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- Herausgeber: StrongThower Print
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
Five years ago, Mira Ashwood spent one unforgettable night with Ryder Blackthorn, the Alpha King. Their connection was instant, electric, undeniable—until his mother shattered everything with lies about an arranged engagement. Heartbroken and humiliated, Mira fled into the human world, carrying a secret that would change everything: Ryder's son.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026
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The Alpha King's Hidden Heir
A Second Chance Secret Baby Shifter Romance
Sabrina Beamon
Copyright Page © 2026Sabrina Beamon
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Five Years Ago
The Alpha King tastes like pine smoke and promises I'm too stupid to know he won't keep.
His mouth moves against mine like he's trying to memorize me, and I let him because I'm already memorizing him back. The way his hands shake when they cup my face. The low sound he makes in his throat when I bite his bottom lip. The fact that he keeps whispering my name like it's the only word that matters.
"Mira."
There it is again.
We're in his private quarters—massive bed, silk sheets that probably cost more than my entire scholarship, floor-to-ceiling windows that let the moonlight pour in like liquid silver. I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't be here. But the mate bond snapped into place three hours ago at the pack gathering, and now my wolf won't shut up about claiming him and my body won't stop burning and my brain has apparently decided to take a vacation.
"Say it again," Ryder murmurs against my neck, and I realize I've been thinking out loud.
"I shouldn't be here."
"Wrong answer."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and God, those eyes. Ice blue, but they're glowing gold right now because his wolf is too close to the surface. Just like mine. I can feel her pacing under my skin, purring, preening, absolutely convinced we've won some kind of lottery.
Maybe we have.
Maybe we haven't.
My hands are shaking where they rest on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm—fast, erratic, matching mine. He's the Alpha King. Actual royalty in the shifter world. And I'm an omega from a pack so small and irrelevant that half the people at tonight's gathering didn't even know it existed.
This is too good to be real.
"You're thinking too much," Ryder says, and then he's kissing me again, and I'm not thinking at all.
His hands slide down my sides, slow and deliberate, like he's got all the time in the world. Like we're not breaking about seventeen different pack protocols right now. Like his mother didn't spend the entire evening glaring at me from across the room.
"Ryder—"
"Don't."
"Your mother—"
"I don't care."
But I do. I care because I saw the way Vivienne Blackthorn looked at me tonight. Like I was dirt on her expensive shoes. Like I was something to be scraped off and disposed of. And I've been scraped off and disposed of enough times in my life to recognize the look.
"She hates me," I whisper.
Ryder goes still. Then he pulls back again, and this time there's something fierce in his expression. Something that makes my wolf sit up and pay attention.
"I'll announce our mating at the next full moon," he says. "You'll be my Luna. My queen. And my mother will learn to deal with it."
My queen.
The words settle over me like a blanket, warm and suffocating at the same time.
"I'm just an omega," I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds. "Your mother will never—"
He cuts me off with a kiss. Hard, possessive, claiming. His hand tangles in my hair, and I make a sound that's half gasp, half moan, and he swallows it like he's starving.
"I don't care what she thinks," he says against my mouth. "You're mine."
And God help me, I believe him.
I shouldn't, but I do.
We fall back onto the bed, and the silk sheets are cool against my overheated skin. He hovers over me, and the moonlight catches in his dark hair, makes his eyes glow brighter. He looks like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. I'm not sure which yet.
"Mine," he says again, and this time it's not a statement. It's a vow.
"Yours," I whisper back, and my wolf howls in triumph.
His scent wraps around me—pine and smoke and something darker, something that makes my toes curl. I breathe him in, let him fill my lungs, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I belong somewhere.
To someone.
His lips trail down my neck, and I arch into him. My hands find his shoulders, his back, mapping the muscles there. He's solid and warm and real, and the mate bond hums between us like a live wire.
"I've been looking for you my whole life," he murmurs against my collarbone. "I didn't even know it until tonight."
My chest tightens. "Ryder—"
"I mean it."
