Chapter Three
Alaina
A few hours later, arriving just before midnight, we were back at Crescent pack. Sam and I stand, frozen in silence in front of the doors to the queen and king’s chambers. A certain heaviness lingers knowing Dax won’t be behind those doors but that everything else belonging to him will.
“Are you sure you want to stay in there? There are plenty of other bedrooms,” Sam asks.
“I’m sure.”
I’m not, but I don’t want to stay anywhere else. I could stay in any bedroom in this castle, but none have the same charm. Staying in the castle, I’m reminded of Dax everywhere I go. As much as it hurts, my wolf and I crave to stay as close to him as we can.
“Did the maids—”
Sam holds his hand up. “Everything is as you and him left it. Dax didn’t like people in his room touching things when he wasn’t here.”
I nod quickly and exhale, preparing myself for what I’m about to see. “Sorry, I just—”
“No need to explain. I get it. When my mother died, I didn’t want anybody touching anything or moving things around.”
“Thank you.”
“He loved you, you know.”
How do I begin to respond to that? If I ask how he knows, I’d be practically admitting I didn’t know. Given how I treated him, would it be better if I knew or didn’t?
The answer is the same. We didn’t deserve mate’s love.
No, we didn’t , I say to my wolf.
Surprised I have any tears left to shed, I wipe my eyes and sniffle. “What’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”
“Uh... training with me in the morning and a meeting.”
“That’s it?”
Dax is— was —always busy. And given recent events, shouldn’t there be more for me to do?
“What about a funeral? Or notifying the pack?”
They need to know what happened to their king.
“The pack is aware. I made sure to have our best counselors relay the news on behalf of their queen and request the respect of your privacy while you mourn and navigate this role.”
It’s what I would want, but it didn’t feel like the right thing to do.
“Wouldn’t they rather have heard the news directly from their queen? I don’t want them thinking I’m not strong enough.”
I’m not, but they don’t need to know that. I’ll learn to be for them.
“It’s not typical for those who inherit the throne to announce the death of their predecessor. It’s a losing game, especially as a female heiress. If you show emotion, people will say you’re”—he hooks air quotes—“‘not together enough to rule.’ It could go a step further and lead to an uprising, compromising your safety and the safety of your kingdom if others are gossiping, perceiving you as weak. But if you don’t show any emotion at all, they’ll think you’re cold-hearted.”
The joys of being a she-wolf.
“I also figured you needed some time to grieve. I think everyone does. A funeral can wait. One thing at a time, alright? I’ll help you.”
I nod and exhale.
“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me. All you have to do is scream,” Sam says, half joking.
I can’t link to the pack because Dax and I never completed the mate bond, so I really would have to scream if I needed him.
Another roadblock to my queenship.
It’s like I’ve been on autopilot, existing but not fully functioning or receiving any new information. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or if they even want me as queen. I was Dax’s choice, sure, but I don’t know anything about the customs, the day-to-day, or the pack.
But Sam does, and I can’t do any of this without him. He said he will stand by my side, and so far, he has.
“Thank you,” I say. “ Truly .”
He stood by my side when I addressed the rest of the pack today. Their expressions when I announced I would be stepping in as their queen looked as unsure about it as I am.
I’m shaken out of my thoughts when two half-naked she-wolves appearing to be in their early twenties appear out of Sam’s bedroom door, calling for him.
I guess this is how Sam grieves.
“Duty calls.” Sam salutes. “Good night, Your Majesty.” He bows and darts down the hall, avoiding a well-deserved kick in the ass.
After today, I’ll give him a pass.
“Don’t call me that!” I yell after him.
Sam and his new coping methods disappear into his bedroom, giggling.
It’s good to see Mr. Playboy isn’t dead. A hope for more normalcy is to come.
I face the wooden doors leading to what will either become my new chamber of torture or my new designated rotting spot.
I take a deep breath and nod to the guards standing outside our— shit —my bedroom doors. They each grab onto a handle, opening them. I exhale and take in the surroundings. Untouched and unkept, exactly the way he and I had left it.
Entering the room, I inhale leather and spice. Tears roll down my cheeks when I exhale.
Mate , my wolf whimpers.
