After My Alpha Chose My Sister, I Walked Away

The trackers led Hayes through the snow-covered forest, their expressions grim. I wasn't there to witness it, but I can imagine how his face must have looked—hope battling with dread as they approached the river.

"Alpha," the lead tracker said, his voice barely audible above the rushing water. "We found these near the eastern boundary."

He held up my bloodied clothes, carefully preserved in an evidence bag. The fabric was torn, stained dark red with my blood—blood from the fall that Skye had orchestrated.

Hayes took the bag with trembling hands. "Where did you find them?"

"By the riverbank, sir." The tracker pointed to a spot where the ice had broken, creating a deadly swirl of black water. "There was... evidence of struggle."

I can't imagine what Hayes felt in that moment. The mate bond, which had been stretched thin by distance and my rejection, would have suddenly gone silent—completely dormant due to the ECT treatments that had scrambled my memories and severed our connection.

"Margot," he whispered, and the sound carried through the forest like a wounded animal's cry.

One of the trackers handed him a piece of paper, protected in plastic. Skye's careful forgery—my supposed suicide note.

"I can't bear this pain anymore," it read. "Please forgive me for being weak."

Hayes's legs gave out. He collapsed into the snow, his body convulsing with grief. The trackers watched in horror as their Alpha's powerful aura—that terrifying force that had commanded respect and fear—crumbled around him.

"Alpha!" Beta Marcus rushed forward, but Hayes was beyond hearing.

"She's gone," he moaned, clutching the note. "She's gone."

The mate bond's sudden silence had convinced him. In his mind, I was dead.

---

Months passed. The Obsidian Moon Pack fell into disarray as their Alpha retreated further into himself.

"Another bottle," Hayes slurred, his once-powerful voice now ragged from bourbon and grief. "Bring me another bottle."

Beta Marcus exchanged worried glances with the pack Healer. "Alpha, you need to rest. The pack needs you."

"The pack needs a Luna," Hayes muttered, taking another swig directly from the bottle. "They need Margot."

The room spun around him as he stumbled to his office window. Outside, pack members went about their duties, but he could feel their tension—their fear. An Alpha without control was dangerous.

"Marcus," he called, his voice suddenly sharp. "Do you smell that?"

Beta Marcus approached cautiously. "Smell what, Alpha?"

"That scent." Hayes inhaled deeply, his eyes wild. "Flowers. Her scent. She's here."

There was nothing—just the stale smell of alcohol and desperation—but Hayes was beyond reason.

"She's watching me," he whispered, spinning around. "Margot, I know you're here."

The hallucinations had started weeks ago. First, he'd catch glimpses of movement in the corners of his eyes—a flash of my hair, the curve of my shoulder. Now he could smell me everywhere.

"Alpha," Marcus said gently, "perhaps you should see the Healer again."

Hayes's face contorted with rage. "Don't tell me what to do! I am Alpha!"

His aura flared unpredictably, making Marcus flinch. It was a shadow of its former strength—erratic, dangerous only in its instability.

"Get out," Hayes growled, throwing the empty bottle against the wall. It shattered, glass shards raining down like tears.

---

The Northern Lights Lodge stood solid against the Alaskan wilderness, its windows glowing warm amber in the perpetual twilight of winter.

"You're hired," Mrs. Winters said, studying me with shrewd eyes. "We need someone who can think on their feet around here."

I smiled—a real smile, not the careful mask I'd worn for so long. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

The lodge was nothing like the pack house—no oppressive hierarchy, no constant fear. Just a rustic sanctuary for travelers seeking the aurora borealis.

As I walked through the lobby, a low whine caught my attention. A large wolf-dog hybrid lay near the fireplace, his mismatched eyes following me with curious intelligence.

"That's Barnaby," Mrs. Winters explained. "Rescue. He's got some wolf in him, but he's all dog when it comes to loyalty."

I knelt beside him, extending my hand slowly. "Hello, Barnaby."

He sniffed me carefully, then pressed his head into my palm with unexpected gentleness.

Something stirred inside me—a feeling I couldn't name. It wasn't memory; those were gone. It was something deeper, more primal.

Barnaby's eyes seemed to say he understood me perfectly.

"You two will get along fine," Mrs. Winters observed. "He's a good judge of character."

As I scratched behind his ears, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. Whatever I'd been running from—whatever had driven me across the country to this frozen outpost—seemed distant now.

Barnaby leaned against my leg, his warmth a silent promise of protection and companionship.

I was safe here. I was free.

But as the wind howled outside and Barnaby pressed closer to me, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was looking for me—someone whose voice I couldn't quite remember, but whose pain I somehow shared.