Chapter 4 Alden
ALDEN
The mansion rises through the trees like something out of a gothic fever dream.
Three stories of weathered stone and Victorian architecture, all sharp gables and arched windows that catch the fading light.
Ivy crawls up the eastern wall, and the wraparound porch sags slightly in the middle, worn down by generations of boots.
It's been Blackmoore territory for over a century—built when the pack first claimed this land and maintained through sheer stubbornness ever since.
I take the front steps two at a time, pushing through the heavy oak doors without slowing.
The foyer smells like woodsmoke and old leather. Portraits line the walls—Alpha after Alpha, dating back to the founding. My father's hangs near the staircase, his expression stern, uncompromising. I don't look at it.
"Alden."
Ciaran steps out of the study, arms crossed. He's leaning against the doorframe like he's been waiting, which he probably has. My Beta has a sixth sense for when something's wrong.
He's built leaner than me—wiry muscle and sharp angles, with ice-blue eyes that miss nothing.
His ash-blond hair is cropped short, practical, and there's a scar cutting through his left eyebrow from a border skirmish three years back.
He's been at my side since we were teenagers, and right now he's looking at me like I've lost my mind.
"Not now," I say, heading for the stairs.
"Yes, now." He pushes off the doorframe and falls into step beside me. "You dismissed council mid-session. Sprinted into the woods like your tail was on fire. Came back smelling like—" He stops, nostrils flaring. "What is that?"
I don't answer. Just keep climbing.
Ciaran grabs my arm, pulls me to a stop on the landing. "Alden. Talk to me."
"Let go."
"Not until you tell me what's going on." His grip tightens. "You've been off since the carcass this morning. Now you're walking in here looking like you've seen a ghost, and you smell like..." He trails off, eyes narrowing. "Human. Female. Why do you smell like a human female?"
I pull my arm free and push into my office, leaving the door open behind me. Ciaran follows, closing it with a soft click.
The room is sparse—desk, chairs, a wall of maps marking territory boundaries. I move to the window and stare out at the tree line, hands braced against the sill.
"Alden."
"She's my mate."
The words drop into the silence like stones into still water.
Ciaran doesn't respond. I can hear his breathing, slow and controlled, the way it gets when he's processing something he doesn't like.
"The human," he finally says. "The biologist."
"Yes."
"You're sure."
"My wolf nearly shifted in the middle of council." I turn to face him. "I caught her scent on the wind and everything else disappeared. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to claim her, mark her, drag her back here and never let her leave." I drag a hand through my hair. "So yes. I'm sure."
Ciaran exhales slowly. "When did you confirm it?"
"An hour ago. She crossed the boundary at dawn. I tracked her, tried to warn her off." I laugh, bitter and sharp. "She told me she handles apex predators for a living and walked right past me."
"She what?"
"Walked past me. Shoulder-checked me on the way." I shake my head. "I couldn't touch her. Couldn't stop her. My wolf wanted her too badly, and if I'd put my hands on her—"
"You would have claimed her on the spot."
"Or worse."
Ciaran is quiet for a long moment. Then he crosses to the desk and leans against it, arms folded.
"You need to claim her. Tonight."
"No."
"Alden—"
"I said no."
"Listen to me." He pushes off the desk, closing the distance between us. "Gideon already knows a human crossed the boundary. By tonight, the whole council will know. If they find out she's your fated mate before you've claimed her, the political fallout will bury you."
"I don't care about politics."
"You should. Because Gideon's been waiting for an excuse to challenge your leadership, and an unclaimed human mate is exactly the ammunition he needs." Ciaran's voice drops lower, urgent. "Claim her. Bring her into the pack. It protects her and it protects you."
"It binds her to a war she doesn't know exists.
" I face the window again. "Three humans are dead.
Someone in this pack is killing outside our borders, and we don't know who or why.
The council's fractured, Gideon's circling like a vulture, and you want me to drag an innocent woman into the middle of it? "
"I want you to secure your position before someone else does it for you."
"By forcing a mate bond on a human who doesn't even know what she is to me?" I shake my head. "No. I won't do that to her."
