Page 10 of Rejected by My Shadow Alpha (Mate to the Fallen #1)

Ruby

Liora's laughter drifted through the open kitchen window, a sweet, bell-like sound that tugged a reluctant smile to my lips.

From behind the kitchen screen door, I kept my gaze on her, one hand subconsciously curled around the dish towel as I dried a bowl, my eyes immediately catching the silvery glint of her hair dancing in the sun, her tiny feet dancing between marigolds and lavender.

She looked like a myth. A living, breathing piece of the moon, ethereal and soft and glowing.

I saw the way people stared like she was a goddess who stepped down for a moment to play among mortals, and I hated that because wolves stare too long when something looks different, and difference draws danger.

She was in the garden, our garden. Nia and I had planted it from scratch when we arrived in Littleton.

We had rows of lavender, sage, marigold, calendula, thyme, and a host of plants that lined the wooden beds, a haven of green tucked safely behind a white fence.

It had been a sanctuary for us both. For me, it was healing.

For Liora, it was a playground and a place to daydream, chasing butterflies.

Today, she played with June, the neighbor's pup.

They were chasing butterflies, or maybe the butterflies were chasing them.

I paused at the threshold, watching. Her little friend, June, was clapping and squealing beside her, pointing as the butterflies suddenly lifted, as if the wind had whispered only to them.

And then I saw it.

Liora turned her face upward, her ocean-blue eyes glowing, not just reflecting the sun, but lit from within, like moonlight trapped under glass.

The air around her thickened, humming with static.

A low wind began to whip through the garden even though the sky was still, rattling the fence and sending flower petals flying like confetti.

Then came the sound, a deep, thrumming vibration that rose from the earth, not loud, but powerful.

The kind of sound that settled in your chest and made your bones feel hollow.

The butterflies didn't just rise, they exploded into the air in a flurry of color, swirling in a perfect spiral around Liora's head, their wings beating in unison like a living storm.

The young pup beside her gasped, stumbling back with wide eyes.

I heard a dog barking in the distance, probably attracted by the sound from the garden, and I ran out, afraid the sound might attract some neighbors. "Liora!" I called, panic spiking in my chest as I ran toward her. "Stop!"

She blinked, startled, and just like that, the wind dropped. The butterflies scattered. The energy vanished, sucked back into the earth like it had never been there.

June gasped, clapping her hands. "Did you see that?!"

Liora froze, then turned slowly toward me, guilt written in the line of her small shoulders. She lowered her head, her eyes darting around, afraid to meet my stern gaze.

I reached them in seconds, my eyes flicking to June, who was still wide-eyed and buzzing with awe.

"June, sweetheart," I said as gently as I could. "It's time to go home now."

The little pup blinked. "But we just got here."

As June hesitated, I crouched by a patch of silverbloom, a tiny, rare herb Nia had once said was used by the old healers to cloud memories.

It only worked on the young or weak-minded, and only for brief flashes of time.

I plucked a few petals, crushed them gently between my fingers, and cupped them close to my lips and whispered the old words, letting the scent drift toward her.

June blinked, her eyes going soft. She looked around, dazed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Time to head home."

She nodded slowly and wandered off, forgetfulness settling over her like mist. When she was gone, I crouched in front of Liora, brushing a lock of silver hair from her face.

Her eyes still wouldn't meet mine. I wanted to scold her sternly, but I knew it might not achieve the aim I wanted.

I said nothing for a while, weighing how best to convey my message.

"We talked about this, didn't we?" I said softly with a sigh

She nodded. "I'm sorry, Mama, but June already knew. I showed her last week, and she promised not to tell."

I felt my heartbeat accelerate, fear clawing at me.

I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head.

"Wolves can't be trusted with secrets, baby.

She might tell her parents without meaning to, and then someone tells someone else, and before long, they're knocking at our door with questions I can't answer. "

"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I just wanted her to see the butterflies."

"I know." I sighed. "But meaning well isn't always enough. We cannot risk people knowing about this. Someday, when you are grown, you can use your powers, but first, you have to learn to master them and use them for good."

She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I held her close for a moment. Her heart beat fast, and her wolf trembled beneath the surface. She was just a child, but she carried something ancient in her blood, something that could not and must not be exposed.

"Go inside," I murmured. "I'll be in soon."

She padded off quietly, silver strands swaying in the breeze.

I stood alone in the garden for a long time, staring at the plants.

They looked unharmed, but I could still feel the residue of power in the air.

It was something old and untamed. Liora wasn't just any pup.

Nia had been right from the start. She was born of a fated bond and carried a magic that hadn't been seen in generations.

I walked the rows slowly, fingers grazing lavender stalks, breathing in their calming scent.

