bags stacked in the truck bed. Gabriel convinced them to stop at Salazar Lake, the edge of which met the sea in shimmering turquoise waves. The sand was soft and white, and for once the wind smelled of salt and sunscreen rather than pine and smoke. They changed in private beach stalls. Gabriel came out in red palm tree shorts and a bucket hat.

 Michael wore black trunks and Dolce Gabbana sunglasses, so lean and powerful it turned more than a few heads. Alice emerged slowly, wearing a sundress that flowed with the wind. Her shoulders were bare, and faint purple bruises still marred the tops of her arms. She folded them instinctively. Michael noticed.

 He said nothing, just handed her a wide-brimmed straw hat and gave her the tiniest, kindest nod. You look perfect. Gabriel grinned. They bought ice cream cones from a weathered cart parked under a palm tree. Alice was halfway into a mint chip scoop when the vendor looked up. His eyes widened. Iris, she blinked. I’m sorry, she said, stepping forward. What did you call me? The man’s face flushed.

 Sorry, I thought. You look just like someone I used to know years ago. He smiled, trying to brush it off. She used to come here every weekend. Always sat right over there. He pointed to a rocky ledge near the water. Alice’s heart thutdded. “That was my mother,” she said softly. The vendor’s face changed, grief and wonder mixing in his eyes. “She was kind,” he said.

 “Quiet, always alone, but never sad. She said this beach gave her peace.” Alice’s throat closed. “She she died in an accident when I was little.” “I’m so sorry,” he said. The man reached into his truck and pulled out a small wooden box. I always meant to return this, he said. She dropped it one day. Never came back.

 I kept it, thinking one day I’d see her again. He opened the box and lifted a silver pendant shaped like a lightning bolt. This belongs to the storm Baines, I guess, he said quietly. And I think it’s your family’s crest. He handed it to her. Alice took it with trembling fingers.

 The ride back to the Redwood Mansion was silent. Alice stared at the pendant in her lap. Its metal was cool, heavy, old. In the passenger seat, she saw Michael glance at her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. In the back, Gabriel broke the silence. So, he said, licking the last of his cone. You’re the Losttorm Mayaire like the one they’ve been looking for for decades. Alice looked back. He grinned.

 Well, Barbie, congratulations. You just became an old moneyrich princess,” Gabriel said, smiling. Michael smirked faintly from the driver’s seat, impressed. Alice stared at them both, smiling and wondering if she really wants to go looking. Stormbbane, her mother’s name, a family she never knew. A history wrapped in lightning and silence. She swallowed hard.

 This was too much, too fast, too real. And yet, it felt right. like something inside her had been quietly waiting all along for truth, for warmth, for belonging. If you enjoyed this audio book, subscribe to my channel for the second part of this book and also more interesting audio books.

 Join my channel by becoming a member and have early access to stories and second parts of books. Save the playlist for more upcoming audio books. Don’t forget to give this video a thumbs up. Check out new audio books in my channel. Do you think Alice will be accepted at Stormbbane? Comment your answers in the comment section. Thanks for listening.