Cara's POV
The heavy oak door of the pack house slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit hall like a thunderclap. Alpha Xavier stormed inside, his presence a tempest of raw power and barely contained rage. His broad shoulders were tense, his fists clenched, and his piercing blue eyes still glowed with the feral intensity of a wolf on the edge. Even after two hours, the fury from the rogue skirmish hadn't subsided. His bloodshot eyes scanned the room, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Everyone in the pack knew better than to approach him when he was like this; everyone except me.
"Xavier?" My voice was soft, barely a whisper, as I stepped forward, my heart aching for the boy I had raised as my own. I called his name again, more firmly this time, "Xavier?"
He turned sharply, his jaw tight, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his rugged features. "Yes, what do you want, Ma?" His tone carried a bite, but I knew it wasn't directed at me, not really. Xavier had always respected me, even when the walls he'd built around his heart seemed impenetrable.
I'd tried for years to show him that love wasn't a myth, that it could be real and enduring. But every time I got close, he'd shut me out, reinforcing those walls with a stubbornness that broke my heart. Xavier had been through too much, losing his mother at such a young age, growing up under the weight of being the Alpha's heir. I'd raised him alongside my own son, Daniel, his childhood friend, doing everything I could to fill the void left by his mother's death. But the pain in Xavier's eyes told me I could only do so much. The scars ran deep, etched into his soul by a past I could only imagine.
"Hey, boy, come over here," I said, mustering every ounce of courage to ignore the raw power radiating from him. Deep down, I knew he'd never hurt me. He cared too much, even if he'd never admit it. I reached for his hand, my touch gentle but firm, and guided him to the nearest couch. "Come on, my boy, over here."
Xavier hesitated, his muscles tensing, but he let me lead him. I pulled him down to sit, and with a tenderness reserved for the son I'd never stop fighting for, I guided his head to rest on my lap. His soft, silky brown hair slipped through my fingers as I began to hum a lullaby, one his mother used to sing. Slowly, the tension in his body melted away, his breathing evening out. In moments, he was asleep, his face finally peaceful, free from the burdens he carried.
"Poor boy," I murmured, my heart heavy. How long had it been since he'd slept? Ten days? More? The weight of leading the pack, of protecting us from rogues and other threats, was crushing him. I brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my thoughts drifting to the words he'd spoken years ago: "I don't believe in love, neither will I ever fall in one." The memory stung, but it also fueled my hope. I prayed to the Moon Goddess that she'd send him a mate, an angel to break through those walls and show him the happiness he deserved.
Once I was sure he was deep in sleep, I carefully shifted, placing his head gently on the armrest of the couch. As the head maiden, my duties were endless; meals to oversee, pack members to organize, and a kitchen that wouldn't run itself. With one last glance at Xavier, I stood, squared my shoulders, and headed back to the bustling heart of the pack house.
Anabella's POV
Weeks had passed since the last ripple of excitement in my otherwise predictable life. Today, though, felt different. I'd finished my shift at the restaurant early, clocking out at 2:00 p.m. with my uniform still pristine. In the restroom, I checked my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my auburn hair into a neat bun and tucking my crisp white shirt into my black pants. My sneakers squeaked faintly against the tiled floor as I grabbed my bag, waved goodbye to my colleagues, and stepped outside into the golden afternoon light.
"Wow, today's going to end nicely," I said to myself, a small smile tugging at my lips. The sky was a vibrant blue, dotted with fluffy clouds, and the air carried the faint scent of blooming jasmine. With time to spare, I decided to head to Lizzy's bakery. Lizzy, my best friend, owned a cozy little shop where the aroma of fresh bread and sugary confections filled the air. She'd taught me the art of baking, from perfecting flaky croissants to crafting melt-in-your-mouth cookies. I'd even developed my own recipes, some inspired by late-night internet searches, others born from experiments in my tiny apartment kitchen. On weekends, I'd teach Lizzy a trick or two, though she'd been begging me to join her business full-time. I always declined, I had my reasons.
As I walked, my thoughts drifted, the rhythm of my steps steady against the pavement. But a sharp voice cut through my reverie, pulling me back to reality.
"Hey, if you know what's good for you, hand over what we want, or you won't like what happens next, young lady." The voice was low, menacing, and unmistakably male.
I froze, my senses sharpening. Around the corner, in a narrow alley, I saw them; six men surrounding a frail-looking girl, her back pressed against a graffiti-covered wall. The leader, a burly guy with a shaved head, shoved her hard, making her gasp. Before I could think twice, he yanked her hair and delivered a brutal punch to her stomach. She doubled over, a whimper escaping her lips.
My blood boiled. I wasn't one to stand by and watch someone get hurt—not when I could do something about it. Without hesitation, I marched toward them, my sneakers silent against the pavement. The leader raised his hand to slap the girl, but I caught his wrist mid-swing, my grip like iron. He winced, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Hey, woman, let him go and get out of here," another guy sneered, his yellow shirt garish under the sunlight. "We don't want to mess up that pretty face of yours, do we?"
His cronies burst into laughter, their voices dripping with mockery. I tilted my head, a slow grin spreading across my face. Then, to their shock, I laughed; a loud, unladylike cackle that echoed off the alley walls. Their laughter died, replaced by confusion.
"Young woman, this is your last warning. Leave, or you'll regret it," Yellow Shirt growled, his patience wearing thin.
I straightened, my grin fading into a deadly serious expression. "I'll count to five. If you're not gone by then, don't blame me for what happens next."
The men exchanged glances, their bravado faltering for a split second before anger took over. They charged at me, a chaotic blur of fists and sneers. But they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I tightened my grip on the leader's wrist, twisting it until he yelped, then flipped him over my shoulder with a practiced move. He hit the ground hard, a crack suggesting a broken bone. The guy in the yellow shirt came next, charging like a bull. Dense, I thought, almost laughing as I sidestepped, tripped him with a swift kick to his shin, and followed with a flurry of punches to his face. Grabbing his head, I slammed it into the ground, then spun to face the next attacker. A quick jab to his groin sent him crumpling with a groan. Two more came at me, but I twisted one's arm, slammed his head into his buddy's, and watched them collapse in a tangled heap.
The last two froze, their faces pale with terror. Without a word, they turned and bolted, their footsteps echoing as they fled. I smirked, brushing off my hands. Probably wet their pants on the way.
I turned to the girl, who was trembling but unharmed. I picked up her bag, dusted it off, and handed it to her. "You okay?" I asked softly.
She nodded, mouthing a shaky "Thank you" before scurrying away. I straightened my shirt, checked my bun in a nearby shop window, and continued toward Lizzy's bakery. The whole encounter hadn't taken more than five minutes. Not bad, Bella, I thought, chuckling. A little exercise to spice up the day.
The clock on my phone read 2:15 p.m. as I approached Lizzy's shop, the familiar scent of warm pastries welcoming me. I pushed open the door, the bell jingling above me, ready to tell Lizzy about my impromptu alley workout. Today was shaping up to be anything but ordinary.