Chapter 11 - Lola
Lola had never thought silence could be loud, but the last three days had taught her otherwise.
The apartment felt cavernous without Dane’s heavy footfalls or the low hum of his voice from the next room.
Even Sam, nestled snugly against her chest in his sling, seemed to notice the difference.
He kept squirming like he was searching for something, his little nose nuzzling against her shirt like he expected a deeper voice and stronger arms.
She rubbed his back gently, pacing the length of the living room for the hundredth time. The curtains were drawn, but she kept glancing at them anyway, half-expecting headlights to cut across them. Nothing.
It had been three days.
Three days without a call. Without a message. Not even a grunted “I’m alive.”
She wasn’t supposed to care this much. They weren’t a couple.
They barely shared anything outside of feeding schedules and the occasional near-heart attack when Sam tried to roll off the sofa.
But still, every time her phone buzzed with a notification that wasn’t from him, her heart clenched tight, then fell all over again.
Daisy hadn’t helped. She’d stopped by that afternoon, bright-eyed and cheerful, armed with groceries and unsolicited chatter.
“He’s fine,” Daisy had said quickly as she helped chop up vegetables for a hearty winter stew, “Felix wouldn’t send him if it wasn’t necessary. But…I suppose you should know. Red Teeth’s back. Or close, anyway.”
That had derailed Lola’s already-tenuous calm.
Now, as the sky outside darkened to deep plum and Sam grew heavier in her arms, Lola tried to will her thoughts elsewhere. Eventually, she coaxed him into his crib. He stirred once, sighed softly, and stilled again.
She stayed longer than she needed to, just watching him breathe.
The tiny weight of him was the only thing tethering her to anything that felt like a purpose. Her research, her independence, none of it meant much when she was standing in a darkened room, staring at an infant who might already consider her his entire world.
And she didn’t even know if his father was still alive.
She brushed a hand over her face and forced herself out of the nursery. Her laptop sat open on the coffee table, untouched. Several unread messages from Ethel lurked like sharks in her inbox. Her thesis document blinked patiently from the screen.
Chapter Four: Expectations on Alpha Males as Biological or Cultural Development.
Normally, sinking into research helped. It grounded her. But tonight, the text swam on the screen, and her thoughts scattered like sand. She scrolled up and re-read a paragraph. Then again. Then a third time.
Nothing stuck.
She typed a single sentence: The archetype of the alpha as both protector and oppressor underscores a duality of pack formation.
Deleted it.
Tried again. Deleted again.
Protector. Alphas were protectors. But that same violent drive that led them to rip apart any threats to their loved ones also pushed them to violence against each other. To claim territory. To enforce their will. Protection became oppression.
It was precisely why she’d long ago promised herself never to get caught up with an alpha. For the most part, they were hot-headed idiots with quick tempers and terrifying strength. Far too much for someone like her.
It took a healthy pack dynamic to keep them in line, top alphas who demonstrated through their own moral strength how things should be done. But hardly any packs had healthy dynamics these days, ever since the attempted genocide by the humans. Tradition had been lost, and with it reason, it seemed.
She was researching how to make things better for a reason.
Dane was a protector. The good kind. She knew that in her bones, even when it seemed like he didn’t know it himself.
And yet here she was, tearing herself apart because he hadn’t thought to message her.
Surely he would have messaged her? If he was okay?
Or was that just wishful thinking?
Sam gave a soft noise from the nursery, a sigh or a grunt, and Lola jumped to her feet as if something had gone wrong. She hovered at the doorway, but he was still asleep.
She didn’t go back to the thesis. She curled up on the end of the couch instead, arms wrapped tight around a cushion, staring at nothing. She didn’t want to be dramatic. She didn’t want to be helpless.
But worry had worn her paper-thin.
When the knock came, it felt like a gunshot.
Firm. Two taps. A pause. Two more.
Her breath stilled in her lungs.
She stood, cautiously approaching the door, bare feet silent against the floor. Her hand hovered over the handle. She didn’t need to ask who it was.
