After My Alpha Slept with His Former Mate

The storm rolled in like a vengeful spirit, dark clouds swallowing the afternoon light as I trudged along the muddy path toward the outskirts. Muffin meowed softly from his carrier, sensing my misery, but I couldn't bring myself to comfort him. Each step away from the pack house felt like walking through quicksand, the mate pull stretching thinner with every meter of distance.

The first fat raindrops hit my face like tears, and within moments, the sky opened up completely. Thunder cracked overhead, making me flinch. I hadn't checked the forecast—another detail I'd managed for Hunter that I'd forgotten for myself. The irony wasn't lost on me as the downpour soaked through my jacket and jeans, plastering my hair to my face.

'Luna, just a little further,' I whispered to my wolf, though she'd grown quiet since we left the pack house. The rejection had wounded her deeply, and I couldn't blame her. We were both adrift now.

By the time I reached the small rental house, my fingers were numb from the cold. The key shook in my trembling hand as I fumbled with the lock, rain streaming down my back. The door finally swung open, revealing a dark hallway and the scent of... something familiar I couldn't place. Warmth. Cedar. Safety?

I managed two steps inside before my legs gave out. The fever hit me like a tidal wave, my vision blurring as I collapsed against the wall. Muffin's carrier fell from my grasp, but I heard him scramble free, unharmed. The last thing I remembered was the sound of footsteps approaching, and a voice—deep, concerned, and achingly gentle—saying my name.

Jolie.

I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the sensation of cool fabric against my fevered skin. For a disorienting moment, I thought I was back in the pack house. Then I registered the unfamiliar ceiling, the soft bed beneath me, and the damp cloth on my forehead.

'You're awake.'

The voice came from beside the bed. I turned my head slowly, my neck stiff from the fever, and found myself staring into the most intense amber eyes I'd ever seen. They belonged to a man whose presence filled the room with a quiet, undeniable power—not the brash dominance of an Alpha, but something deeper, more ancient. Lycan.

'Joaquin?' I croaked, my voice raw from sleep and illness.

Hunter's uncle, the Lycan Prince, nodded once. He was sitting in a simple wooden chair pulled close to the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. 'How's your head?'

'My landlord is the Lycan Prince?' I whispered, struggling to process this information through the fog of fever and exhaustion.

A small smile touched his lips. 'One of many hats I wear.' He leaned forward, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead with surprising gentleness. 'The fever's breaking, but you're still warm.'

Then, without warning, I felt the soft brush of his mind against mine—a Lycan mind-link, warm and soothing like liquid amber. It eased the throbbing pain behind my eyes, and I sighed despite myself, my defenses too weak to resist.

'Rest,' his voice murmured through the link, 'you're safe here.'

Hours later, I woke to the scent of food wafting under the door. My stomach growled traitorously, reminding me I hadn't eaten since... I couldn't remember. The door opened, and Joaquin entered carrying a tray. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, but there was nothing threatening in his approach.

'Think you can sit up?' he asked, setting the tray on the bedside table.

I pushed myself up against the pillows, wincing slightly. Joaquin adjusted them behind my back with careful hands, then turned to retrieve the tray. It held a simple but appetizing meal—herb-crusted chicken, roasted vegetables, and wild rice.

'I wasn't sure what you liked,' he said, 'but I figured you needed something substantial after that fever.'

I picked up the fork he offered and took a tentative bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue—savory, comforting, perfect. Then I noticed something. No green onions. Not a single slice of the vegetable I'd spent years picking out of Hunter's food, the aversion he'd never once acknowledged.

'How did you know?' I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Joaquin's eyes met mine, steady and knowing. 'I pay attention, Jolie.'

The simple words, the absence of those hated onions, the careful way he'd tended to me while I was ill—it all crashed over me like another storm. Tears filled my eyes, silent and unstoppable, as Joaquin watched with patient understanding, not rushing to fix what he couldn't possibly understand.