Chapter 4 - Ava
In all my years growing up in Starcreek, I never went into the alpha house. I never even approached the gate. Even when I had Ronan’s brief attention, he would never have brought me here. My family simply wasn’t respectable enough.
So, to be standing here now, surrounded by the clawing alpha scents of so many generations of leaders, feels overwhelming.
No more so than Ronan’s scent, which feels both familiar and somehow freshly intimidating.
He was born to be alpha, and his wolf was always dominant, but he’s older now, and his wolf is on a whole different level.
And despite my desperation to get away, my stupid wolf is helpless in her response. I already feel the subtle clawing of my omega nature, and I’ve been in this house less than forty-eight hours.
I need to get out of here if I’m going to rescue Sophie from my parents.
I have never been more certain that I need to get her far away from them, this pack, and anyone who could harm her, including Ronan.
Alphas take their lineage very seriously, and I won’t let him find out about her now.
He will be furious and could take her and banish me again.
They already banished me once—I won’t risk anyone keeping me from Sophie again.
No, I need to get her away from them all.
But first, I need to find a way out of the house.
After the ceremony, Ronan brought me here, showed me to this room, saying he has no intention of sharing more of his space with me than necessary for breeding.
Then he went out to organize the evening patrols.
The kitchen has plenty of food, but other than that, the house has been silent.
Ronan’s home could not be further from my own experience.
The main floor is an open plan with exposed beams and wide-planked floors, the wood glossed to a warm, honeyed shine.
You can tell the bones of the house are old, hand-built, and stubbornly solid, the kind of house designed to outlast its builder.
However, every detail has been updated, likely since Ronan’s father passed away.
There’s a chef’s kitchen on one side with gleaming subway tile and a mammoth stove with six burners, the fridge oversized, but he’s somehow managed to fill it, or someone has.
Each shelf is laden with pre-prepared meals, snacks, beers, and single-serve smoothies.
I can’t picture Ronan at the stove, or anywhere near it, really.
He doesn’t seem the type to prepare home-cooked meals, or anything, really.
But at least I won’t go hungry while he leaves me locked in here.
The rest of the house appears to be a monument to masculinity—steel, leather, and slate, every chair and couch oversized and dark.
The hearth is enormous, stacked with logs split by hand, and the mantel above it is the only place in the entire house that betrays any softness.
Dozens of family photos, arranged in a grid so precisely they must have been measured out, show the lineage of Ronan’s family, spanning generations of powerful alphas and beautiful women.
My eyes linger on a picture of Ronan’s mother, which was obviously taken years earlier, because she looks even younger than I remember her from my childhood.
She was stunning, with long auburn hair and sun-kissed skin.
In the picture, she’s looking up at Ronan’s father, the alpha my parents betrayed.
I always remember him as cruel and angry, because that’s how he seemed whenever my parents crossed paths with him.
Older now, I can understand why. Looking at this picture, all I see is happiness as they stare into each other’s eyes—a gentle happiness.
I look away, not wanting even to see it when I’m missing Sophie so much.
I know that technically, it’s possible for alphas and omegas to have happy unions, but I’ve never seen it in real life, and I don’t expect to find it here.
I glance back at the picture. She’s probably just smiling because she has to, I decide.
I’m still standing by the pictures when I hear the front door click, and my body lurches toward the sound, only to freeze as the handle turns.
I brace myself to face Ronan, but it’s not his looming figure that fills the foyer.
It’s his sister, Emily, wearing a T-shirt dress and battered sneakers, her arms filled with tote bags and a cardboard box threatening structural collapse.
“Hey!” She kicks the door closed behind her. “Ronan said you’d be here. He’s had to rush off to a wildfire at one of the farms and mentioned you were here alone. I brought you some stuff.”
She takes it into the kitchen, depositing the box on the large central island.
I look toward the door to see if it’s still ajar, feeling the urge to flee, to bolt for the open door, but see that it’s shut again.
Still, Emily has the keys; maybe I can get them off her.
I’m running through scenarios in my head as I follow her into the kitchen.
I wonder what Ronan would do to her if I used her to escape?
She turns and grins at me. “He told me you didn’t bring anything with you, so….” She shrugs, and her smile is all sunshine and easy warmth. It makes me feel bad for even considering getting her into trouble. “Some of it’s mine, some is new. Don’t worry; I picked neutral stuff.”
I cringe. “I’m not sure anything of yours will fit me,” I say, laughing nervously as I take in her willowy figure.
She blushes as her hands freeze mid-unpacking the bag. “I would absolutely kill for your curves. I know I’m like a beanpole," she says, waving her hand at her perfect athletic figure. “But these are a mix of sizes…”
I gasp. “You’re not a beanpole,” I laugh. “Who told you that? You’re beautiful.”
She shakes her head, a blush climbing up her neck.
“Ronan always said I got the lesser genes. Which is hilarious, since he’s a walking tank.
” She glances around, as if checking for him, then lowers her voice conspiratorially.
“He’s lucky to have you here, you know. He pretends he doesn’t need anyone, but he does. ”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I move closer to the island, peering into the bag.
She’s packed it with surprising care: soft, loose T-shirts, a couple of cardigans, even a set of pajamas that look brand-new.
The box is mostly toiletries and a few books.