Through wet eyes, I’m able to see Dax’s clothes scattered on the floor. He must’ve tried on dozens of outfits until he found the perfect one, wanting to make a good impression with Jemma. I imagine him rubbing the back of his neck, staring at himself in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if it’s acceptable.
Picking up one of his button-downs, I bring the fabric to my nose, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. I bury my face in the shirt as I sob.
Seconds pass with me like this before I undress, putting on his shirt.
This was it. The closest I would ever get to feeling him again.
And it isn’t good enough.
The mental exhaustion hits me, and I turn around, finding the sheets to our—
Dammit.
I guess I need to start saying “mine” instead of “ours.”
What was once the sheets to our bed are still in disarray. Like Sam said, Dax didn’t like people in the bedroom while he’s gone. He would’ve waited until we came back to have them clean it. At first, I thought Dax was being paranoid, but now I couldn’t be any more thankful for it.
Running my hands over the sheets, trailing tears in its wake, I think about the one time I did something right when I massaged him. How he lit up like a child on Christmas morning when I asked him to come with me to see where I grew up. His inner eight-year-old child surfacing and begging to be wanted, accepted, and most of all, loved.
I’m thankful to have given him that moment. But I also remember how surprised he was that I asked him in the first place.
He couldn’t have known I loved him. I didn’t know I loved him then. But I know now it was love that led me to inviting him where he’d be murdered. Either way, my love is inevitably what killed him.
It’s all my fault.
I crawl into bed, drowning in my deserved misery.
* * *
In the middle of the night, something wakes me up.
Lifting my head, I peer over my shoulder at the armchair, expecting to see him. I sigh when I don’t and recall the time I woke up to Dax sitting there after putting the shock collar on me. Back then, I would’ve told myself he was controlling to avoid my feelings for him, which wasn’t completely a lie. In addition to controlling, he was also crazy and deranged, but more than anything, he was desperate for my acceptance.
If only I had seen it that way sooner.
Turning my head toward the door, I stare at what was Dax’s side of the bed. He preferred to be closest to the door in case anything were to happen. Another way he cherished me.
Finding comfort in his smell, I slept better than I thought I would. I dreamed of marking him, telling him how I feel and showing him. It was only when I woke up unexpectedly did the words “a living nightmare” make sense.
I’m about to cry myself back to sleep when the source as to why I woke up makes itself known, echoing screams of pleasure.
Ugh, disgusting.
I turn my head to the balcony. It’s still dark out for now, but I estimate at least another two hours until the sun rises, and I’ll need to start training. And with Mr. Playboy and his new conquests going at it, it’s not like I can go back to sleep.
Placing my feet on the cold, hard floor, I walk to the white French double doors leading to the balcony. When I open them, the chill of the fall night air flows in. My nipples harden, and goose bumps trail up my arms.
Crossing my arms, I pad over to the closet and throw on one of Dax’s hoodies. The trim stops mid-thigh on me, and the sleeves hang over my fingertips. Wearing his clothes is comforting, but it’s only an illusion. The yearning and aching follow suit immediately after, reminding me he’s no longer here.
I return to the balcony and rest my palms on the railing. The stars cover the sky, the moon encompassing a soft glow around its rim, lighting up the large grassy field stretching for miles.
My sleep-deprived mind conjures an image of Dax walking down the field toward the castle, alive and well.
I imagine him coming back, me sprinting to him, jumping into his arms and claiming him, telling him the words I should’ve said.
When I rub my eyes, I find Dax isn’t there, and I’ve fallen for the universe’s cruel tricks again. I wipe my tears with his sleeve, his scent assaulting my nose, causing more tears to trickle. He haunts not only my thoughts and my dreams but my senses.
I ball my shaking hands into a fist, my claws digging into my palms, but the pain isn’t enough to distract me from such a loss.
I’ll have to try something else.
Fishing for my paints, easel, and a blank canvas I stashed in the closet, I’m determined to give life to the ghost that haunts me.
I haven’t painted since I came here, as I’ve been rather busy. I used to paint all the time to deal with many things like puberty, hormones, anger, and other emotions, including grief. Often, when I paint people, unless they were Jemma, Taya, or my mother, they were always fictional.