"It's not forcing if it's fated."
"She doesn't know that. She doesn't know any of it." I press my palms flat against the window frame, watching the shadows lengthen across the grounds. "She thinks I'm just some territorial landowner trying to scare her off. She has no idea what she walked into this morning."
"Then tell her."
"Tell her what? That werewolves exist? That I'm the Alpha of a pack that's tearing itself apart? That the moment I caught her scent, my wolf decided she belongs to me whether she wants to or not?" I turn to face him. "How do you think that conversation goes, Ciaran?"
He doesn't answer.
"She's a scientist. She deals in data, evidence, things she can measure and prove. If I tell her the truth, she'll think I'm insane. And if I claim her without telling her, I'm no better than the rogues we hunt."
Ciaran scrubs a hand over his face. "So, what's your plan? Avoid her until she finishes her research and leaves?"
"If that's what it takes."
"And if she doesn't leave? If she keeps pushing into our territory, keeps documenting things she shouldn't see?" He steps closer, voice dropping. "What happens when she finds something she can't explain away? When she sees one of us shift?"
"I'll deal with it."
"How?"
"I don't know." The admission costs me. "But I'm not claiming a woman who doesn't know what she's agreeing to. I'm not binding her to this pack while there's a killer among us. And I'm not giving Gideon the satisfaction of watching me make a desperate move."
Ciaran’s eyes linger on me, something shifting in his expression. "You actually care about her. Already."
"She's my mate."
"That's not what I mean." He shakes his head slowly. "I've seen wolves claim fated mates within hours of first scent. It's instinct—primal, non-negotiable. But you're fighting it. For her sake."
"Someone has to."
"Most Alphas wouldn't."
"I'm not most Alphas."
He's quiet for a moment, then nods. "No. You're not." He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "For what it's worth, I think you're wrong. Claiming her would solve more problems than it creates. But I understand why you won't."
"Do you?"
"You're trying to give her a choice." He pulls the door open. "Even if it costs you everything."
I don't answer. Just turn back to the window and watch the tree line darken as the sun slips below the ridge.
Her scent is still on my skin. Still burning through my bloodstream like wildfire.
My brain tells me to go back, but my feet refuse to answer. To find her cabin, break down the door, and make her understand what she is to me.
But I don't move.
Because Ciaran is right. I'm trying to give her a choice.
Even if my wolf never forgives me for it.
The council reconvenes at dusk.
The stone clearing is colder now, shadows stretching long between the ancient slabs. Torches flicker at the perimeter, casting uneven light across the gathered elders. Moving to the center of the circle, I wait for the inevitable.
Gideon doesn't disappoint.
"We have a problem." He steps forward, firelight catching the silver in his hair. "A human crossed our boundary this morning. State wildlife biologist, here to investigate the attacks."
Murmurs ripple through the circle. Brynn taps her staff against stone, silencing them.
"We knew investigators would come eventually," she says. "It was only a matter of time after three bodies."
"Knowing and allowing are different things." Gideon turns to face me. "She walked past our boundary markers. Documented tracks. Took photographs. And according to patrol, our Alpha had a personal conversation with her—then let her continue deeper into territory."
Every eye in the clearing shifts to me.
"I warned her off," I say. "She refused to leave."
"And you didn't remove her?" Lydia Townsend steps forward, red hair catching the torchlight. "A human with cameras and recording equipment, walking through our land, and you just—what? Asked nicely?"
"I couldn't remove her without creating a bigger problem.
She's a state employee. If she disappears, more will come.
Federal investigators, search parties, media attention.
" My words are firm and steady. "We contain this by letting her finish and leave, not by giving authorities a reason to dig deeper. "
"Contain." Gideon spits the word. "You mean ignore. You mean hope she doesn't see anything she shouldn't while she wanders through our home taking notes."
"I mean manage the situation without starting a war we can't win."
Marek Wilco clears his throat. He's older than Gideon, quieter, with deep-set eyes and a patience that's earned him respect on the council. "What exactly did she document?"
