Into the Alpha’s Keep Chapter 73: 73

POV Fenrir Dăneşti

I swung the axe down with a ferocity that bordered on reckless, the blade slicing through the piece of firewood with more force than necessary. The wood surrendered instantly, splintering into jagged fragments that exploded outward, shards scattering across the frost-dusted ground like shrapnel.

I barely paused, my breath puffing out in visible clouds as I reached for another stump from the towering pile beside me.

The rough bark scraped against my palms as I hefted it into place, and with another swing, the axe bit deep, splitting it cleanly into pieces that would soon be distributed to the pack—fuel to warm their homes, to fend off the biting cold that had settled over the land like a persistent, unwelcome guest.

The air carried a crisp, metallic tang, and the faint scent of pine lingered from the freshly cleaved logs, grounding me in the rhythm of the task.

The work didn’t exhaust me; if anything, it was a balm, a kind of therapy for the restless, weary tangle of my mind. I lost myself in the repetition—lift, swing, split—each motion a steady cadence that dulled the edges of my thoughts.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, the sun creeping lower in the sky, its pale light filtering through the bare branches overhead.

My muscles ached faintly, a dull burn that I welcomed, but my focus remained sharp, honed by the simplicity of the task. It was a reprieve, a way to quiet the storm brewing within me, and I clung to it as the pile of firewood grew steadily at my feet.

Yet, even as I worked, my thoughts drifted back to the Samhain celebration, to Savannah.

The memory of that night lingered, vivid and unshakable, especially the moment by the lake.

It had been significant—more than I’d expected or intended. The way the moonlight had painted her, the quiet intensity of her presence, the unspoken pull between us—it had carved itself into me, a mark I couldn’t ignore.

I’d felt it then, and I felt it now, a thread of connection that refused to be severed, no matter how much I tried to bury it beneath the swing of the axe.

Earlier that day, I’d made a choice. I’d reached for the little white box, the one carved with delicate flowers, and slipped it into my pocket.

Inside were the ashes from Catalina’s pyre, a relic of loss I’d carried for far too long. I’d been turning the decision over in my mind for weeks, wrestling with it, but by the time I stood at the lake’s edge, I was resolute. I wanted to let her go—to release the memories of her death, the jagged pain of mourning that had clung to me like a shadow, and hold onto only the good stories, the fleeting moments of joy we’d shared.

When I’d opened the box and cast the ashes into the air, watching them drift and dissolve against the silvered water, it hadn’t hurt the way it once did.

Looking back on her now, I felt a faint echo of guilt—lingering, yes, but softer, less consuming.

The sharp sting of grief had dulled into something bearable, a quiet ache rather than a gaping wound.

But with Savannah, it was different. Her memories struck me in a way Catalina’s no longer did, vivid and immediate, stirring something I couldn’t quite name.

It was as if what had happened with the omega—the brutality those wolves had inflicted on her—had been a spark, a trigger that forced me to see her anew.

She was alive, here, breathing, her presence a constant pulse in my awareness. And as much as I wanted to deny it, to shove it down beneath layers of duty and detachment, I felt something for her. I just didn't know exactly what it was.

Then Marilyn tried to hit Savannah and humiliate her again in front of everyone. One moment, I was talking to some of my men, and the next, I was right behind her, holding the arm that would strike the wolf. Marilyn was going to hurt Savannah, she knew it and wanted that. She was clever, older, and more experienced.

Savannah deserved the respect of everyone, no exceptions, and I enforced that by defending her from my oldest lover in front of the whole pack.

I didn’t regret it and would follow through on my threat if disrespected.

I was just... really surprised. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t waver at all.

For a long time, I had let Marilyn do whatever she wanted. She was my best friend, my lover, and the only one who had been by my side through every second of my mourning, sharing the pain with me. We grew up together, freed ourselves, and moved on. In addition to the respect I had for her, I was also grateful for everything.