After setting up the wooden easel on the balcony, I perched a blank canvas on it. I fill a mason jar up with water and grab my trusted brush. It’s seen better days, but I’ll make it work. Dragging the stool from the vanity, I sit and pull my knees to my chest.
I mix my primary colors and add in hues to make my first paint color. A beautiful caramel brown.
Each stroke allows me to gain some sense of control. My shaking dwindles with each minute as I paint what should have been.
* * *
I painted until it came time for training, some from memory, others of impossible wishes, but each and every one involving Dax. It was therapeutic to visualize and express, then to see it on canvas. My paint color choices served as a mood ring for me through dark and light colors, allowing me to process my emotions.
Training seems to be another helpful way to grieve. I’ve been sparring with Sam for hours, mainly because he refuses to let me stop.
Was he afraid of losing another ruler?
Growing up, I trained with Caleb all the time, and it showed. But the Crescent pack knows all the nuances of how to anticipate next moves, given the power their king held. The transition shifts their fighting to a whole other level, one Sam is trying to catch me up to. The Crescent pack needs a strong queen now more than ever, and I intend to put all my effort into it.
It’s nice to put my attention and energy into other things.
“You’re still winding up, Alaina.” Sam aims for my face, making a point I’m accessible to my enemies.
I have a nasty habit of dropping my hands after throwing and kicking, an easy way to get caught by a fist. And I’m starting to get frustrated by it. I need to show I can lead this pack.
“Again,” Sam instructs.
I reset my stance, making sure to keep my feet balanced and shoulder-width apart.
I’m panting, but I gather enough energy to strike for a left jab to the face. However, I didn’t pivot my back foot, causing me to lose power in my blow.
Before Sam can point this out, I say, “I know.” I reset my stance, circling Sam, setting myself up for another combination. I settle on a right kick to the calf, pivot my front foot to the back, and lean to get the perfect strike.
Sam goes with my movement, catching my back to his chest, putting me in a chokehold.
I tap instantly, and he lets go.
“You glanced down briefly at my calf before you tried to kick.”
Shit, thought I was subtle that time.
“Keep your eyes on me next time. Don’t let me see your next move.”
I nod, wheezing.
Sam snickers. “Take a break.”
Thank goddess .
Sam leaves me to saunter over to the she-wolves eye-fucking the shirtless, glistening beta.
I plop to the ground, lying back on the grass. Staring up at the white puffy sky, breathing heavily, I wonder if Dax is watching me. Would he be proud?
Nope, can’t think about that —at least not here, where others could see me cry.
My view of the puffy white clouds is blocked by a familiar face belonging to Tom.
“Your Majesty,” he says.
“Please, call me Alaina.” I pat the ground next to me. “Join me?”
Tom makes his way down, staring up at the same sky as me. “How are you?”
There it is, the sympathetic question.
“As good as can be expected.”
During a long pause, I seize the opportunity to change the subject. “How come Dax trained you differently?”
“I didn’t exactly fit in with the rest,” Tom says, the cringe apparent in his tone. He doesn’t even try to deny it, meaning he noticed it, too. “I guess he saw that and thought I needed more attention.” He laughs, darting his gaze around.
I had my suspicions, but since having watched him and Dax train, I wanted to confirm.
I whip my head to him.
His raven-black hair and green eyes search the sky.
“I don’t think that’s completely true,” I say.
Whatever intentions Dax saw in Tom showed potential worthy of extra one-on-one time. Dax wouldn’t single someone out further if he felt they were already struggling to fit in unless something about their authentic-self told Dax they were always meant to stand out.
Tom’s eyebrow scrunches, wheels visibly turning in his head. “What do you mean?”
“Dax wasn’t one to waste time. I saw you train with him. You’ve got potential to be a warrior, a leader even.”
Tom appears to ponder the possibility, then turns his head toward me. “You think so?”
I smile and nod.
Tom tries to hide his smile, looking back at the clouds. “I never thought of it like that. I always assumed the only reason he’d pay so much attention to me is because there’s something wrong with me.”
Hearing him say that, I realize we’ve both had the same automatic, inaccurate thoughts, and my smile fades to a frown.