He lifts his head, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. There's want there, yes. Need. But there's something else too. Something softer. Something that looks almost like...
No.
I can't let myself think that word. It's too soon. Too fast. Too dangerous.
But then he kisses me again, and I stop thinking altogether.
Time blurs after that. His hands, my hands, skin against skin, the sound of our breathing filling the room. The mate bond pulls tighter with every touch, every kiss, until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
At some point, I taste something strange on his lips. Bitter. Chemical. It's there and gone so fast I almost think I imagined it.
"Did you drink something?" I ask.
"Wine at the gathering," he says, distracted. His mouth is doing something incredible to my shoulder. "Why?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
The strange taste fades, and I forget about it.
We don't sleep much. Every time I start to drift off, the bond pulls me back, demanding more. More touch. More closeness. More proof that this is real.
By the time exhaustion finally drags me under, the sky outside is starting to lighten. Gray dawn creeping in to replace the moonlight.
Ryder's arms are around me, solid and sure, and I let myself believe—just for a moment—that this might actually work.
That I might actually get to keep him.
I wake up alone.
The bed is cold where he should be, and panic claws up my throat before I see the note on the pillow.
Had to handle pack business. Wait for me. —R
I read it three times, looking for hidden meaning that isn't there. Then I fold it carefully and set it on the nightstand.
Wait for me.
Okay.
I can do that.
I take a shower in his massive bathroom, using soap that smells like him. I borrow one of his shirts because my dress from last night is a wrinkled mess on the floor. I sit on the edge of his bed and I wait.
An hour passes.
Then two.
My wolf starts to pace, uneasy. Something's wrong.
"Nothing's wrong," I tell her out loud. "He's the Alpha King. He's busy."
She doesn't believe me.
I'm starting not to believe me either.
I'm about to go looking for him when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Relief floods through me, and I stand up, smoothing down the borrowed shirt.
But it's not Ryder who opens the door.
It's Vivienne Blackthorn.
And she's not alone.
There's a woman with her. Tall, blonde, beautiful in that effortless way that makes my stomach twist. She's wearing a silk robe, and her hair is messed up like she just rolled out of bed.
Someone else's bed.
"So you're still here," Vivienne says. Her voice is cold enough to frost glass. "How unfortunate."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My wolf is snarling now, hackles raised, because she can smell the other woman's scent.
And underneath it, faint but unmistakable, is Ryder's.
"I don't—" I start.
"Let me save us all some time," Vivienne interrupts. She pulls something from her purse. Photographs. She tosses them onto the bed, and they scatter across the silk sheets like accusations.
I don't want to look.
I look anyway.
Ryder. In bed. With the blonde woman. Her head on his chest. His arm around her waist. Both of them naked under tangled sheets.
The sheets from a different room, I notice distantly. Not these sheets. But that doesn't matter, does it?
"This is Celeste Ravencroft," Vivienne says, gesturing to the blonde. "Ryder's intended mate. They've been promised to each other since childhood."
"That's not—" I can't finish the sentence. Can't breathe.
"He didn't tell you?" Vivienne's smile is sharp enough to cut. "How careless of him."
The mate bond is screaming. Agony ripping through my chest like claws. Because it knows. Even if my brain is still trying to catch up, the bond knows.
"These were taken this morning," Vivienne continues. "While you were here. Waiting."
Like she's throwing my own stupidity back in my face.
I pick up one of the photos with shaking hands. Study it. Ryder's face is peaceful, relaxed. He looks content.
He looks nothing like the man who called me his queen last night.
"I don't understand," I whisper.
"Of course you don't." Vivienne's voice drips with contempt. "You're an omega. You actually believed an Alpha King would choose you over his duty. Over his bloodline. How pathetically naive."
Celeste hasn't said a word. She just stands there, looking uncomfortable but not surprised. Like this is all going exactly according to plan.
Someone's plan.
Just not mine.
