Chapter 13
The Pure Alpha Blood
Alexa
The fog wraps around me, thick and invasive, forcing me to relive everything as if I was her. From what I see here, from that day years ago in October, anyone caught in this memory would understand exactly what Alpha Gabriel did to cheat during the Alpha trial.
Harlow became the victim. And he would have been seen as an accomplice too. Someone who helped Gabriel during the test. But Harlow would not be the only one blamed. The woman in front of me would be dragged into it as well.
“Do you hear me?” Mrs. Gertrude asks.
“Sorry, Mama. What was that?” Lorraine replies.
The woman groans, rolling her eyes. “I said, have you given that cake to Harlow?”
“Not yet.” Lorraine tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, already reaching for a bottle of clear nail polish. She ignores her.
“Why not? Don’t let Harlow go home before he gets that cake,” Mrs. Gertrude snaps, irritation sharp in her voice. “I went through a lot to get that potion. It’d be a waste if he doesn’t eat it and that would make Gabriel’s plan fail. Do you want it that way?”
“Ugh, fine. I’m on it.” Lorraine exhales, half whining as she rises from the sofa and sets the polish down.
She heads into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and pulls out a small square cake box. Six inches, maybe. Red, wrapped with a gold ribbon and a neat little card on top. She kicks the fridge door shut behind her. Then she steps outside, her footsteps heavy with annoyance. And that’s when I see it.
Me.
I’m walking toward the house. Sweat runs down my temples, my nose. I must have just come back from teaching the children’s language class. I remember how tired I used to feel after those long afternoons.
“Alexa,” Lorraine calls out, her voice suddenly bright, almost sweet. “Take this to Harlow Phillips, will you?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. The box is shoved into my hands.
“This is the cake Mrs. Gertrude made yesterday, right? I thought it was for you.” I frown, confused.
“As if. I wouldn’t touch that disgusting cake.” Her smile vanishes. “Stop talking and take it to him. Now.”
“Okay.” I take a breath and turn away, holding the box tighter than I should.
Lorraine goes back inside like nothing happened and drops onto the sofa again. Mrs. Gertrude is frowning again.
“Why are you back so soon? Where’s the cake?”
“I told Alexa to deliver it.” Lorraine shrugs, calmly brushing polish over her nails.
Mrs. Gertrude lifts her teacup. “She’ll do it, won’t she?”
“Of course. You know how scared she gets if she doesn’t do what I told her.”
A slow smile spreads across Mrs. Gertrude’s face. “Brilliant. That works in our favor. If Harlow sees anything and reports it, she’ll be the one seen handing the cake to him.”
Lorraine glances up. “You’re sure he’ll eat it?”
“Of course he will.” Mrs. Gertrude lets out a soft laugh. “Gabriel made sure to pile Harlow with work. He won’t have time to eat. So when someone gives him cake, he’ll take it without thinking.” Her smile sharpens.
“Gabriel will be very pleased with this. And when he becomes Alpha, I’m sure we’ll be rewarded for it.”
* * *
I don’t know exactly when time shifts, but the next thing I see is a forest. A wide path stretches ahead, leading to a grand gate.
My body feels light, almost weightless, as if I’m drifting with the wind itself.
I move forward without effort, carried deeper until a large mansion comes into view. Something about it feels familiar.
It doesn’t take long for recognition to settle in. This is the Blackmoore family’s packhouse in the First Light Pack.
The flowers in the front garden are different, and the colors don’t match what I remember. The roof is brick red, the walls a soft cream. The packhouse I once visited was mostly white. Still, beneath those differences, I know this place. I came here once, seeking refuge from Alpha Alastair.
Then the vision shifts. Like a sudden gust, I’m pulled toward a man with sleek black hair combed back. He cradles a baby with thick, jet-black hair in his arms. The scene flickers, and the child grows in fragments of moments I’ve never seen before.
Time accelerates. The man ages. Now he lies on a bed, frail and dying. The boy stands beside him, his small hand open. Without hesitation, the father places a silver wolf-head pendant into his palm. The boy breaks down, clutching his father’s wrinkled hand with both of his own.
The memory tears forward again. The same boy now stands beside a woman holding a baby with curly brown hair. The child’s hair mirrors hers exactly. She smiles, radiant, taken by the baby in her arms. But the man… his smile is thin.
There’s something else in his eyes. Regret. It flickers there, dark and deep, like a winter night stretching without end. I’ve seen that look before. I just can’t place it. He reaches out and gently strokes the baby’s forehead.