I hadn't even planned on joining the secret healer network.

Honestly, it sounded like one of those things for ambitious young rogues with too much time and not enough real-world experience.

It was Nia who first mentioned it, while we were bundling dried valerian root for sleep tonics.

"You've got a gift, Ruby," she'd said, her weathered hands deftly tying twine around a bouquet of herbs. "You know how to blend things, how to feel what the body needs. That's not something I taught you. That's yours."

I had rolled my eyes at her, amused. "If I've got a gift, it's because you've been hammering it into me for the past six years. Shouldn't you be the one joining this fancy secret group?"

Nia had snorted, brushing dried twigs from her apron with a huff. "Please. I'm too old to learn how to navigate all those modern apps, and don't even get me started on typing emails, my fingers ache just thinking about it."

I'd laughed at that, picturing her squinting at a phone and hunting for the letters one at a time like they were herbs hidden in a forest, but Nia had grown serious, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

"I'm telling you to join because there are wolves out there who need what you know.

Not everyone has someone like me in their life. You could help them."

Her words stayed with me. So, I did it. I joined not because I needed a community, and not because I was looking for comfort or connection.

The reason was simple. I wanted to help.

There were so many rogue wolves scattered and struggling, too afraid or too broken to seek out medical help because they had no packs or community they could trust. I had spent years under Nia's guidance, learning not just how to use herbs, but how to listen to symptoms, to energy, and to the unspoken pain in someone's posture or scent.

I could offer that knowledge and share what I had learned from a healer who still whispered the names of herbs in their ancient wolf-tongue.

Wolves were dying of wounds that could be stitched, infections that could be treated, and trauma that could be eased. If I could be a small part of changing that, I would.

That was the plan, until Wolfsbane22 replied to one of my posts.

His message had been brief but precise, acknowledging my method and suggesting a slight tweak to my dosage.

He was respectful and direct. There was something about his words that pulled at me.

I didn't know his name. None of us shared those but his messages lingered.

He was sharp and methodical, but there was a quiet tenderness in how he responded, like he saw beyond the wound.

I started to look forward to his feedback.

We exchanged notes on trauma care, bloodline mutations, and rare plant combinations.

When I shared my insomnia blend, lavender and elderflower, he tried it and thanked me.

It became our rhythm. After that, our chats shifted.

There is an ease with which we communicated with each other.

It wasn't just about herbs or remedies anymore.

He once told me, "I sleep better near pine trees. I think it's the scent. I do it to remind my wolf we're not lost." A laughing emoji followed.

I replied with a hilarious sticker, "For me, it's rosemary. It anchors me when my thoughts spiral."

He responded, "I'll try it. You always have something useful."

Some nights, we talked about nothing at all. I told him about the sound the river made near my cabin. He told me about an old scar and how he'd earned it saving a rogue pup.

We weren't just healing others. Sometimes, I feel we were unknowingly starting to heal each other.

When I'd once mentioned almost carelessly that I'd been marked and rejected by my mate, I hadn't expected his response.

"I'm sorry. That kind of pain changes everything. I'm glad you are strong enough to survive it."

He didn't ask for details. Just that simple, sincere message that made my wolf go still and quiet inside me as if she were listening, remembering.

And that's what unsettled me the most.

Wolfsbane22 made me feel seen, understood, and whole, in a way I hadn't felt since Drew.

I told myself it was just the anonymity and that it was easy to open up behind a screen, and that if I saw his face and heard his voice, the illusion would shatter.

But every time I got a message from him, something in me leaned toward the screen, my pulse ticking a little faster.

He never crossed the line, and he never made it personal.

Sometimes he would say things like, "Your way of explaining healing is like listening to nature." And I'd sit there staring at the words, wondering how a stranger could understand me better than anyone had in years.

Was it possible that our wolves recognized each other through words alone?

No. I shut the thought down before it could take root.

I had Liora to protect. The past was dead.

It had to stay that way. Still, I couldn't deny that Wolfsbane22 had become more than just another healer in the network.

I turned and walked back through the back door, determined to squash all thoughts of Wolfbane22 off my mind.

I let my mind drift to my daughter, a gnawing feeling of fear settling in my stomach.

Liora…

She was more than a child. She was legacy, power, and future all wrapped into one.

I had to do more than warn her about showing her gifts.

I had to make plans—backup plans. I needed to speak to Nia and maybe even craft a warding charm around the house, something to mask Liora's energy in case it flared again, because if anyone ever discovered what she truly was, I knew what kind of wolves would come.

They wouldn't be kind. They wouldn't ask questions. They'd take her.

And I would burn the world before I let that happen.