"Leave now," Vivienne says, and her voice drops to something dangerous. "Take whatever dignity you have left and disappear. Because if you don't, I'll make sure you disappear permanently. Omegas go missing all the time. Tragic, really. But these things happen."
It's not a threat.
It's a promise.
I can see it in her eyes. Cold. Calculating. Absolutely serious.
My wolf wants to fight. Wants to rage and claw and demand answers. But I'm not stupid enough to fight an Alpha's mother on her own territory. Not when she's already proven she's willing to destroy me.
So I do the only thing I can do.
I run.
I grab my dress, my shoes, and I run.
Down the hallway. Down the stairs. Out the front door of the estate. I don't stop until I'm in the forest, far enough away that I can't smell the pack anymore.
Then I collapse against a tree and let myself break.
The mate bond is still there. Still screaming. Still trying to drag me back to him.
But I won't go.
I can't.
Because Vivienne was right about one thing.
I am pathetically naive.
I actually believed he meant it when he said I was his.
I actually believed I could be someone's queen.
I actually believed—
A wave of nausea hits me so hard I have to brace myself against the tree. I throw up in the bushes, my whole body shaking.
When it passes, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and start walking.
I don't know where I'm going.
I just know I can't stay here.
The bond pulls tighter with every step, trying to stop me. Trying to bring me back. But I ignore it. I've gotten good at ignoring things that hurt.
This is just one more thing to add to the list.
I walk until my feet bleed.
Until the sun sets and rises again.
Until I'm far enough away that the bond is just a dull ache instead of a scream.
And I don't look back.
Not once.
I don't know it yet, but I'm already carrying his child.
I don't know it yet, but running away is about to become the biggest mistake of my life.
I don't know it yet, but five years from now, I'll have to come back.
And when I do, everything will burn.
But right now, all I know is pain.
So I run from it.
And I keep running.
CHAPTER 1
Present Day—Mira
Seattle smells like rain and regret, and I've been drowning in both for five years.
The alarm goes off at five AM, same as always. I slap it silent before it can wake Ethan and drag myself out of bed. My body protests—every muscle aches, my eyes burn from too little sleep, and there's a headache building behind my temples that I know won't go away until I crash tonight.
If I crash tonight.
The apartment is dark and cold. I can't afford to run the heat much, so I pull on a sweatshirt over my pajamas and pad into the kitchen. Coffee first. Then work. Always work.
My laptop sits on the tiny kitchen table, surrounded by manuscripts that need editing. I've got three projects due by the end of the week, and I'm behind on all of them. Story of my life.
I pour coffee into a chipped mug and sit down. The chair creaks under my weight. Everything in this place creaks. The floors, the pipes, the hinges on the cabinets. Like the whole building is one strong wind away from collapsing.
Some days I feel the same way.
I open the first manuscript—a romance novel that's somehow both boring and offensive—and start reading. My red pen hovers over the page, ready to mark up the author's crimes against grammar.
Two hours pass. The coffee goes cold. I finish one manuscript and start another.
Then I hear it.
"No. No, please. It hurts."
I'm out of my chair and down the hall before I even register moving. Ethan's room is barely big enough for his twin bed and a dresser, but he's made it his own. Drawings of wolves cover the walls. Wolves running, wolves howling, wolves that look suspiciously like the one that lives under his skin.
He's tangled in his sheets, thrashing. His face is scrunched up in pain, and even in the dim light from the hallway, I can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"Ethan." I sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Baby, wake up."
His eyes snap open.
Gold.
Not the warm brown they're supposed to be. Gold, glowing, inhuman.
My heart stops.
"Mama?" His voice is small and scared, and the gold flickers. Fades. Goes back to brown.
"I'm here." I pull him into my lap even though he's getting too big for it. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I feel him shaking. "Just a bad dream. You're okay."
"The wolf was trying to get out," he whispers. "It wanted to break my bones."
That's what shifting feels like the first few times. Like your bones are breaking and reforming. I remember. God, I remember.
"It won't hurt you," I lie. "Your wolf is part of you. It's trying to protect you."
