CHAPTER 9

JAYDEN

The morning air was still.

Dark grey light crept through the windows as I peeled my eyes open. Catriona was curled against me, one leg tangled over my waist, her hand resting over my heart like she was afraid to let go even in sleep.

I stayed there for a while, just watching her breathe. Peaceful. Soft. After last night, we both needed that.

Eventually, I slid out from under her slowly, carefully.

She stirred a little, but didn’t wake.

I grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the closest, pulled them on, followed by a vest, and padded barefoot toward the door. My usual early workout—nothing complicated, just enough to clear my head.

But before I could reach the stairs leading down to the gym, I stopped.

Something tugged at me.

I turned back, walked toward Abriel’s room, and opened the door as quietly as I could.

And froze.

He was sitting upright in bed, wide awake.

His small hands were wrapped tight around Mr. Patches, the bear crushed to his chest like it was the only thing holding him together.

“Son?” I stepped inside. “Why are you awake this early?”

His eyes flicked up to mine—and tears slid down his cheeks without a sound.

My heart stopped.

I crossed the room quickly, lowering myself beside him on the edge of the bed. “Abriel,” I said softly, “what’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

He didn’t speak.

But he nodded.

Just once.

A small, stiff motion. Like admitting it took more strength than he had.

I tried to keep my voice calm. Gentle. “Okay. Okay… what hurts, bud? Is it your head? Your tummy? Did you have a nightmare?”

He shook his head.

Still quiet.

I took a breath, fighting the usual ache in my chest— he never talks to me. And still, I tried again.

“Is it about your mummy?”

Another nod.

That was all I needed.

“What is it with mummy?” I asked carefully.

But this time, he said nothing.

Just held the bear tighter and looked down.

I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. “You wanna hug?” I offered, spreading my arms a little. “Just a little one?”

He flinched.

Hard.

Pulled back so fast, like I’d raised a hand to him.

Like I was the monster in the closet.

The punch that hit my gut wasn’t physical—but Lord, it felt like one.

I’d seen him do this before. But every time, it felt new. Fresh. Like the wound never got time to scar before he ripped it open again.

I blew out a shaky breath. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay…”

I looked away, blinked hard, then asked, voice lower now—barely above a whisper.

“Tell me, son… why does it feel like you hate me?”

No answer.

“Did I do something to you? Did I… hurt you without knowing?”

Still nothing.

I dropped my hand into my lap, helpless. I’d faced enemies. Led warriors. Fought for land, blood, and vengeance.

But nothing made me feel smaller than this.

I stood up slowly, about to walk toward the door—maybe go wake Catriona.

But then—

> “You hurt my mummy.”

The words were so faint I thought I imagined them.

I turned slowly.

He was looking at me now.

Eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling. His voice just a little louder this time:

> “You hurt my mummy.”

My chest tightened so hard it ached.

“I… what?” I sat back down, stunned. “Abriel, what did you just say?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“You hurt my mummy,” he said again. “You make her cry. Every night.”

“I—no,” I shook my head. “Son, I would never hurt your mummy. I love her. I’d never—”

“She cries,” he said, voice breaking. “When I came to her room again… she’s crying again.”

My mouth went dry.

He wasn’t angry.

He was heartbroken.

And in his little mind, crying meant pain. Pain meant someone caused it. And that someone was me.

But what if…

I froze.

What if he heard her crying… not from sadness…

But from me.

My heart sank further, twisting in a whole new kind of guilt.

Fuck…

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every late night, every moment when I lost control with her in the dark—when I needed her like she was air, like she was the only thing keeping me grounded. We didn’t hide it. We never thought we needed to.

But what if we were wrong?

What if he’d heard those cries—the ones I pulled from her over and over—and thought I was hurting her?

Not loving her.

Not giving her pleasure.

Hurting.

I shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands over my face, trying to find the right words—any words—to explain this to a child who barely spoke.

“Abriel…” I started awkwardly, “sometimes when… when grown-ups are together—when they love each other a lot, and they’re… close—they, uh… they make sounds.”

His eyes narrowed, confused.

“Not… bad sounds,” I added quickly. “Not pain. When they love each other deeply like me and your mummy… they make each other feel good. So good it comes out like… crying.”

I winced at how stupid that sounded.

God help me, this was a nightmare.

He stared at me.

“Is that why you hate me?”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them—low, tight.

He didn’t even hesitate.

He nodded.

A small, solemn dip of his head. But it was enough to cave my chest in.

Goodness

I opened my mouth—closed it again. What the hell do you even say to that? How do you explain that the crying he heard wasn’t sadness, wasn’t pain—that it came from something real and intense, but not bad?

I tried to find the words.

His stare lingered.

“I didn’t hurt her,” I added quickly. “Never. Not once. Not your mum. Not ever. Those sounds you heard—they were happy ones. I swear it.”

He still looked unsure. Still holding tight to that bear.

I rubbed the back of my neck again, then leaned in, softer now. “Do you want me to take you to your mummy?”

He nodded fast.

Without even thinking, I got up slowly and reached my hand out for him, palm open.

He hesitated.

Then pulled away, just a step.

But this time… I understood.

This time, I knew why.

And it didn’t destroy me—it just hurt like hell.

“Okay,” I said gently. “Walk with me.”

He did.

We moved through the hallway quietly, side by side, and my chest swelled with something sharp and strange.

Almost like hope.

We reached the door to our bedroom. I hesitated, hand on the handle, and looked down at him. He looked up too—eyes wide, uncertain.

