Into the Alpha’s Keep Chapter 25: 24

My teeth chattered relentlessly, a staccato rhythm that echoed in my skull as I dragged my feet along the uneven path back home.

A bitter chill had settled over me, seeping through my skin and raising goosebumps that prickled across my arms and legs like tiny, insistent needles. I hugged myself tightly, wrapping my arms around my torso in a futile attempt to trap what little warmth remained, but it was pointless—the cold had already sunk too deep, numbing my fingers and stiffening my joints.

The dress I wore clung to me like a second skin, sodden and heavy from the damp night air, its fabric molding uncomfortably to my thighs with every laborious step.

The hem chafed against my raw, chilled flesh, a constant reminder of how exposed I felt, how vulnerable.

In my right hand, I clutched my ballet flats, squeezing the soft leather so tightly my knuckles ached, the shoes dangling uselessly at my side.

I hadn’t bothered to put them back on—my feet were too cold, too sore, and the rough ground beneath them felt oddly grounding, a tether to reality amid the chaos swirling in my mind.

The lights of the house glowed ahead, soft and golden against the dark, a beacon promising relief.

Silence enveloped me, thick and unbroken save for the faint crunch of gravel underfoot and the shuddering sound of my own breath.

I climbed the porch steps, each one a monumental effort, my muscles heavy as if they’d been cast in lead, protesting with every movement.

I was frozen, my body stiff and unwieldy, locked in the grip of the cold that had invaded me down to my marrow. With a trembling arm, I pushed the door open, the wood creaking under my shaky strength, and stumbled into the foyer.

A wave of cozy warmth greeted me, spilling from the hearth within, its gentle heat brushing against my icy skin like a lover’s touch.

I breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as the fire in my chest—the one fueled by hurt and fury—quieted to a smoldering ember, no longer threatening to consume me whole.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the air of the house, and froze. Fresh pine and damp earth flooded my senses, sharp and unmistakable, curling around me like a memory I couldn’t place.

My eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling at the edges of my exhaustion, and I leaned back against the closed door, letting its solid weight steady me.

The scent lingered, teasing at something raw and unhealed within me, and the pain in my broken heart surged forward—a jagged, relentless ache that clawed at my ribcage. It was a damn thing to feel, this hurt, heavy and suffocating, as if my chest had been hollowed out and filled with shards of glass.

I’d thought, after everything I’d endured—the betrayal, the running, the blood and loss—that I’d built walls high enough to shield me from ever being hurt again.

I’d believed I was untouchable, hardened by the scars of my past.

But I was wrong, so painfully wrong.

As long as I allowed myself to feel anything, there would always be someone to hurt me. And I would love, adore, being so trivial about it, but that wasn't the case. I couldn’t. I didn’t trust people easily, and because of that, what Fenrir had done didn’t hurt as much as it should have, but his disregard and the humiliation he put me through did.

“For a second, I thought I’d have to come after you.” His voice echoed through the room. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was in the living room, near the window. “But I felt you weren’t far. I gave you my trust, little wolf. That should count for something.”

I clenched my teeth so hard that my head started to hurt. I tasted the metallic flavor of blood in my mouth.

If he were someone decent who could feel anything good, I would say he was blaming himself for what he had done.

I breathed deeply, swallowing the air through my mouth because I didn’t want to smell him. Gathering courage, I pushed myself away from the door and took a few wobbly steps forward.

As I suspected, Fenrir was facing the window, watching the dark forest landscape at night. Hands in his pockets, with his back to me, he looked... tense.

I ignored him and started walking toward the stairs. He turned his body toward me, furrowing his brow and parting his lips, surprised to see me.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, taking a step closer.

I stared at my reflection in the window. My hair was stuck to the skin of my face and neck, dripping, leaving a trail of water wherever I went. The dress clung to my body, outlining each curve, including the swollen tips of my breasts.

I gave him a bored look before turning back to the stairs. I barely touched the railing and climbed the first step when he stopped next to me, moving too quickly.

“Who did this to you?” he hissed.

“I did,” I answered, emotionless.

He raised his thick eyebrows.

“Why?”

I exhaled in exasperation.

“I thought a nighttime bath would be a good idea.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, trying to tame the rebellious curls.

“What’s your problem?” he growled, looking me up and down.

You are my problem! A problem with no solution, because I would love to rip your eyes out, but hurting you physically would mean hurting myself too. And I was already too emotionally sick to add that to my list.

I stared at him, words caught in my throat. I wanted to scream at him, hit him, release all my anger and frustration.

But I just... stood there, staring at him with boredom and contempt, giving him what he deserved. Which was nothing.