That knock was practiced.
Pack.
She opened it a crack and peered through.
Rick.
His expression was civil. Friendly, even. But his gaze, sharp, unreadable, made her spine stiffen.
“Evening, Lola,” he said smoothly, smile not quite reaching his eyes, “mind if I come in?”
She stepped aside, because what else could she do? Rick was pack royalty, or close enough, and she wasn’t pack at all. Just a lone academic with a borrowed crib and a baby she loved too fiercely.
Rick entered like he belonged there.
“Cozy,” he said, glancing around the apartment. His tone was mild, almost amused, but Lola didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned every corner, couch, kitchen, hallway. He was cataloguing, assessing.
“Sam’s asleep,” she said, shutting the door quietly behind them.
“Of course. I won’t be long.”
He moved toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms folded. It was a casual pose, but on Rick, nothing ever looked truly relaxed. There was a coil beneath the surface, something always ready to snap.
“How are you settling in?” he asked.
She straightened her spine. “Fine.”
“And the baby?”
“Healthy. Happy.”
“And Dane?”
She blinked. “What about him?”
Rick tilted his head slightly. “It’s quite the arrangement you have here. Living together. Co-parenting.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m helping out. That’s all.”
“Sure.” He smiled, but it still didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just curious. It’s not often someone from outside the pack integrates so quickly. So…thoroughly.”
There was an implication in that word, and Lola didn’t like it.
“I haven’t integrated into anything,” she said evenly, “I’m not pack. I know that.”
“And yet here you are. In Dane’s space. With his child. It’s unusual.”
Lola folded her arms across her chest. “Is that what this is? You’re here to assess how unusual I am?”
Rick chuckled softly. “I’m here to check in. Alpha’s orders. We’re tightening the borders. Monitoring everyone. Especially non-pack shifters.”
There it was. The veiled threat, neatly folded inside polite conversation.
“You think I’m a threat?”
“No.” He pushed off the counter and took a step toward her. Not close enough to be aggressive, but close enough that she noticed. “I think you’re smart. Smart enough to know how bad things could get if the wrong wolf crossed into the wrong territory.”
Her breath caught. “You think someone might…smuggle him in?”
“Red Teeth has sympathizers. Outcasts. Rogues. Some shifters don’t care who they follow, as long as they get blood.” He studied her face. “You grew up in a pack, didn’t you?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“But you left.”
“I wasn’t needed.” She paused again before adding, “Or wanted.”
His expression flickered—interest, maybe even something like pity—but it was gone before she could name it.
“It’s hard to know where you belong,” he said, “even harder when you think you do…and then realize maybe you never did.”
She swallowed. “What do you want from me, Rick?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stepped past her, toward Sam’s room. The door was mostly shut, but the crack let out just enough of the soft white glow from the baby monitor.
“You care about him,” Rick said quietly.
She turned toward him, “Sam?”
He nodded.
“Of course I care about him. He’s…he’s just a baby. He didn’t ask for any of this.”
“And Dane?”
Lola’s throat went dry.
“I care about him, too. But that’s none of your business.”
Rick turned back toward her, his expression unreadable. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all of our business now.”
Before she could ask what the hell he meant by that, the sound of the front door opening cut through the moment like a blade.
Boots on the floor.
A gust of cold air.
And then…Dane.
He stepped inside, shoulders hunched, shirt stained with dried mud and blood, eyes like thunderclouds. He took in the scene in two heartbeats, Rick standing too close, Lola tense and pale.
“What are you doing here?” Dane’s voice was low. Sharp.
Rick straightened, not at all fazed. “Checking in. Felix’s orders.”
“She’s not a threat.”
“Didn’t say she was.” Rick gave Lola a last, unreadable look before brushing past Dane toward the door. “Just being thorough. You’d do the same.”
Dane blocked the doorway for half a second longer than necessary. Then stepped aside.
Rick left with a polite, “Goodnight.”
The door shut behind him.
Lola let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Dane turned to her. His face was unreadable, but his energy buzzed, protective, coiled, furious.