We both assumed Dax had ill intentions, when, really, we had a negative world view of ourselves. One of distortion and based on negative core beliefs. It was hard to believe Dax wanted me, so with everything he did, I told myself it was ill intended.
“I saw you as well,” Tom starts. “You do what I used to do. You overthink.”
Story of my life.
I snort . “And if I’m not overthinking, I’m letting my feelings get the best of me.”
“Right, it’s about balance. Dax told me there’s a right time to check and uncheck your emotions.”
I turn toward Tom, propping my head up on my hand. “What do you mean?”
“He told me to imagine your emotions are a fuel source kept in a bottle, used to put force behind your blows. You let the emotions build and fizz to the top of the bottle. Then, when it’s time to hit your opponent, you pop off the cap and quickly close the lid. It’s okay to be emotional, just have to learn to check and uncheck when you need to.”
I tug at the grass, ripping out pieces and watching the blades fall, pondering his words. “That’s good advice. Thank you.”
“Of course, Alaina.”
“Ready for another round?” Sam asks, returning from his break.
Tom stands, helping me up.
I smirk at him, then back at Sam. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
Since arriving last week, I’ve been training with Sam practically nonstop from sunrise to sunset. I think both of us have found comfort in fighting the way we wish we had when...
I shake the thought and switch to a happier one. Kicking Sam’s ass.
Come to think of it, I have been more chipper ever since Tom gave me that advice. It was exactly what I needed.
You mean mate’s advice. My wolf has started talking to me again, but she’s still not her peppy, usual self.
Yes, our mate’s advice.
It’s bittersweet knowing he’s still trying to help keep us safe even beyond the grave. I’d like to think I was worthy of such protection.
I think I’m even turning heads with my skills. I can only hope the pack starts to have some faith in me as their leader. I’m trying my hardest, but I have big shoes to fill.
Unfortunately, the training had to stop at some point to dabble in politics. The royal council has requested an audience with me and will be here in the morning.
Sam and I predict they’re coming to question my standing. It’s custom for any new ruler to be approved first by council. After Sam and I’s big display at Bloodhound, I wouldn’t be surprised if the council was ready to challenge and reject my new position as queen. I’m sure they’re planning to showcase just how unprepared I am to strengthen their position to not have me rule.
I had to prove them wrong.
So, now, I’m sitting at Dax’s desk, combing through and reviewing every bit of information I need. It’s Mr. Playboy’s crash course on queenly duties for dummies, and I’m thankful for it because there’s so much I didn’t know.
After several hours of reviewing the minutes of previous meetings, I finally made it to the one Dax last attended.
I sigh. “I need a break.” I slump, resting my head on the back of the chair.
I slide my gaze at Sam without moving my head, trying to come up with ways to entertain myself while also annoying him.
Sam finishes the page of whatever he’s reading and tilts his head toward the next. “What you need is a cleanse. Top drawer.”
Curious, I lean forward, pulling it out of the desk. The metal handle clinks against the wood as I let it go and pull out a manila folder. “What’s this?”
I grab and lay the folder on the desk, flipping it open. In capitalized black letters, a white cover page read Confidential . Embossed at the top was the Bloodhound pack’s seal, a bitch pointing its snout in the direction of which it means to hunt. Under Confidential reads Emilia Grove .
My mother’s records.
My breath hitches.
I had forgotten all about the records. What once was so important now fell short in comparison to everything else. I had fought so hard for possible answers about my identity that I missed the chance of developing one as Dax’s mate and queen to Crescent.
I’d trade a folder of my ancestral past for one with details of a future with Dax. The thought is bittersweet. I was grateful to have been provided with a fate that allowed me to forget about the parents I didn’t have, but now, an even greater absence plagues my soul.
Sniffling, I collect the tears from underneath my bottom lashes.
I exhale, flipping over the first page.
Emilia Grove, female, rogue, arrived on the grounds at 0300 hours seeking refuge. Miss Grove indicated she is pregnant and has left her mate, the father of her unborn pup. Miss Grove refused to disclose the name of her mate but indicated he is someone of great power. Miss Grove denied her mate being of any threat and that he would not be coming after her.