But since Savannah entered my life, Marilyn had become someone else.

She wasn't the same. And to be honest, neither was I.

It was time for things to change. I felt it, and I could see it, but the omega seemed to completely disagree.

Throughout the years we were involved, I always allowed her the freedom to find her destined mate, have whatever lover she wanted. She never wanted that, her interest was in being by my side. And that’s how we carried on, for years, our involvement.

I had reached a limit with the female. Her behavior, the excessive jealousy, the defiance of my orders. It was a buildup of actions that made her lose all the respect I once had for her.

I brought the axe down with a fierce, decisive swing, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp whistle as the wind howled in tandem, caught up in the abruptness of the motion. The wood surrendered beneath the force, splitting with a resounding crack that echoed through the stillness, and shards erupted in all directions.

They flew outward like tiny projectiles, skittering across the frozen ground, some landing far beyond the pile I’d been building, disappearing into the snow-dusted expanse.

The cold bit at my knuckles, the air carrying a faint sting as it rushed past, and I felt the familiar jolt of impact reverberate up my arm, grounding me in the raw physicality of the act.

I paused, easing the axe down until its head rested against the earth, the worn wooden handle cool and solid beneath my grip.

Leaning my forearm against it, I let out a heavy sigh, the sound escaping in a plume of white vapor that curled into the frigid air before dissipating. My chest heaved slightly, not from exhaustion but from the weight of thoughts I couldn’t quite shake.

I straightened, my gaze drifting outward, taking in the landscape that stretched before me.

A thick blanket of snow draped everything in sight, its pristine whiteness smothering the vibrant greens and golds that had once painted the world during spring and summer. The trees stood bare, their branches skeletal against the pale sky, and the ground glittered faintly where the sunlight caught the frost.

It was a stark transformation, a quiet erasure of the life that had thrived here in warmer months.

Winter had its own beauty, I had to admit—a serene, austere kind of grace that softened the edges of the world and hushed its usual clamor. The way the snow muffled sound, the way it gleamed under the weak sun, the way it turned the familiar into something almost otherworldly—it had a charm that was hard to deny.

And yet, my heart leaned toward summer.

"Fenrir," called the feminine voice from my right.

I kept my eyes on the landscape, ignoring her. Her scent dominated the place, and there was something sweeter in it. She was going into heat.

Although Jax made the antilio available at will, Marilyn sometimes forced it. I didn’t know what her true intention was, aside from begging me to fuck her and satisfy the insatiable desire it caused. She could never bear my child, yet she kept going into heat and opening her womb.

"I'm busy," I cut in.

She walked, crushing the snow, leaving the marks of her footsteps. She stopped in front of me, forcing me to look at her. Her brown eyes were shining with unshed tears, swollen and red. Her always neat hair looked like a mess of brown strands.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her lips trembling from the accumulated tears.

Her expression was a mask of sadness and desolation that made me feel a bit of guilt.

"I told you not to get close to Savannah," I spat through clenched teeth. "I made it clear at Ruda's wake, after you gave her that dress, that you were never to provoke or sabotage her again. Those were orders from your alpha, well expressed. But you have no limits, you never did. You broke them at the first opportunity."

She clenched her hands at her sides so hard that the creases in her fingers turned white. She was rigid, as if on the edge.

"She provoked me!"

I stared at her, bored, almost succumbing to the imminent urge to roll my eyes.

"I watched every second of that night, Marilyn. Savannah was with her friends, in her corner. It was you who approached her and started the fight, even after my unquestionable command to stay away from the girl." I ran a hand through my hair, wet from the fine snow floating around. "You crossed the line when you ruined the little cakes she made for the pups and when you gave her Catalina's dress..." I shook my head.

"And you took everything I had from her, you forbade me from touching Catalina's things. You set fire to them and got rid of everything!"

I nodded.

"You were using her things, her memories, for your own purpose, not to remember who she was."