Chapter 20 #2
She frowned, unconvinced. "At least let me clean it when we get back to the house."
I nodded, knowing it would ease her mind.
We got back in the car, and I drove carefully down the winding road, my shoulder throbbing with each turn of the wheel.
The pain was manageable—I'd endured far worse in territorial disputes with other packs—but I didn't want to worry Alison further by showing any discomfort.
She was quiet for a moment, processing all that had happened. "That wasn't your first rodeo with danger, was it?" she asked finally.
"No, it's not. Being a werewolf, you get into fights sometimes. They are usually territorial. We're always ready for things like that."
"So, danger will always be lurking around?" she asked, the worry evident in her eyes.
I wished I could lie to her, tell her that this was an isolated incident, but she deserved the truth. "Being an Alpha comes with risks," I said. "There are always those who want what I have—my territory, my business, my power."
"And now me and Leo," she said softly.
"Yes," I admitted. "But I will protect you both with my life. And my pack will protect you as well. You're my mate, Alison. That means something to werewolves. It means everything."
She looked out the window, her profile illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the trees.
"It's a lot to take in," she said finally, with a heavy sigh.
We reached the main road, and I accelerated, eager to get her home safely.
The adrenaline from the confrontation was beginning to fade, and the pain in my shoulder was becoming more insistent.
"Will you tell me more about it?" Alison asked suddenly. "About being an Alpha? About the pack?"
I glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Of course. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," she said simply. "If I'm going to be part of this world, I need to understand it."
Pride swelled in my chest at her words. This was what I had hoped for—her willingness to embrace not just me, but my world as well.
"The Alpha is the leader of the pack," I began. "It's partly a hereditary position—my father was Alpha before me—but it's also earned. An Alpha must be strong enough to protect the pack, wise enough to lead them, and fair enough to keep their loyalty."
"And you're all of those things?" she asked, but there was no skepticism in her tone, only genuine curiosity.
"I try to be," I said honestly. "It's not always easy. There are hard decisions to be made, challenges to face. But the pack is my responsibility, and I take that seriously."
"How many are there? In your pack, I mean."
"Currently, over two hundred," I told her.
Her eyes widened slightly. "That's more than I expected."
"We're one of the larger packs in the region," I explained. "And one of the oldest. The Moonshadow pack has held this territory for over a thousand years."
"And Leo... he'll be Alpha someday?" she asked, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice.
"If he chooses to be," I said carefully. "It's his birthright, but I would never force the role on him if he didn't want it."
She nodded, seeming relieved by my answer. "And what about... mates? You've mentioned that I'm yours, but what does that really mean? Is it like marriage?"
I smiled at the comparison. "It's deeper than marriage," I said.
"A mate bond is... It's like finding the other half of your soul.
It's rare for a werewolf to find their true mate.
Many go their whole lives without finding them, settle for relationships based on compatibility or political advantage. "
"Like you and Victoria?" she asked shrewdly.
I grimaced at the reminder. "Exactly like that. It would have been a political match, nothing more."
"But with me..." she prompted.
"With you, it was instantaneous," I told her, remembering that night in the bar. "The moment I saw you, my wolf recognized you. It was like a punch to the gut, that certainty that you were mine."
I pulled up to the front of the mansion and turned off the engine. We got out of the car, and I winced again as I moved my injured shoulder. Alison was at my side immediately, her concern evident.
"Let me help you," she said, slipping an arm around my waist.
I smiled down at her. "I'm fine, but I won't turn down an excuse to have you close."
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "You're impossible."
"You like it," I teased, and was rewarded with a soft laugh.
We entered the mansion quietly, mindful of the late hour. The grand foyer was dimly lit, the household staff having retired for the night.
"Let me check on Leo first," Alison whispered, "then I'll help you with that wound."
I nodded, following her up the sweeping staircase. The Black mansion was opulent, with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers. We passed William's study, where a sliver of light showed under the door, but continued on to Leo's room. Alison opened the door carefully, and we both peered in.
Leo was fast asleep in his bed, his dark hair tousled on the pillow, one arm thrown above his head. Beside him, curled protectively, was a large stuffed wolf—a gift I'd given him when I learned he was my son.
Alison smiled at the sight, then gently closed the door again. "He seems to have had a good time with William," she whispered.
"William adores him," I replied. "It's good for him to have a grandfather figure."
We continued down the hall to Alison's suite. I hesitated at the door, not wanting to presume, but she gestured for me to follow her in.
"I've got a first aid kit in the bathroom," she said, leading the way through her sitting room to the adjoining bathroom.
Her rooms were less formal than the rest of the mansion, with personal touches that made them feel lived-in. Photos of Leo at various ages adorned the walls, and a stack of well-worn novels sat on the nightstand by her bed. It was a glimpse into her private world, and I treasured it.
In the bathroom, she gestured for me to sit on the edge of the tub.
The air between us was already charged and thick with the weight of unspoken things as she turned to retrieve the first aid kit from the cabinet.
I shrugged out of my jacket, each movement dragging fire through my shoulder, and began working at the buttons of my shirt.
I winced as dried blood tugged at the torn skin.
"Let me," Alison said, her voice low—soft, but firm.
She knelt in front of me, the kit forgotten for a moment, and her hands moved to mine.
Our fingers brushed, and the simple touch sparked something deep and hot between us.
Her fingers lingered just a second longer than they had to before she started unfastening the buttons one by one.
I watched her face as she worked, how her brows furrowed in concentration, how her lips parted ever so slightly. She slid the fabric off my shoulders, and the air hit my bare skin, but it wasn't the cold that made me shiver. It was her.
She drew in a sharp breath when she saw the wound—her eyes darkening with a mix of concern and something else. Something I recognized. "Lucas," she murmured, voice breathy. "This is serious. You should be in a hospital."
"It looks worse than it is," I replied, my voice lower now, more intimate. "It's already healing. By morning, it'll just be a scar. Tomorrow night, not even that."
She bit her bottom lip, clearly unconvinced, but nodded. The look she gave me lingered too long, her eyes tracing over the curve of my chest, the line of muscle along my abdomen, down to where my jeans rode low on my hips. I didn't miss it. And I didn't look away.