“What did he say to you?” he asked.
She swallowed. “He asked about Sam. About you. About how I feel.”
Dane groaned, running a hand down his face. “Fucking Rick.”
Lola swallowed, but chose not to reply.
He looked like he’d been through hell.
His clothes were streaked with dried mud, his knuckles scraped raw, and there was a tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there before. But it wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that made her breath catch; it was the look in his eyes. Dark. Frustrated. Too many emotions forced down behind a scowl.
She didn’t know what to say.
So she said the most obvious thing. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Dane—”
“I said it’s nothing.”
That quiet snap of temper shouldn’t have made her chest ache the way it did.
He dragged a hand through his hair, then strode past her into the kitchen like he couldn’t stand still. He opened a cabinet at random, stared at the contents, then shut it again.
Lola followed, hovering just inside the doorway. “You didn’t message.”
“I was busy.”
“So busy you couldn’t text once in three days?”
“I didn’t have a signal half the time,” he turned toward her then, sharp and wild around the edges, “and I was a little preoccupied making sure no one’s throat got ripped out by a rogue alpha.”
Silence.
Lola’s arms wrapped around herself. She hated that she was shaking. She hated that she cared.
He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you.”
“You think I’m weak,” she said quietly.
His head jerked up. “What?”
“Rick came in here, poked at me like I was some sort of loose thread, and I just stood there. I let him in. I answered his questions. I didn’t even push back.”
Dane stepped toward her slowly. “Rick’s a snake. You handled him fine.”
“I didn’t handle him. I survived the conversation. Barely. He was sniffing around like I’m going to turn traitor or something.”
“Because he’s nosy. And calculating. And he knows—” Dane caught himself, jaw locking.
Lola frowned. “Knows what?”
He looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”
The tension between them curled tighter.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, “really.”
He hesitated. For a long moment, he just looked at her, like he wasn’t sure which parts of the truth she could handle.
Then he finally spoke.
“There’s been a rise in attacks along the edge of the northern line, near a human town. Too many dead. All of them torn up, savaged. Red Teeth made sure we’d get the message.”
Lola’s mouth went dry. “What message?”
“That he’s close. That he’s building something. A pack of his own, maybe. Or a following. We don’t know. But this wasn’t random.” He exhaled. “Felix thinks it was a warning.”
“And you want to chase him.”
Dane’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What I want doesn’t matter. We need to hold the line. Protect what we’ve got.”
Her stomach turned cold, “And Rick thinks I might smuggle him in? Threaten the pack?”
“Rick thinks if he stares hard enough at people, they’ll betray themselves.” He stepped closer again. “But it’s serious, Lola. I need you to listen to me, because this is the part I can’t compromise on.”
She straightened, chewing her lip. “Okay.”
“If something happens, if things go bad, you take Sam and you run. Don’t wait for me. Don’t try to be brave. Just go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous-”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” he said, voice rising, “this isn’t one of your stories. This is war, and that baby in the other room, he’s got my blood. That makes him a target.”
Her throat closed.
He took another step. “I need to know you’re not going to be stubborn about this.”
“And I need to know you’re not going to throw yourself into danger without thinking, like you always do.”
“That’s my job!”
“And Sam needs his father more than the Iron Walkers need another body on the front lines!”
They stood, nearly toe to toe, both breathing hard.
Something flickered across Dane’s face. Pain. Frustration. Something more primal, darker, full of heat.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
And before Lola could think, before she could brace, he was kissing her.
It wasn’t gentle. Or tentative. It was messy and charged and real.
His hands came up to her waist, fingers digging in like he didn’t know how to hold anything gently. Her own fingers fisted in his damp shirt, clutching at him like she needed an anchor.
There were no words.
Just heat and breath, and too much built-up feeling burning its way to the surface.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Staring. Stunned.
Lola licked her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
For a moment, a brief, agonizing moment, she thought that he was going to pull away. A thousand emotions rolled across his gaze, dark and stormy. And then he was kissing her again. And she was kissing him back.