"Then why does it feel so scary?"
Because you're four years old and you don't understand what's happening to you. Because I've kept you away from other shifters your whole life and now your wolf is confused and angry. Because I'm a terrible mother who put her own fear above your needs.
"It's scary because it's new," I say instead. "But I promise it gets easier."
He pulls back to look at me, and his eyes are still brown but there's something ancient in them. Something that doesn't belong in a child's face.
"Mama, why don't I have a daddy like the other kids?"
The question hits me like a fist to the gut. We've had this conversation before, but it never gets easier.
"You do, baby. He just... can't be with us."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated."
"That's what you always say." He's not accusing. Just stating a fact. Which somehow makes it worse.
I smooth his hair back from his forehead. It's dark, almost black. Just like his father's.
"Your daddy doesn't know about you," I say, and the words taste like ash. "And that's my fault."
"Did he not want me?"
My heart shatters. Again. It's gotten good at shattering and piecing itself back together. I've had a lot of practice.
"No, baby. No. He would want you. He'd love you so much. I just... I couldn't tell him."
"Why?"
"Because I was scared."
It's the most honest answer I've ever given him, and I watch it sink in. His little face scrunches up like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
"Are you still scared?"
"Yes."
"Of my daddy?"
"Of a lot of things."
He thinks about this for a minute. Then he wraps his arms around my neck and squeezes.
"It's okay, Mama. I'll protect you."
I hold him tighter and blink back tears. He shouldn't have to protect me. I'm supposed to protect him.
But I'm doing a shit job of it.
"Let's get you back to sleep," I say.
"Can I sleep in your bed?"
"Yeah. Come on."
We shuffle back to my room, and he climbs under the covers. I lie down next to him, and he curls into my side like he used to when he was a baby.
"Mama?"
"Yeah?"
"My hands felt weird in the dream. Like they weren't my hands anymore."
Claws. He's starting to shift his claws.
"That's normal," I say, even though nothing about this is normal.
"Will it happen when I'm awake?"
"Maybe."
"What do I do if it does?"
"You tell me. Right away. And we'll figure it out together."
He nods against my shoulder, and within minutes, his breathing evens out. He's asleep.
I'm not.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain hammer against the window, and I know I'm out of time.
Ethan needs a pack. He needs other shifters to teach him control. He needs his father.
And I need to stop being a coward.
By the time Ethan wakes up for real, I've already made breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast, nothing fancy—and I'm on my second pot of coffee.
"Morning, baby."
He climbs into his chair and yawns. "Morning."
I put a plate in front of him and watch him eat. He's got dark circles under his eyes that shouldn't be there. Kids his age should be bouncing off the walls, not looking like they've been through a war.
"How do you feel?" I ask.
"Tired."
"Yeah. Me too."
He takes a bite of eggs, chews thoughtfully. "Can I go to the park today?"
"Maybe later. I have to work at the bookstore this afternoon."
His face falls. "Can I come?"
"You always come."
"I know. But I like it there."
He likes it because Lena lets him sit in the kids' section and read as many books as he wants. And because the bookstore is warm and smells like paper and coffee, and it's one of the few places where we can pretend to be normal.
"Go get dressed," I say. "We'll leave in an hour."
He scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and runs off to his room. I clean up the dishes and try not to think about the fact that his fever spiked again last night. I felt it when I was holding him. His skin was too hot, almost burning.
It's getting worse.
I change into jeans and a sweater, pull my hair into a ponytail, and grab my bag. Ethan meets me at the door wearing mismatched socks and a shirt with a dinosaur on it.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Ready."
The bus ride to the bookstore takes twenty minutes. Ethan sits next to me, his small hand in mine, and watches the rain streak down the windows.
"Mama?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think my daddy likes dinosaurs?"
The question comes out of nowhere, and I don't know how to answer it.
"I don't know, baby."
"I hope he does."
"Me too."
