Page 15 of Alpha Unchained (Wolves of Wild Hollow #2)

LUKE

S leep isn't even an option. After leaving Elena’s apartment, I stalk back to the place over the mercantile, slamming the door behind me.

The adrenaline from what happened with Elena hasn’t faded; it lingers, hot and sharp, in my chest. I can still taste her, can still feel the wet heat of her body and the way her breath caught and her body bowed into my hands, wild and shaking, when I finally pushed her over the edge.

I did everything to see to her needs—pushed her to the edge and made sure she tumbled over, wrung out and spent.

But I never found my own release, and all it did was leave me even hungrier, wound tight enough to snap.

My body doesn’t understand the difference between permission and denial.

All it knows is need—coiled hot and cruel between my legs, refusing to fade no matter how hard I try to will it away.

My mind might understand why she needed me to leave, why she couldn't let herself give in fully to what burned between us, but my body aches with the need I had to lock down when I acceded to her request and left.

Every muscle hurts, balls throbbing with the kind of hunger that borders on pain.

I'm half-wild with frustration, wishing I could go back, pin her to the wall, and show her I'm not done—not even close.

Instead, I have to settle for forcing myself to take one raw, ragged breath after another.

I toss my keys on the counter and stand in the middle of the apartment, staring at the polished floorboards and the restored antiques—my reflection in the window in sharp contrast. I’m ragged, hungry, still keyed up from the way she tasted on my tongue, the sound she made when she cried out for me, and the look in her eyes when she told me to leave.

My wolf wants to turn around, find her again, press her into the wall until her mouth forgets how to say no.

But the man in me remembers her voice—firm, trembling, final.

I try to shake it off, try to focus on anything but the ache of missing her.

I splash cold water on my face in the tiny bathroom, stand there dripping, then go back to the little office area.

I open my laptop and scroll through every message and email.

I pick up my phone, looking for something, anything, about the Sable Rock syndicate. I open a police scanner app, listening to the static and clipped voices. Nothing.

I shoot off a text to Joe, the old pack enforcer who sometimes hears things before I do:

You hear anything about Sable Rock activity tonight?

I get only silence in return.

I scroll farther, hunting for any warning I might have missed, any clue that could explain how things got this far.

The more I search, the more wound up I get—every unanswered message, every empty thread, making it feel like the entire world is closing in.

My eyes burn, but I can't stop, refusing to give up on some thread of hope that might let me protect Elena.

The minutes crawl by, each one adding weight to the frustration pulsing through me, until it feels like the apartment is shrinking around me and I'm seconds from breaking something just to let off steam.

I slam my fist into the counter, pain lancing up my knuckles.

I grab an old photo from the bookshelf—me and Kate as kids, our dad looming behind us.

He’s got that crooked smile, the one that always promised trouble, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how he felt—torn between the pack, family, and the woman he wanted but could never really have.

My father made his choices, burning down every bridge that didn’t lead to more power.

I swore I’d never be like him. Yet here I am, about to spill blood if it means keeping those I love safe.

This is the first time I really call it that—love. Not obligation, not fate, not the instincts of a mate. Just love, plain and raw. I let it settle, let myself admit what I’ve tried to dance around for years: I love Elena. That’s what it’s always been, and the only thing that matters now.

The memory pulls me deeper: I’m seventeen again, wandering Main Street after dark, all restless energy and bad intentions.

The whole town is asleep except the bookstore, its window glowing gold in the night.

Elena’s in there, nose in a book, tucked up in a corner by the window.

I press a hand to the glass and she glances up, surprised, then flashes me a shy, crooked smile.

She always looked so much younger than the rest of us, always half-lost in her stories.

I remember the urge to walk inside, to touch her, to tell her I’d come back for her if things got dangerous.

But all I managed was a half-joke, promising her I wouldn’t be the guy who disappears.

She just shook her head. God, if only I’d known then how hard that promise would be to keep.

Back in the present, the phone vibrates. Kate’s name blares across the screen. I answer, bracing myself for the storm.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Kate doesn’t even wait for hello. “You have sex with her again and then you just leave? Jesus, Luke, you’re lucky I don’t come over there and tear your head off myself.”

