Page 14 of Alpha Unchained (Wolves of Wild Hollow #2)

By the time I pull up to the main house, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel, my pulse a panicked staccato.

Kate meets me on the porch, her face softening when she sees me—at least until she registers the look in my eyes.

She comes down the steps, arms open, and I collapse against her, holding on tight.

"Hey," she murmurs, rubbing my back. "Rough night?"

I let out a brittle laugh. "You could say that. I told him to leave. I made him leave. And now all I want is for him to come back."

Kate hugs me tighter. "You don’t have to decide tonight. He’s not going anywhere." I pull away, wiping my eyes, feeling raw and childlike. Kate studies me, hands on my shoulders. “Talk to me, Elena. What’s going on? What do you want?”

I stare at the porch rail. “I don’t know.

I want him gone, and I want him here. I want everything back the way it was—before he showed up again, before we ended up tangled together in my apartment, before he changed everything.

I want to go back to when I was still just me, still human, still safe in my own skin.

I want to stop feeling like I’m coming apart at the seams.”

She nudges me toward the door. “Come on. You will solve nothing out here freezing your ass off. Come inside; let me make you some tea.”

Kate leads me into the main house—warm and bright, full of polished wood and old-money comfort.

Before I can protest, she’s already in the kitchen, giving gentle instructions to the staff, moving through the space with an ease that only comes from belonging.

I watch her fill the kettle herself, then select a heavy porcelain mug from the open shelves—fancy, hand-thrown, nothing like the battered mugs stacked in my own apartment.

The mug feels substantial and strange in my hands as she presses it into them.

Kate leads me to the library—walls lined with books, enormous windows casting silver patterns of moonlight over the butter-soft leather sofa.

She guides me to sit and tucks a blanket over my lap.

There’s a practiced care in her touch, the way she settles beside me as if we’ve done this ritual a hundred times before.

For a fleeting moment, I almost remember what it was like to feel safe—back before my mother died, before I was left to find my own way. I’ve spent so long on the outside, holding myself apart, I barely remember what it felt like to have someone who made me feel seen.

I curl up in the corner of the couch, arms wrapped tight around my knees. My stomach gives a hollow growl, betraying how little I’ve managed to eat, but the idea of food only makes the anxiety roiling in my chest twist tighter.

Kate doesn’t miss a thing. She shoots me a look—gentle, but insistent. "You don’t have to force down a meal, but you need something in you, Elena. At least drink the tea. Please."

Reluctantly, I cradle the hot mug, feeling the warmth seep into my hands.

For a long moment, I just hold it, drawing comfort from the familiar scent.

When I finally risk a sip, the heat and faint bitterness cut through the ache, grounding me.

Kate settles in close, her thigh pressed against mine, silent and steady until I finally lift my gaze to hers.

“You know you’re not alone, right?” she says again, quietly.

“I don’t know anything right now,” I admit. “Everything feels wrong. Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.”

Kate brushes my hair back from my face, voice softening. “Then let’s figure it out together. One minute at a time. You’re not alone in this," she says quietly. "You’re pack, Elena. Whether or not you believe it."

"It doesn’t feel like it," I say, voice ragged. "I’m not a wolf. Not really. Not the way you are. And I don’t know how to..."

"You're as real a wolf as anyone at this compound. That baby you're carrying is my kin, and that means he or she has a place here... so do you."

A memory flashes—my first night after the bite, sweat-soaked and shivering in my own bed.

I woke to shadows sliding along the walls, the pain of my body adapting to its new ability to change shape still echoing in every joint.

My dreams were crowded with the scrape of claws, the taste of blood, the pounding of a heart that wasn’t quite mine.

I lay awake until dawn, afraid to move, afraid to wake my wolf, afraid of what I might do if I let go.

My breath catches. Heat spikes along my arms, a strange prickle racing over my skin. The wolf surges up, sudden and violent—a wild, uncontrolled force I can’t seem to hold back. Kate’s eyes widen as I double over, nails digging into the cushions, a growl slipping from between my teeth.

"Elena—listen to me," Kate says, voice firm. "You’re safe here. Just breathe. Let her come forward. Don’t fight so hard."

I try, I really do. But the world narrows, spinning dizzy and hot, the urge to run so strong it rips a sob from my throat.

I stagger to my feet, backing away from Kate, shaking with adrenaline and panic.

The room feels too small; the air too thick.

My skin tingles, electric with the wolf’s need, but I know she can only come forward if I allow it—unless I’m in real, imminent danger.

"Kate, help me," I choke, voice gone high and wild. "I don't want..."

She holds her hands up, careful but steady. "Don’t be afraid. You know what to do. Close your eyes. Call her. Let her in, Elena. She’s part of you now, but she needs your permission."

I do as she says, squeezing my eyes shut, letting the wildness take me. I feel the world tilt, the floor shudder under my feet, the rush of blood and fear and hunger all tangled together.

The world goes quiet for a heartbeat. My body arches and buckles, fire streaking through my spine as if my bones are remembering a shape they were never meant to hold.

My blood sings. Then the mist rises, swirling up from the floor in shimmering, living color—violet and gold and deep green, jagged with flashes of lightning and the low rumble of thunder.

The fog wraps around me, dense and electric, cocooning every part of me in its soft, humming hold.

My body becomes weightless, thought dissolves, and for a suspended moment, I am simply becoming—human form giving way, senses stretching, the boundary between woman and wolf blurring until the mist finally releases me and I am changed.

The taste of the air is sharp—wild grass with a hint of old coffee, wood smoke and sweat.

There’s a crackle in my ears, a pressure at the base of my skull, and then I am the other—my senses blown wide open, the entire room a tangle of scent and sound.

I smell Kate—her worry, her love, her citrus shampoo.

I smell the woods outside, the chill of coming rain, the memory of Luke’s skin. Everything is too much, too bright.

In my she-wolf’s mind there are flashes—Luke’s eyes in the moonlight, the thunder of his heart under my tongue, the soft flutter of the baby’s life, fragile and precious and mine.

I remember teeth at my throat, his voice growling my name, the confusion of hunger and terror and something like belonging.

When the mist clears, I’m crouched on the rug, heart pounding, lungs heaving, claws dug into the carpet.

My ears twitch at the buzz of electricity in the walls.

I hear the scuff of Kate’s sock against the floor three feet away.

I can taste the tea she made, faint on the air.

The world isn’t louder—it’s sharper, crueler, edged like glass.

My senses are sharper; everything is too loud, too bright.

I stare at Kate, terrified, waiting for her to flinch or run.

But she only kneels down, voice soft and steady.

"You’re safe, Elena."

But I don’t feel safe. Not at all. I feel wild and lost and more alone than ever, trapped in a body that doesn’t quite feel like mine.

I lunge away from Kate before she can touch me, muscles bunching, the world narrowing to scent and need. I can taste the cold air coming through the open back door, the promise of night. I howl—not with joy, but with fear, with longing, with the wild, desperate need to run until nothing hurts.

As I dart through the open doorway, every thought and instinct within me converges—one last, desperate burst: Luke’s name, the tiny, stubborn pulse of my baby, the knowledge that somewhere, out in the darkness, someone is watching.

My mind and my wolf’s are one, tangled and urgent.

Together, we race into the trees, into the wild, every part of me reaching for something beyond fear.

I run because I can’t stay. I run because I don’t know what’s chasing me—only that it already knows my name.

The night closes around me, thick with trees and the promise of running, running until I can’t feel anything but the ground beneath my paws.