It’s the kind of bag you’d assemble for a friend, not your brother’s forcibly assigned mate.
“Thank you,” I breathe, unsure if I’m saying it for the things or the effort. “It’s true, I didn’t bring much. I didn’t think I’d be chosen.”
She shrugs. “I wasn’t surprised at all when I saw you.
You should have had more confidence.” She beams at me like being chosen is a good thing, although I suppose she must assume it’s what I wanted since I put myself forward.
I don’t know what to say, so I simply smile as she continues, “Were your parents okay with you coming back to the pack?”
I feel my whole body tense at the mention of my parents.
All I can see is Sophie’s beautiful face and my fear of what she’s going through right now.
What have they told her about where I am?
She’s so young, she needs me. My words get stuck in my throat, and I know Emily’s watching me, the silence stretching on too long.
I know I need to reply, and I force myself to look at her, fixing a smile on my face.
There’s no malice in her face, just the open curiosity of someone who has never had to hide anything.
“They weren’t too happy, but we’re not very close. I wanted to come home.”
Home is wherever Sophie is.
Emily reaches over and puts a sympathetic hand over mine.
“That must have been a hard decision, but I think you’re so brave,” she says sincerely.
“You made the right decision to come back to us. The pack loves a drama, but once you’re settled, they’ll forget all about your parents, and you’ll be so welcome. ”
I have no intention of staying here, but for a moment I briefly wonder if that’s true.
Would the pack ever really accept me? Would it have been different if I’d been born to a different family, in a different body?
If I’d been thinner, or shyer, or more beautiful?
The thought is bizarre, even as it floats through me.
Emily is still squeezing my hand, and it occurs to me that she must think I’m afraid. Maybe I am, but the kind of fear you get after the worst has already happened, after the wolf has already bitten down.
“I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” I manage, voice small but even. I pull my hand gently away, and she doesn’t seem to notice the coolness in the movement.
I busy myself unpacking her gifts, letting her chatter fill the space.
She refreshes me on the best trails for running in the forest, although Ronan has shown no sign of letting me out.
She makes my return sound like a happy event—if only I could ignore the underlying threat of violence from my parents and the strict hierarchy I find myself in here that governs everything, even my body.
Emily runs out of things to say at the same moment I run out of ways to make all this sound normal.
She gives me a slightly troubled look that makes me think perhaps she can sense my reluctance to talk about my family, or maybe she’s just picking up on the anxious, sour spike of my scent.
It occurs to me that I should try harder to be friendly.
She genuinely seems nice, but I struggle to force myself into the easy rhythm that appears to come so naturally to her.
She finishes unpacking and says, “If you need me, just text.” She frowns, then brightens. “You have a phone, right?”
I cringe. “Er, no. I’ve just never needed one,” I reply, not wanting to say I’ve never had anyone to call.
She frowns momentarily but masks it quickly. “I’ll tell Ronan to get that sorted; you need a phone. And I’ll come by tomorrow morning. We can have breakfast. I’ll make pancakes.” She gives me a quick, hopeful look. “If that’s okay?”
My instinct is to say no, but something in her expression, combined with my overwhelming sense of loneliness, stops me. “Of course,” I smile, trying to inject some sincerity into it. With any luck, I will escape tonight, but if not, I’ll probably be glad to see a kind face tomorrow.
I see Emily to the door and note that she triple-checks the lock, glancing back almost apologetically, so I know she’s had her orders. I wave as she walks away.
At least I know why Ronan hasn’t been back; it must have been a big wildfire.
For some reason, it settles my wolf to know he didn’t just lock me in here and leave because he couldn’t bear to look at me.
I shake my head, knowing foolish thoughts like that are only a distraction from what I need to do: escape.
I spend the next couple of hours searching all the unlocked rooms for keys, checking windows and doors for any sign of weakness, and generally assessing my options.
Eventually, I start feeling exhausted; I’m not sure if it’s physical or just the emotional toll of trying to figure out this mess.
Lying down on the bed is meant to ground me, but it does the opposite.
The mattress is impossibly soft, nearly swallowing my body whole.
The sheets seem freshly laundered, but Ronan’s scent clings to the pillows, and the smell is everywhere.
I try to ignore it, but it fills my lungs, makes my skin tingle.
My wolf, who has been dormant and numb most of the day, perks up, prowling just beneath the surface.
It’s not the first time I’ve been overcome by the scent of an alpha, but I’m not used to this kind of exposure.
I haven’t been this close to Ronan in years, and it’s as if the time apart only intensified the effect.
My body reacts before I can put up any walls.
There’s a heat low in my belly, an ache that seems to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
Worse, the more I try to tamp it down, the more insistent it becomes, the more my wolf stirs and paces and whines for something I refuse to name.
I bury my face in the pillow, foolishly thinking I can muffle the sensation, but it only makes things worse.
The fabric is saturated with alpha, and I inhale deeply.
I know exactly what this means, and I know it’s going to make escape so much harder.
My heat is coming, which means my scent will be magnified and easier to track.
Once I’m in full heat, I won’t be able to refuse Ronan.
I won’t be able to run away from him. And I certainly won’t be able to kill him like my parents want me to.
How on earth can I rescue Sophie when I can’t even save myself?