"Tracks. Stride patterns. Nothing that proves anything beyond large predator activity."
"Large predator activity that doesn't match any known species." Ronan Webb crosses his arms, skepticism etched into every line of his weathered face. "How long before she starts asking questions we can't answer?"
"She's a scientist. She'll look for rational explanations first."
"And when she doesn't find them?" Gideon's voice rises. "When she sets up cameras and catches one of us mid-shift? When she follows tracks back to the compound and sees fifty wolves living in human houses?"
"That won't happen."
"You don't know that." He steps closer, close enough I can smell the aggression rolling off him. "You're gambling pack security on the hope that one human stays blind and stupid. That's not leadership. That's negligence."
Brynn's staff strikes stone. "Enough."
The clearing falls silent.
She moves forward, each step deliberate, her white braid swaying against her back. When she reaches me, her eyes—pale blue and unsettlingly sharp—hold mine without flinching.
"What is your plan, Alpha?"
"She'll be gone within days. Her investigation is focused on the attacks, not the land. Once she's mapped the corridors and filed her report, she'll move on to the next assignment."
"You're certain of this?"
"I am."
It's a lie. I have no idea how long Dr. Ellis plans to stay, no idea what she'll find if she keeps pushing into territory. But the alternative—telling the council the truth about what she is to me—isn't an option.
Brynn takes a moment to look me over, then nods slowly. "Days. Not weeks."
"Days."
"And if she's still here after?" Gideon cuts in. "If she decides the mystery is worth pursuing? What then?"
"Then I'll handle it."
"Handle it how?"
"However necessary."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. Gideon's eyes narrow, searching for the lie beneath them, but I keep my expression flat. Unreadable.
Lydia exchanges a glance with Ronan. "The rogue is still the larger threat. Three human kills, now livestock on our own land. Every day we spend arguing about one biologist is a day the real predator has to plan his next move."
"Agreed." Marek shifts his weight. "We should be organizing hunts, not debating jurisdiction."
"Hard to organize hunts when our Alpha won't commit to execution," Gideon says.
"I won't execute without confirmation. We still don't know who—"
A howl cuts through the night.
Long, urgent, rising from the eastern ridge. It’s a patrol signal, a threat detected.
I'm moving before the sound fades, pushing past Gideon toward the tree line. Sam bursts through the underbrush seconds later, still in wolf form, shifting as he skids to a stop.
"Rogue scent," he gasps. "Lower forest. Near the rental cabins."
My blood turns to ice.
"How close?"
"Quarter mile. Maybe less. Fresh trail, heading downhill."
Toward her.
"Alden." Ciaran appears at my shoulder, voice low. "Don't."
I don't answer. Don't think. Just let the shift take me—bones cracking, muscle reshaping, fur rippling across skin in a wave of heat and pressure. The world sharpens into scent and sound, every detail crystalline.
Her scent hits me immediately. Faint but unmistakable, drifting up from the valley below. Lavender and something warmer underneath, something that makes my wolf howl with recognition.
And layered beneath it—another shifter. Male. The same signature from the carcass this morning.
Hunting.
I launch forward before anyone can stop me, paws tearing through underbrush, branches whipping past. The forest blurs into shadow and moonlight. Behind me, voices shout—Ciaran calling my name, Gideon demanding explanation—but I'm already gone, already racing downhill toward the rental cabin.
Toward her.
The rogue's trail cuts through the trees like a scar, fresh enough that disturbed leaves still settle in his wake. He's not hiding anymore. Not circling. He's moving with purpose, direct line toward the cluster of rental cabins.
Toward the one with the state wildlife decal on the truck outside.
I push harder, muscles burning, lungs screaming. The terrain drops steep and I don't slow, just adjust my stride and let gravity pull me faster. Trees thin as I approach the valley floor, and the cabin comes into view through the branches.
Lights on. Movement behind the window.
She's still there. Still alive, but she’s standing on the cabin porch with bear spray in her hand. What is she doing?
The rogue lunges.
She's mine.
The forest holds its breath.