Page 11 of Alpha Unchained (Wolves of Wild Hollow #2)

LUKE

A fter the man in the sedan pulls away and I’m left with that damned threatening photo crushed in my fist, I just stand there on the curb, adrenaline still flooding every muscle.

I should’ve shifted and ripped that car in half.

Instead, I stood there like a dog waiting for a command, while a stranger with too-smooth teeth handed me a threat wrapped in a smile.

I look back once—catching Elena watching me intently—before the blinds sway as Elena moves through her bookshop, her outline flickering in the sunlit window.

If I know anything about Elena Clark, she’ll find a way to pick up the pieces and keep going, even if it means locking herself away in The Moss she made it a real home, and it shows in the open, inviting layout —four walls that somehow feel bigger than their square footage, a sunlit kitchen, a stone fireplace that still smells faintly of old wood smoke, a proper office, a comfortable sitting area, and a bed so big and soft it almost feels obscene after months on the road.

The air smells like cedar and candy and something faintly warm—Kate's ghost of comfort still clinging to the walls. It shouldn’t feel like home, but it does.

I throw my bag on the bed and prowl the room, restless.

I try unpacking, filling drawers with clean shirts, socks and underwear, but my mind won’t settle.

The silence is oppressive, crawling down my spine, filling the empty spaces with echoes of Elena’s voice, the memory of her skin, the heat of our last fight.

I open a window and lean out, watching the street below. Main Street looks deceptively calm—sunlight on the brick, a pair of teens darting into the drugstore, folks going about their daily errands.

I spot Kate’s hair through the diner window and see Elena tucked in close. The sight gnaws at me. I want to believe she’s safe with my sister, but there’s too much I don’t trust—too many threats moving in the dark.

I try to shake it off, busy myself with the mundane: lining up boots, setting my phone on the antique dresser, searching for something—anything—that feels like control.

But I can’t settle. While the apartment is open, the walls feel like they're closing in on me. Every creak in the floorboards sounds like a warning. I run a restless hand through my hair, fighting the urge to punch the wall or flip the mattress just to bleed off the tension. My eyes land on the clock. Not even noon. I can’t stand these four walls a minute longer.

Before I know it, I’m stalking out the door and down the stairs, taking the long way back to the Moss the sound brittle.

"There is no ‘us.’” Her words hit harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

Because she’s right. “You walked out. You left me to figure out what it meant to be a wolf, to be pregnant, to be the center of every rumor in this town. You don’t get to just… show up and make demands."

I move fast, cutting the distance between us, pinning her back against the door with my presence more than force.

I cage her in, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, letting my wolf bleed into my voice.

"You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to leave? I’ve been tearing myself apart every day I was gone, worrying about you.

About every bastard who wants to take what’s mine. "