“I didn’t know a nighttime dive was on your list of things I can’t do,” I teased.

He blinked, confused, watching me through his blue eyes. The silver was subtle that night.

“With the temperature dropping more and more?”

A biting smile curved my lips.

“I was feeling uncomfortably hot.”

He swallowed hard, and a faint rosy tint appeared on his face.

“Alright,” he agreed, turning away.

I climbed another step when I felt something strange. I stopped and looked down, confused. Fenrir turned toward me almost immediately.

He inhaled, flaring his nostrils.

“You’re bleeding...” he murmured, his eyes turning a vivid golden color.

I lifted my dress, peeling it from my skin and bent over, running my hand between my legs. There was blood staining the tips of my fingers when I held them up to my face.

“You were right,” I said, looking at him. “I didn’t get pregnant. What a blessing, don’t you think?” I turned my fingers in his direction.

The gold in Fenrir’s eyes softened, the molten glow fading as the natural hue bled back in, a deep hazel that shimmered with a raw, unguarded hurt.

I could taste it on my tongue—his pain, sharp and bitter, like the tang of iron mixed with regret. It stung, prickling against my senses through the bond we shared, but I shoved it aside, hardening my heart against it.

Whatever ache he carried, whatever guilt or sorrow flickered in his gaze, it was a whisper compared to the roaring storm of my own pain.

Mine was a wound that had festered for months, carved deep by betrayal and loss, and his fleeting sting didn’t come close to matching it.

He reached out, his arm extending toward me, and his fingers brushed my wrist—warm, calloused, and tentative.

The contact was light, barely there, but it ignited something visceral inside me, a spark that flared into a wildfire. In the span of a heartbeat, I was standing before him near the railing, the cool wood pressing into my back.

In the next, my body jolted as if struck by lightning, and I was slammed against the wall with a force that reverberated through the room.

The impact was deafening—a thunderous crack that echoed in my ears—and a sharp, searing pain bloomed across my shoulders and spine, stealing my breath.

It wasn’t me who’d moved; it was her.

My wolf had seized control, wrenching me away from him, away from his touch, with a ferocity that left me reeling.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarled, my voice rough and raspy, scraping up from my throat like gravel. My lips curled back, baring my fangs in a primal warning, the tips glinting in the dim light.

My chest heaved, each breath a shuddering gasp, as I glared at him through narrowed eyes, every muscle coiled tight.

Fenrir’s eyes widened, he blinked, clearly caught off guard by the intensity of my reaction, his usual composure faltering for a moment.

I blinked too, wrestling control back from my wolf, my human mind clawing its way to the surface.

She was furious—offended, betrayed—her emotions surging through me like a tide. My wolf didn’t just distrust Fenrir; she felt the sting of his actions as a personal affront, a violation of something sacred. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

God, that was kind of shocking, even to me. I hadn’t expected her to react so strongly, to carry her own grudge against him separate from mine.

He retreated further, putting more distance between us, his boots scuffing softly against the hardwood floor. His arms lifted, palms out in a gesture of surrender, though his brow furrowed deeply, creasing his forehead with lines of worry and confusion.

His lips pressed into a tight, thin line, and beneath the surprise, I caught a flicker of guilt shadowing his features—a quiet admission that he knew he’d crossed a line.

“Alright, little wolf,” he said, his voice low and measured, laced with a cautious softness. “Relax. I won’t touch you again.”

“Great!” I snapped, the word sharp and biting, flung at him like a stone.

My hands trembled at my sides, adrenaline still coursing through me, and I held his gaze for a few more seconds, daring him to challenge me. His eyes searched mine, but I didn’t give him the chance to say more.

I turned on my heel, my movements jerky and fueled by a mix of anger and exhaustion, and stormed toward the stairs. I climbed the remaining steps quickly, my bare feet slapping against the wood, each thud a release of the tension knotting my insides.

Reaching my room, I shoved the door open with more force than necessary, the hinges groaning in protest, and slammed it shut behind me.

My fingers fumbled with the key, turning it in the lock with a satisfying click that sealed me inside my sanctuary.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, my chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. The silence of the room pressed against me, a stark contrast to the chaos still buzzing in my veins.

Then, without another thought, I spun and bolted for the bathroom, my steps unsteady but driven by a single, desperate need.

All I wanted was a bath—hot water to soak away the grime and the ache, to wash off the lingering traces of his scent that clung to my skin like an unwanted memory. I craved the comfort of a cozy bed, the soft embrace of blankets to cocoon me from the world.

And, gods, I needed sanitary pads.