The bookstore is called Second Chapter, which I've always thought was a little too on the nose. It's small and cramped and smells like old paper and dust, but it's mine. Or at least, it feels like mine. I've worked here for three years, and Lena's been good to me. She doesn't ask questions. Doesn't pry. Just lets me work and pays me under the table because I can't exactly put my real name on a W-2.
"There's my favorite little man!" Lena's behind the counter when we walk in, and she lights up when she sees Ethan.
He grins and runs over to her. "Hi, Lena!"
"Hi, yourself. You here to help me today?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. I need someone to organize the kids' section. Think you can handle it?"
"Yes!"
He takes off toward the back of the store, and Lena turns to me. Her smile fades.
"You look like hell," she says.
"Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
"I'm serious, Mira. When's the last time you slept?"
"I sleep."
"For more than three hours at a time?"
I don't answer, and she sighs.
"You're going to burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. And neither is Ethan."
I stiffen. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means he's sick, and you keep pretending he's not. He needs a doctor. A specialist. You can't keep pretending this is normal."
"He's fine."
"He's not fine. I saw him last week, Mira. His eyes—"
"Were reflecting the light weird. It happens."
"They were glowing."
My stomach drops. "You're imagining things."
"I'm not." She leans closer, lowers her voice. "I don't know what's going on with him, and I'm not asking you to tell me. But whatever it is, it's getting worse. And if you don't get him help soon, something bad is going to happen."
She's right.
I know she's right.
But admitting it means admitting I've failed him. Means going back to the one place I swore I'd never go again.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"When?"
"Soon."
"Mira—"
"I said I'll handle it."
She holds up her hands. "Okay. Okay. Just... don't wait too long."
I nod and head to the back office to drop off my bag. My hands are shaking.
The afternoon passes in a blur. I shelve books, help customers, ring up sales. Ethan stays in the kids' section, reading and organizing like Lena asked. Every time I check on him, he's fine.
Until he's not.
It happens so fast I almost miss it.
One second, he's sitting cross-legged on the floor with a picture book in his lap. The next, he's staring at his hands like they're not his.
I'm across the store, but I see it. The way his fingers curl. The way his nails start to lengthen.
Claws.
"Ethan." I'm moving before I even think about it. "Ethan, look at me."
His head snaps up, and his eyes are gold again. Bright, glowing, terrified.
There's a woman browsing nearby. She hasn't noticed yet, but she will. Any second now, she's going to turn around and see a four-year-old with claws and glowing eyes, and then everything is going to fall apart.
"Ethan, close your eyes." I drop to my knees in front of him and grab his hands. His claws prick my skin, but I don't let go. "Close your eyes and breathe. Just breathe."
"Mama, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. In and out. Slow."
He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. It's shaky, uneven, but it's a start.
"Good. Again."
Another breath. His claws retract a fraction.
"Again."
By the fourth breath, his hands are back to normal. His eyes are still gold, but they're fading.
The woman turns around.
"Oh, how sweet," she says, smiling at us. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine," I say, forcing a smile. "Just a little tired."
"Aren't they all at that age?" She laughs and walks away.
I wait until she's gone before I pull Ethan into my arms.
"You did so good," I whisper. "So good, baby."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."
But he did. Or I did. Or we both did.
It doesn't matter.
What matters is that we're out of time.
That night, after Ethan's asleep, I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop open. My hands hover over the keyboard for a long time before I finally type it in.
Bus tickets to Silverpine Hollow.
The search results load, and I stare at them. One way. Round trip. Departing tomorrow. Departing next week.
I could wait. Give myself more time to prepare. To figure out what I'm going to say when I see him again.
But Ethan doesn't have more time.
And neither do I.
I click on the first result. Two tickets. One way. Departing tomorrow at noon.
My finger hovers over the Purchase button.
Five years. I've spent five years running from this. From him. From the life I could've had.
And now I'm about to run straight back into it.
I think about Vivienne's face. Her cold eyes. Her threat.
Omegas go missing all the time.
I think about Ryder. The way he looked at me that night. The way he said mine like it was a vow.