When pressed further, Miss Grove explained the completion of their bond did not occur. This interviewer observed Miss Grove’s neck to be absent of a mating mark or scar. Miss Grove then said the father is unaware of the existence of his unborn pup. While attempting to gather more information about Miss Grove’s mate and her certainty he would not seek her out, Miss Grove sobbed uncontrollably. This interviewer seized further presage of such topic.
Although of rogue status, Miss Grove reported she was only one for a short amount of time. Miss Grove was formerly a member of another pack before it was overrun. It was then when she fled that she stumbled upon her mate, who then took her in. Miss Grove refused to provide any identifying information of her most recent residency.
Due to her former pack’s recent fall of civilization and demolition, Bloodhound is unable to secure any records to verify the above information. An interrogation commenced and was transcribed, of which Miss Grove’s answers remained consistent even after signs of exhaustion and irritation.
I flip to the recommendations.
I, Alpha Jack, recommend that Miss Grove be granted refuge in Bloodhound pack on a probationary period. Casting her away is contrary to the welfare of herself, her wolf, and her unborn pup.
It is also encouraged Miss Grove be kept under close supervision until her probation period has concluded, under the care of another pack member at the alpha and luna’s discretion.
Upon successful completion of such period, a hearing shall be held according to pack bylaws to review and determine whether Miss Grove should be granted permanent membership and residency.
I close the folder, knowing what happens next, where she’s placed with Jemma until her dying days. Besides, I didn’t want the formal tone of the truth that lies in this thin file to taint and dull the tellings of my mother I’ve held onto all these years. I’d rather hold on to what I know to be true than what is. Sometimes, fantasy is better than reality. Why couldn’t I have learned that sooner?
I sigh.
Even with answers—or lack thereof—to the questions I’ve harbored, I’m distracted. Before I can focus my attention on the final meeting notes, one more mystery requires uncovering.
“What’s section twenty-eight?”
Sam is perched on the edge of a built-in bookshelf. With a book in one hand, he stares at me before shutting it. Sam rises and walks to a new stack on an end table along the tall windows.
“Or don’t answer me—that’s fine, too,” I say sarcastically.
He still doesn’t answer, so I return my attention to reading the minutes from the last meeting Dax held with the council.
I jump at the sudden thud of a dusty book landing on the desk.
Sam steps in front of me. “Page 178.”
I cough at the debris and scrunch my nose. “Geez, how old is this book? And what is it?”
“Royal practices, rules, and protocols. Think of it as Dax’s bible.”
“For a bible, it doesn’t look like he’s opened it in years.”
“Because he had it memorized.” Sam slides the thick manual toward me.
I open the vintage cover to reveal stiff, yellow-stained pages that crunch as I turn them. Verbiage is spelled out in small print as if it were written millenniums ago.
“There are thousands of pages. How did he memorize all of this?”
“Dax’s tutor first taught Dax how to read using this book.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “No child could read this.”
I barely could.
“I know, it’s crazy. But his father didn’t waste time letting him watch shows or read fantastical stories. This was all that mattered. Dax had it memorized by the time he was twelve. He knows everything about this place and each building’s history.”
I think back to when Dax told me about the architecture during River’s tour and how he knew everything regarding his kingdom.
“His father was away handling matters too dangerous for the only male heir to the throne to attend. So, Dax stayed behind, and his mother snuck me in for a play date. When I asked him what he wanted to play, he shrugged, so I asked him what he does for fun. He handed me this book and told me to pick any page I wanted.” Sam chuckles, smiling at the ground. “I could barely lift the thing let alone read it. But I flipped to a random page. Page 178, I said. And Dax quoted it back to me and asked if he was right.”
“ That’s what Dax considered a game? What child would find that fun?”
“A child who had to get creative to experience any fun at all.”
My chest hurting, I ask myself, Did he ever know joy?
Mate tried to find joy with us. You just wouldn’t let him.
My wolf is obviously still pissed. But shes right.
“If you look down page 178, you’ll find code section twenty-eight.”
I skim the page but stop once I reach it.
“ That’s what he said to me before he went over the cliff. He wanted me to make sure you knew.”