I cleared my throat, awkwardly caught between guilt and nerves, like a guilty teenager sneaking in late.

Or a father who just realized he’s been the villain in his own son’s eyes.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

Catriona was still fast asleep, curled under the sheets, her back to us.

“Catriona,” I said softly.

No response.

“Catriona,” I said again, quieter.

Still nothing.

I looked down at Abriel, who was already watching me. His gaze was soft, full of that same fear-awkwardness I felt crawling down my own spine.

Shame mixed with uncertainty.

Guilt-tension.

Like we were both asking for a kind of forgiveness we didn’t know how to earn.

I cleared my throat once more—gods, I was pathetic.

“Catriona,” I said a third time, gently brushing her shoulder.

She stirred.

Rolled over.

Eyes blinking awake. Groggy, but instantly alert when she saw both of us standing there.

“Abriel? Jayden?” She sat up, the sheets pulling against her chest as she instinctively reached for them, tugging them higher. “What’s the matter?”

I exhaled.

“He wanted to see you,” I said. Then, after a pause, added: “I think we have a problem.”

She pulled the sheets tighter around herself and opened her arms. “Come here, baby.”

Abriel didn’t even think—he rushed forward, climbing onto the bed, crawling into her arms and pressing himself tight to her side, his face buried into her chest.

She wrapped around him, looking up at me over his head with confusion hard in her eyes.

I didn’t speak.

I just looked at her and opened a mind-link between us.

> “He thought I was hurting you.”

She blinked, eyes wide.

> “He’s been hearing you cry at night, Catriona. And I never… we never explained. He thought I was doing something awful to you. That’s why he’s been keeping his distance. That’s why he hated me.”

Her face shifted—shock first. Then heartbreak.

She kissed the top of Abriel’s head gently, her brows pulling together.

I cleared my throat softly, shifting on my feet. “I think… you’d have a better way of explaining it to him than I ever could,” I said. “I’ll head to the gym.”

She looked up at me and gave a small, warm smile. “I’ll talk to him.”

I nodded, grateful. One more look at my son wrapped safely in her arms, then I turned and slipped out.

As I made my way down the stairs to the basement, something strange happened.

That crushing pressure in my chest—the weight I’d been dragging around for three years—it started to lift. Not all the way. But enough to breathe. Enough to move.

Down in the gym, the air was cool. Still smelled like leather, sweat, and steel. Familiar. Grounding.

I cracked my neck, threw on some gloves, and stepped to the reinforced punching bag. This wasn’t a soft routine. I didn’t need meditation or stretches—I needed to move. Burn. Fight the ghost of who I was yesterday.

I threw the first punch. Then another. Then let the rhythm take over.

Hooks. Jabs. Knee drives.

Sweat soaked through my vest within minutes.

I moved to the bench press next. Threw on more weight than usual—nothing I couldn’t handle, but enough to strain. Enough to feel alive.

I lost myself in the reps.

Thirty. Forty. More.

Every press up felt like purging something.

Guilt. Doubt. Helplessness.

That lingering image of Abriel flinching away… fading.

And in its place—his voice.

Soft. But clearer than ever.

You hurt my mummy…

Then…

You make her cry.

But also—

Do you want to go to your mummy?

And that nod.

That silent yes.

That trust.

I felt it bloom again in my chest—fragile, yes, but real. The beginnings of something.

The weight racked down with a satisfying clang, and I sat up, catching my breath.

Just then, the gym door creaked open.

Jerome stepped in, towel slung over his shoulder, already in gear. “Morning, Alpha.”

“Jerome.” I nodded.

He stretched lazily, watching me. “You’re up early.”

“Same as always.”

He looked around, then smiled. “Yeah, but today you’re actually… moving like you mean it.”

I arched a brow. “I always move like I mean it.”

He chuckled. “True. But today you’re not dragging ten tons of storm cloud energy behind you.”

I laughed—short at first. But then it grew.

It caught me off guard.

Jerome paused mid-stretch and stared at me like I’d grown horns. “Wait a damn second,” he said, grinning. “Was that a laugh? A real one?”

I shook my head, wiping sweat from my brow. “Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned wider. “Too late. Now I’m curious. What’s got my Alpha grinning like a man who actually slept last night?”

I looked at the floor, then back up at him—half-smile still on my face.

“I think…” I said, exhaling slowly, “my son and I… we’re finally getting closer.”

Jerome stared for a beat.

Then nodded.

“About damn time,” he said.

And for once… I agreed.

Jerome grabbed a set of dumbbells and sat on the bench opposite me, watching me cool down.

“That’s really good news,” he said, wiping his brow. “You and that cute little boy kid.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

There was a quiet beat between us—just the low hum of the ventilation system and the echo of weights shifting.

Then Jerome added, “I actually woke up early because I figured I’d find you down here.”

I raised a brow. “Now you’re about to ruin my mood, aren’t you?”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “A little. Sorry, Alpha.”

I sighed. “Spit it out.”

He set the dumbbells down slowly, like the weight of what he was about to say had nothing to do with iron.

“There’s something you need to see,” he said. “One of the scouts picked up strange tracks near the northern ridge. Not rogue wolves. Not human either.”

My brow furrowed. “Then what?”

Jerome met my eyes.

“We’re not sure. But whatever it was… it was heavy. It wasn’t walking on four legs. And the prints started out of nowhere. Like it didn’t come from anywhere. It just… appeared.”

The air shifted.

That brief peace I’d had?

Gone.

And just like that, I was Alpha again.