My Alpha Refused to Save My Father from Rogues

The match flared to life in my hand, a tiny, trembling beacon of destruction against the gray afternoon. I didn’t hesitate. I flicked it onto the gasoline-soaked timber, and the world exploded into orange and red.

The heat was instantaneous, a physical slap against my cheeks, but I didn't step back. I watched the flames lick up the side of the wooden frame—the skeleton of the cabin Adrian had started building for us three years ago. He had promised this would be our sanctuary, a place away from the pack house where we could raise our pups. He had hammered two walls and a roof before Kayla had called him, claiming she heard a noise outside her window. He never came back to finish it. For three years, it had stood here, rotting in the rain, a monument to his empty promises. Now, it was just fuel.

"Selene! Have you lost your mind?"

Adrian’s roar cut through the crackling of the fire. I turned slowly, my movements heavy and deliberate. He was sprinting across the field, mud splashing up his designer jeans. He skidded to a halt a few feet away, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the inferno.

"That’s pack property!" he yelled, stepping toward me, his hand raised as if to grab my shoulder. "You can't just burn down pack structures because you're throwing a tantrum!"

I didn't flinch. I just inhaled.

For ten years, Adrian’s scent had been my anchor—cedar and storm, crisp and promising. It was the smell of safety. But now, as the smoke swirled around us, I smelled him truly for the first time. The illusion had shattered along with my father’s heart.

Rotting wood. Sulfur. The stench of a stagnant swamp where nothing could grow.

"It isn't a tantrum, Adrian," I said, my voice dead flat, devoid of the tears he was expecting. "It’s garbage. Just like your loyalty."

He froze, his hand dropping to his side. He looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second, I saw confusion flicker in his eyes. He was used to the Selene who begged, the Selene who waited. He didn't know the Selene who held the matches.

"You... you're sick," he sneered, though he took a step back, away from the heat. "Get out of my sight. Go cool off in that hovel of yours."

"I intend to," I whispered. I turned my back on him and the burning cabin, walking away while the fire was still raging. He didn't follow.

An hour later, I stood in the doorway of my father’s cottage for the last time. My life was packed into a single duffel bag. My mother’s ceremonial Luna gown, wrapped in silk, lay at the bottom. A framed photo of my dad holding me on my fifth birthday was tucked into the side pocket. That was it. I left the keys on the counter.

I was going rogue. It was a death sentence for most, but staying here was a fate worse than death. I would rather die free in the woods than live as a slave to the man who let my father die.

I walked down the long, gravel road leading to the territory border. The rain had started again, a cold drizzle that soaked through my thin jacket. I kept my head down, counting my steps, until the sound of tires crunching on gravel made me stop.

A sleek, black limousine purred around the bend, blocking my path. It looked like a spaceship compared to the rusted trucks usually seen around Blackwood territory. The tinted back window rolled down, and then the door opened.

A man stepped out.

The air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe. He was massive, towering over six feet, with broad shoulders that strained against a tailored black suit. He didn't just have an aura; he was a gravitational force. Power radiated off him in waves, terrifying and suppressed, making my wolf whimper in instinctive submission. But his eyes... they were molten gold, burning with a strange, intense recognition.

Beta Marcus, a sharp-eyed man with a tablet in hand, stepped out behind him, but my eyes were locked on the giant.

"Selene Greene," the man said. His voice was deep, vibrating in the center of my chest like a drumbeat.

"Who are you?" I whispered, clutching my bag strap, my knuckles turning white. "Are you here to kill me for leaving?"

"I am Santiago Nelson," he stated, stepping closer. The rain seemed to avoid him, as if even the elements respected his command. "I was the Benefactor who paid for your father's heart surgery five years ago. I am not here to kill you. I am here to offer you a way to avenge him."

My breath hitched. The Benefactor. My father had spoken of a mysterious donor, but I never imagined...

"Get in," he said. It wasn't a question.

I got in.

Thirty minutes later, we were airborne in a private jet that smelled of leather and expensive scotch. But I couldn't appreciate the luxury. My body was shutting down.

It started as a shiver, a cold tremor in my hands, then turned into violent convulsions. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a vice. The grief of losing my father, combined with the severing of my emotional tie to Adrian, had triggered Mate Sickness. My wolf was dying of a broken heart.

I curled into a ball on the plush cream seat, gasping for air that wouldn't come. "It hurts..."

"She's going into shock," Marcus said urgently from the front of the cabin.

"Leave us," Santiago commanded. His voice was low, leaving no room for argument.

The cockpit door clicked shut. Santiago knelt beside me. Up close, his power was terrifying, but his touch was shockingly gentle as he brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead.

"Selene, listen to me," he said, his golden eyes locking onto mine, anchoring me to reality. "Your spirit is fracturing. You are rejecting a bond you held for ten years, and the grief is consuming you."

"Please," I sobbed, clutching at the lapel of his suit. "Make it stop. I can't... I can't breathe."

"I can save you," he said, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't place. "I can give you a Marking of Protection. It will mask your scent from Adrian so he cannot track you, and my aura will stabilize your wolf. It is political, Selene. Not romantic. But it will save your life."

I looked at him through a blur of tears. I didn't care about politics. I just wanted the pain to end.

"Do it," I gasped, baring my neck. "Please."

He didn't hesitate. He leaned down, his breath hot against the junction of my neck and shoulder, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold.

Then, teeth.

He bit down, hard.

I cried out, expecting agony, but instead, a rush of pure, raw power flooded my veins. It was like liquid lightning, searing through the ice in my chest. The crushing weight vanished, replaced by a warmth that spread to my fingertips, steadying my racing heart.

And then, the scent hit me.

Not sulfur. Not rot.

Rain. Fresh, heavy rain on a forest floor. And moonflowers blooming in the deep night.

My eyes fluttered shut, the pain dissolving into the darkness as I slumped against the King of Werewolves, safe for the first time in ten years.