I grit my teeth, guilt already gnawing at me. “She told me to go. You think I wanted to leave her like that?”

Kate’s voice hardens. “I don’t care what she said. You’re supposed to fight for her, not tuck your tail and run because things get messy. You may be Alpha by blood, but you’re a goddamn coward when it comes to her.”

I rub my temple, pacing the narrow kitchen, anger rising with the guilt. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“No, you’re not. You’re doing what’s easy. Elena’s here at the compound. And if I have anything to say about it, she’ll stay right here where you can’t screw up her life any worse.”

I throw the dish towel at the sink, voice rough. “She needed space, Kate. I’m trying to give it to her.”

“You keep leaving her to fight battles you helped create. You may be her mate, but you don’t act like it. And every time you walk away, you make it easier for Waylon to win.”

A flash of shame heats my cheeks. I glance at the old book on the counter—a copy of The Outsiders Elena once lent to me and Kate, spine cracked, corners dog-eared. She always said it was about loyalty, about family. I’m failing on both counts.

“I’ll burn the pack to the ground before I let anyone touch what’s mine. Elena and that baby—my mate, my blood—they’re under my protection now.”

Kate’s voice sharpens, slicing straight through the static.

“Then prove it, Luke. Waylon’s been itching for this fight ever since you left, and now he’s got half the pack riled up, telling anyone who’ll listen that you aren’t fit to lead or protect your own blood.

Elena isn’t pack—she’s never been a Rawlings, and she sure as hell isn’t a McKinley.

She’s alone, and if you don’t stand up, she’s not safe.

Not from Waylon, not from the old guard, not from the ones still pissed you walked out on your birthright. ”

My jaw tightens, a hot surge of frustration and protectiveness pulsing through me. “I know what’s at stake, Kate. I’m not about to let Waylon—or anyone else—put his or her hands on her or the baby. If he wants a fight, he’ll get it.”

Kate sighs, and the line goes dead.

I stand there for a long moment, jaw tight, staring at the silent phone, a restless energy working through my shoulders.

The urge to act, to fight, is so strong it almost chokes me, but I force myself to focus.

I can't afford to let frustration win now. I want to run to Elena—drag her back, beg her to forgive me, make promises I’m not sure I can keep.

I nearly call her, thumb hovering over her contact, typing out half a dozen messages— I’m sorry. Are you safe? I miss you. I’m not giving up. I delete them all. There’s nothing I can say that will fix this. Not tonight.

Instead, I pace, try to distract myself.

I pull out the half-empty bottle of shine from the cupboard, consider pouring a shot, but the idea of dulling anything feels wrong.

I want to be sharp, hungry, ready. I imagine what it’d be like to hold my baby, to teach them how to run the woods, to tell them the truth about the Hollow.

I remember my father’s presence—never loud, never cruel, always sly and watchful, as if he was three moves ahead of everyone else in the room.

He led the McKinleys with a clever mind, more negotiation than threat, though he was never afraid to remind anyone where the power really rested.

An hour passes. My phone buzzes—Jerry, one of my cousins.

Pack meeting. Main house. Sunrise. Don’t be late.

I know what that means. Waylon is making his move.

The hours drag. I pull on jeans and boots, barely feeling the cold.

The drive out to the McKinley compound is torture—my mind running endless circles around Elena, around the child she carries, around the ghosts of every mistake I’ve ever made.

I see Elena everywhere—in the shadows beneath the trees, in the flicker of a porch light, in the memory of her laughter echoing up through the pines.

I nearly turn around a half-dozen times.

The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that she’s safe at the Rawlings’ compound with Kate.

For the first time all night, I let myself feel a little relief.

At least she’s out of reach of Waylon and anyone else with bad intentions. I don’t turn around.

The compound’s gates are open, the main house spilling golden light into the dark. The place is crawling with wolves—some in human form, some on four legs, all watching as I pull in. I catch snippets of their low conversations:

“Heard he finally came back...”

“Waylon’s got it out for him…"

“Wonder if he’ll survive the night...”