The vision fractures again, flipping like pages caught in a restless wind. Now he’s sitting in a dimly lit bar. He laughs, relaxed, seated close to a woman with dark-brown hair. The lines on his face clearly tell that he’s older than before, but the gold ring still clings to his finger.
A different woman than before smiles at him. Her skin is sun-warmed, her lips full and flushed like ripe fruit. There’s an ease between them. Something intoxicating.
He leans in and kisses her, eyes closed, like he’s chasing a kind of happiness that doesn’t ask questions.
“You’re my true mate,” he murmurs.
“Maybe,” she replies with a careless shrug.
They kiss again, deeper this time. My chest tightens as I watch. Something about this feels wrong, but the emotion pouring from them is undeniable. It burns bright, reckless, but real. Anyone would agree they’re in love.
Morning arrives. They sit together on a small hill, wrapped in quiet light. The man lifts the heirloom necklace and fastens it around her neck.
“This is my proof,” he says softly. “I’ll fix everything. I’ll come back for you. Just wait for me.”
The world fractures again. Now the woman stands alone in front of a small house. Her fist pounds against the door, sharp and urgent, louder than the distant howl of wolves. The old wooden door swings open.
A woman with blonde hair, small face, and a pointed nose stands there. No matter how I look at her, it’s a younger version of Mrs. Gertrude. Irritation is already etched across her face. But the moment she sees the woman, everything changes.
“Oh, Goddess… Diana?” she gasps. “You came back?”
“Hey, Trudy.” Diana smiles and pulls her into a quick embrace.
When she steps back, Mrs. Gertrude’s gaze drops to the baby strapped to Diana’s chest. Her expression falters.
“Who is… where’s… is that your son?”
Diana cuts her off, her voice tight with urgency. “I need your help. Just this once. Please.”
Mrs. Gertrude hesitates, then steps aside to let her in. Inside the small cabin, Diana sets a worn bag on the table and digs through it, pulling out a thick envelope. She holds it out.
“This is everything I have. Take it.”
Mrs. Gertrude accepts it slowly, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “For what?”
Diana doesn’t answer right away. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “I’m leaving my son with you, Trudy. Please.”
Silence snaps tight between them. Mrs. Gertrude recoils, her voice rising sharply.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Standing there like an invisible presence, I see everything that happens with the necklace. Everything is tied to the wolf-head pendant and Harlow unfolds piece by piece.
“I know, I know. This is too much to ask. I know. But I don’t have a choice. I’m dying, Trudy.” Diana grips Gertrude’s arms tightly. “I don’t have time.” Her tears fall as she struggles to form her words.
“They banished me. My parents… they don’t want anything to do with me or my son. They said I was a disgrace to them.” She sobs.
“Oh no, Diana… maybe it’s only temporary.” Gertrude’s voice softens, but her eyes keep flicking to the bag and the child. “They’re respected nobles in the pack, and I worked for them for five years. Not once did they ever lay a hand on me.”
She hesitates, then adds more quietly, “Besides, you’re their blood. They wouldn’t just throw you away.”
“No. You don’t understand.” Diana shakes her head, her voice breaking. “This is real. They won’t listen.”
Gertrude exhales slowly, her fingers tightening around Diana’s arms before she pulls back. A crease forms between her brows, something uncertain, almost reluctant.
“I need to save this child,” Diana pleads. “I’d do anything for him, but I’m dying, Trudy. Please. Help me take care of him. Everything you need is in that bag.”
“What about his father?” Gertrude asks, sharper this time. “Doesn’t he care?”
Diana’s silence answers first. Then she shakes her head. “It was only a week. He doesn’t know. He’s married. I couldn’t ruin that.”
Gertrude lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but it doesn’t land. “Goddess, Diana… you really know how to pick them.” She rubs her temple, pacing once, twice, like she’s trying to think her way out of this.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Diana’s voice cracks. “You’re the only one I trust.”
Gertrude stills. For a moment, something softer passes through her expression. Old memories, maybe. Shared history. The kind that makes walking away harder than it should be.
“Can’t you stay here?” she asks, quieter now, almost testing the idea.
Diana shakes her head again. “I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
Gertrude’s jaw tightens. Her gaze drifts from the bag to the envelope, then to the child. The hesitation doesn’t vanish. It hardens, but her silence feels like an argument playing out between her and her wolf.
“You’re asking a lot,” she mutters.
Diana’s cough cuts through the room, violent and wet. Blood spills into her hands.
Gertrude flinches. Instinct moves her forward. She grabs tissues and presses them into Diana’s trembling fingers, her movements quick, almost practiced. But her eyes linger on the blood a second too long.