After My Alpha Used His Voice to Silence Me

The gates of Shadowveil Pack territory came into view just after dawn. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my left wrist, where the faint rogue brand sat beneath my sleeve. The pressure helped. It reminded me I was real, that I was here, that three years of captivity were finally over.

The car slowed. Through the window I saw them—pack members lining the main road, dozens of faces I hadn't seen since I was twenty-one. Some were crying. Others held welcome signs. A few of the older wolves had their hands pressed to their hearts.

I wanted to feel something. Relief, maybe. Joy. But all I felt was the cold weight in my chest and Selene's silence. My wolf had barely spoken since the rescue. She was there, technically. A faint presence curled tight somewhere behind my ribs. But she didn't respond when I reached for her, didn't offer the warmth or certainty she used to flood me with.

The car door opened. I stepped out, and the crowd erupted.

Then I saw him.

Cassian stood at the center of the gathering, tall and commanding in the way Alphas are, his dark hair catching the early light. He looked exactly as I remembered—sharp jawline, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that made rooms go quiet. When our eyes met, his face crumpled.

He crossed the distance between us in four strides and pulled me into his arms.

The crowd cheered. Someone shouted, "Our Luna's home!" Cassian's grip was firm, his chest solid against my cheek, his scent—pine and earth—familiar enough that my body wanted to relax into it. He was shaking.

"Annalise," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw. "Thank the Goddess. Thank the Goddess."

I let him hold me. I didn't know what else to do. My arms came up slowly, resting against his back. He felt real. He felt safe. Maybe this was real. Maybe the worst was finally over.

When he pulled back, there were tears on his face. He cupped my jaw with both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that looked like devotion.

"You're home," he said, loud enough for the pack to hear. "You're safe now. I promise you—no one will ever take you from me again."

The applause was deafening.

I tried to smile. My mouth moved. I think it looked right.

Cassian kept one arm around my shoulders as he turned to address the crowd. "I want to thank everyone who supported the search efforts," he said, his Alpha voice carrying easily over the noise. "And I want you all to meet someone."

He gestured toward the edge of the gathering. A young woman stepped forward.

She was beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed. Blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes. She wore a plain gray dress—Omega clothing—and kept her head slightly bowed in a posture of deference. But when she looked up, her gaze went straight to Cassian.

Not to me. To him.

"This is Brooklyn Shaw," Cassian announced. "A rogue we captured during the operation that brought Annalise home. She'll be serving the packhouse as an Omega. I'm keeping her here personally—as justice for every day Annalise spent in captivity."

The crowd murmured approval. A few wolves clapped.

Brooklyn's eyes met mine for half a second. She smiled—small, warm, performatively humble. Then she looked back at Cassian with an expression I couldn't name but felt in my gut.

Selene stirred.

Not warmth. Cold. A slow, nauseating chill that spread from my center outward.

I pressed my thumb harder against my wrist.

Cassian guided me toward the packhouse, his hand never leaving my shoulder. The crowd followed at a respectful distance. Brooklyn walked three steps behind us, her head still bowed, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

I wanted to look back at her. I didn't.

"You must be exhausted," Cassian said softly as we climbed the front steps. "I had your old room prepared exactly as you left it. Everything's waiting for you."

"Thank you," I managed. My voice sounded thin.

He smiled and kissed my forehead. It should have felt like comfort. It didn't.

That night, after the welcome dinner I barely touched, I asked him about the marking ceremony.

We were alone in his office. He'd poured himself a drink but hadn't offered me one. I stood near the window, arms wrapped around myself, trying to find the words.

"Cassian," I started. "When—when can we complete the bond?"

He looked up from his desk, his expression shifting into something gentle and pained. He set the glass down and crossed to me, taking both my hands in his.

"Annalise." His voice was so tender. "Your wolf is too fragile right now. The marking ceremony is intense—physically, spiritually. If we do it before Selene is strong enough, it could hurt you. I won't risk that."

He cupped my face the way he had that morning. His eyes held mine without blinking.

"I'm protecting you," he said. "Do you understand? Everything I'm doing is to keep you safe."

I knew that tell. I'd seen it before, years ago, in small moments I'd dismissed. The unblinking stare. The too-steady eye contact.

But I said nothing. I nodded.

"Okay," I whispered.

He kissed my forehead again and let me go.

I left his office and walked back to my room. The hallway was quiet. Somewhere downstairs I heard Brooklyn's voice—light, musical, saying something I couldn't make out. Cassian laughed in response.

I closed my door. Sat on the edge of my bed. Pressed my thumb against my wrist until the pressure turned to pain.

Two weeks later, I went to the pack shelter.

I wasn't looking for a dog. I just needed to be somewhere that wasn't the packhouse, somewhere I could breathe without feeling watched. The shelter was small, tucked at the edge of pack territory, run by an elderly wolf named Iris who didn't ask questions.

The dogs barked when I walked in. Most of them rushed to the front of their kennels, tails wagging, eager for attention. I moved past them slowly, my chest tight, my hands shaking.

At the end of the row, one dog sat quietly at the back of his kennel. A Golden Retriever, older, with calm eyes. He didn't bark. Didn't rush forward. Just watched me.

I stopped.

We looked at each other for a long moment.

Then I opened the kennel door and sat down on the concrete floor. He waited three breaths. Then he walked over and rested his head on my knee.

I started crying.

Iris helped me with the paperwork. I named him Buster on the drive home. He sat in the passenger seat, his head turned toward me, and didn't make a sound.

That night he slept at the foot of my bed. When I woke at three a.m. from a nightmare I couldn't remember, he was already there—his head on my stomach, his weight grounding me.

I pressed my hand into his fur and focused on breathing.

Selene stirred again. Still quiet. But there.

I pulled my journal from the nightstand and started sketching. Shapes. Wolves. Lines that didn't mean anything but felt necessary.

Buster watched me draw until the sun came up.