I think about Ethan. His questions. His nightmares. His glowing eyes.
And I click the button.
The confirmation email arrives thirty seconds later.
Your trip to Silverpine Hollow is confirmed.
I close the laptop and put my head in my hands.
"God help me," I whisper to the empty room.
Because I'm about to walk back into hell.
And this time, I'm bringing my son with me.
CHAPTER 2
Ryder
Ryder Blackthorn had stopped believing in second chances the day his mate disappeared.
He sat at the head of the council table, listening to Alpha Morrison drone on about border disputes with the Northern Pack, and felt absolutely nothing. Morrison's face was red, his voice getting louder with each word, like volume would somehow make his argument more convincing.
It wouldn't.
"They've been crossing into our territory for weeks," Morrison said, slamming his fist on the table. "Hunting our game. Marking our trees. It's a direct challenge to our authority."
"Then challenge them back," Ryder said. His voice was flat, bored. "You're an alpha. Act like one."
Morrison's mouth opened and closed like a fish. The other council members shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. No one liked it when Ryder got sharp, but he was past the point of caring about their feelings.
"I—yes, Alpha King. Of course."
Morrison sat down, and Ryder's gaze swept the table. Five alphas, all older than him, all supposedly wiser. But they looked at him like he was a bomb that might go off at any second.
Good.
Let them be scared.
"Anything else?" Ryder asked.
Silence.
"Then we're done here."
They filed out one by one, none of them meeting his eyes. Kade, his Beta, lingered by the door. He was the only one who wasn't afraid of Ryder, which made him either brave or stupid. Ryder hadn't decided which yet.
"That went well," Kade said.
"Morrison's an idiot."
"He's also right. The Northern Pack is testing us."
"Let them test. They'll learn."
Kade crossed his arms. He was built like a tank—broad shoulders, thick neck, hands that could crush a man's skull without much effort. But his eyes were sharp, calculating. He saw too much.
"You can't keep doing this," Kade said.
"Doing what?"
"Going through the motions. The pack needs a leader, not a ghost."
Ryder's jaw tightened. "I'm leading."
"You're surviving. There's a difference."
"Is there a point to this conversation, or are you just here to piss me off?"
Kade sighed. "The pack needs a Luna."
And there it was. The same argument they'd been having for five years.
"The pack has me," Ryder said. "That's enough."
"It's not. You know it's not."
"Then they'll have to deal with disappointment. Wouldn't be the first time."
He stood and walked out before Kade could say anything else. The hallway was long and empty, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The Blackthorn Estate was massive—three stories, dozens of rooms, more space than any one person could ever need.
And it was suffocating.
He made his way to his study and shut the door behind him. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the fireplace. He poured himself a whiskey and downed it in one swallow. Then poured another.
The burn helped. Not much, but enough.
He sank into the chair behind his desk and stared at the wall. There was a photo there, small and unassuming, tucked into the corner of a bookshelf where no one would notice it unless they were looking.
Mira.
It was from the night they met. She was laughing at something someone had said, her head thrown back, her eyes bright. She looked happy. Free.
She'd looked at him the same way later that night, when it was just the two of them. Like he was the only person in the world who mattered.
And then she was gone.
He'd woken up the next morning in a bed that wasn't his, with a woman who wasn't her. Celeste had been asleep next to him, her blonde hair spread across the pillow, and Ryder's first thought had been wrong.
Everything about it was wrong.
The room. The bed. The woman.
He'd stumbled out of there, his head pounding, his mouth tasting like chemicals. He'd gone back to his quarters, expecting to find Mira waiting for him.
But she wasn't there.
Her scent was, though. Faint, fading, but unmistakable. Vanilla and rain. It clung to the sheets, to the air, to his skin.
He'd searched the estate. The grounds. The town. Nothing.
By the time he realized she was really gone, the trail was cold.
He'd hired investigators. Called in favors from every pack he had connections to. Spent a fortune tracking down leads that went nowhere.
