My Possessive Alpha Twins For Mate Chapter 322

Dahlia’s POV

I’d been hiding out in Midnight Moon for over a week now, nestled in the quiet sanctuary of my aunt’s home. As far as I knew, no one had figured out where I was. Aunt Calliope—whom I’d come to address with a familiarity that surprised us both—had confided that my father had reached out to her mere moments before I’d arrived. Naturally, she’d told him I wasn’t there—because I hadn’t been. Not yet.

It took no small amount of pleading to convince her to keep my whereabouts a secret. Eventually, she agreed—though only to a point. She wouldn’t volunteer my location, but she drew the line at deception. If my father asked her again, directly, she wouldn’t lie. It was the best I could hope for, but it meant I’d have to face him myself—sooner rather than later.

For now, I remained in bed, the place I’d spent most of my time since arriving. That, too, was becoming a problem I’d have to address.

But how? My wolf—once a fierce, untamed presence in my mind—had gone silent. At first, she howled with a rage that curdled my blood. Then, the cries became wounded whimpers. Now, she simply curled up, despondent and unmoving, somewhere in the corners of my consciousness. Her energy had always propelled me forward. Without her, I felt hollow. Drained. And though Logan’s betrayal had gutted me, I still longed for my mates. The ache of their absence was a wound that refused to heal.

If the days were difficult, the nights were cruel.

Each evening, I lay awake for hours, tormented by memories I didn’t ask for—memories that felt too real to simply be recollections. I could still feel the way they held me close, every inch of their bodies pressed against mine, like they were trying to merge into me. I shivered at the thought of Liam’s breath against my neck, of Logan’s soft moans as he drifted to sleep in my arms. Their voices echoed in my mind—confessing their love, whispering my name as they moved inside me, claiming me completely.

How could it all have been a lie?

I didn’t want to feel this anymore. I didn’t want to cry alone in this bed while they, no doubt, lived their lives without a care. I didn’t want to be the only one still in love.

So every night, I begged the Moon Goddess to take the memories from me. I prayed to wake up and forget their faces, their voices, their touch. I pleaded for peace.

But every morning, I woke up still remembering. And more than that, still hurting.

More than forgetting them, what I truly wanted was clarity. Why did the people I loved always leave? What was it about me that drove them away? Why was I never enough?

I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to deserve this—nothing that warranted such cruelty from the Moon Goddess. If I was meant to walk this life alone, why tempt me with love at all? Why show me joy just to rip it from my hands?

I shook the thoughts away. There would be no answers today. There never were.

I made another half-hearted attempt to get out of bed. Aunt Calliope had been nothing but gracious and patient with me, never pushing. But I could sense the worry growing behind her gentle smiles. She didn’t say it aloud, but I knew she feared I was sinking too deep into this pit. If I didn’t get up soon, she might feel forced to call my father. And that was a confrontation I wasn’t ready for.

It was time I stopped leaning on her kindness. I had to find a way to rejoin the world, even if it felt cold and empty now.

Despite the years apart, Calliope had embraced me like I’d never left. It was strange, almost like she’d expected me to show up on her doorstep. Though, I was sure she hadn’t imagined I’d arrive in the state I was in.

Still, she’d wrapped me in her arms and held me as I sobbed. She didn’t speak until my cries had dwindled into hiccups. Most of it was a haze now, except for the one question I kept repeating through my tears: Why? Why wasn’t I ever enough?

When she finally did speak, it wasn’t with prying questions or gentle lectures. She simply guided me to the couch, wrapped a warm quilt around my shoulders, and said softly, “I’ll make us some tea.”

When she returned, she placed a mug into my trembling hands and sat beside me, combing her fingers through my damp, tangled curls. I hadn’t planned to talk. But with every sip of tea and every stroke of her hand, the words began to pour out—everything that had happened. Every broken promise. Every betrayal.

She listened. Just listened. And somehow, her silence made me feel more heard than anyone else ever had. More than once, I caught myself wondering if that’s what it would’ve felt like to have my mother with me.

A soft knock broke my thoughts. The door creaked open slightly, and Calliope’s green eyes peeked in.

“May I come in?” Her voice was soft, melodic—naturally soothing.

“Of course,” I said. She stepped inside with the grace of a dancer, and I couldn’t help but envy how effortlessly elegant she was. I patted the mattress beside me, and she joined me, silent for a beat before speaking.

“When you first arrived, I knew you needed time to… process. And I gave you that. But I’ve been holding onto something important, and the longer you’re here, the stronger the urge to share it becomes.”

Her tone caught my wolf’s attention. I could sense Blue stirring, listening.

“I know I’ve been wallowing,” I admitted. “I was just thinking about pulling myself together. I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. If something’s bothering you, please tell me.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Grief has no timeline. Believe me, I’ve tried to put limits on it—and failed.”

Her voice softened at the end, almost like she was speaking to herself. I wondered what ghosts she was referring to. Her parents? My mother? A mate, perhaps?

She continued.

“Weeks ago, when your father first contacted me about reconnecting, I was… hesitant. Not because I didn’t want to see you. I was thrilled at the chance. But I didn’t know if I could give you the help he thought you needed.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand. I didn’t know what I needed either.

“But?” I prompted.

“But after that first conversation, I had a dream. You and I—running together in wolf form. At first, I brushed it off as my mind processing our talk. But it happened again. And again. After every call with your father, whether we spoke about you or not, I had that same dream.”

I raised a brow at her casual use of my dad’s name—Oberon. I filed it away for later. Something about the way she blushed told me it was worth revisiting.

“I asked him to describe your wolf, just out of curiosity. And the description matched the wolf in my dreams. But that wasn’t all. In every dream, my wolf would call yours by name—even though I’d never met her.”

“Blue,” we said together.

“Yes. And ever since you arrived, Sorcha—my wolf—has been restless. I think… our wolves need to meet.”

“I think you’re right,” I agreed immediately.

An hour later, I had showered, dressed, and eaten a real meal for the first time in days. Calliope had waited for me patiently, letting me move at my own pace. Now we were walking through the woods behind her cottage, the crisp air sharpening my focus as anticipation dulled the ache in my chest.

“This spot is perfect,” she said, pausing in a small clearing. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As we began undressing, a thought crossed my mind.

“What’s your wolf’s name?” I asked. If our wolves couldn’t mind-link outside of dreams, I wanted to at least be able to call her by name.

“Sorcha,” she said, matter-of-fact.

I barely stifled a laugh. My family was a blend of contradictions I was only beginning to understand. My grandparents had rejected the elitism of their Irish pack and embraced Spanish culture—yet the Moon Goddess gifted my aunt a wolf with an Irish name.

“Well, Blue,” I murmured, “let’s go meet Sorcha.”

And then I was shifting—landing softly on four white paws, my senses sharpening.

Blue’s gaze dropped to the earth, then slowly lifted as another wolf stepped into view—auburn fur gleaming in the light, eyes warm and knowing.

And then it happened.

Not a mate bond. Something older. Deeper. A connection that stretched beyond time, beyond logic. I felt tethered to this wolf, bound by something ancient and unspoken.

We hadn’t met before. That much I knew. And yet our wolves recognized one another.

Then, her voice whispered in my mind—clear and gentle.

“Hello, my child. My little Celtic wolf. I’m so happy to finally be with you again. Two hundred years is a long time to wait, so in case you’ve forgotten… my name is Sorcha. And I am your spirit wolf.”