CHAPTER THREE :THE ALPHA’S ’s RETURN

SAMANTHA’S POV

Elias hadn’t sought me out after his cold welcome.

He’d spoken to his parents, clasped arms with warriors, even thanked the cooks as if he remembered their faces from years ago—but not me. Not really.

A polite nod. A clipped “hello.” His voice too formal, his eyes too distant.

As if I were nothing more than another member of the pack.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That he was exhausted, still adjusting, still learning to breathe Crescent Moon air after two years away. I told myself we’d talk later—after the celebration, after the noise had quieted and he had time to remember what we’d once been.

But a knot had already formed in my stomach. Heavy. Cold.

I caught his scent before I saw him.

It drifted through the courtyard on the back of the morning fog—smoky cedarwood and crushed pine needles, sharp and grounding. The scent of home.

My breath stilled. My hands, busy arranging silver trays for the kitchen omegas, trembled.

Elias.

I pressed my palm against the table’s edge to steady myself, but the ripple spread through me anyway, like waves breaking across still water.

The omegas rushed past me, their chatter spilling into the kitchen like wildfire.

“Did you see him training this morning?” one whispered.

“He’s different now—scar on his jaw, shoulders like stone—”

“He didn’t even smile when Beta Triston hugged him.”

I slipped out the back door before they could notice the way my cheeks flushed, the way my heart thundered in my chest.

The courtyard was alive with light and noise. Sunlight spilled across the stone, gilding the edges of the pack house. Elias stood near the steps, flanked by warriors, his presence magnetic enough to draw the eyes of every wolf who passed.

He looked taller. Broader. Sharper in every sense.

But colder.

Always colder.

I lingered in the shadow of the old elm tree, watching the boy I had loved transfigured into the Alpha he was meant to be. Every line of his posture radiated command, confidence, detachment.

He used to laugh. To throw his head back and grin like the world couldn’t hold him down. Now his mouth was a firm line, his eyes calculating.

Alpha John strode toward him. They clasped arms in a warrior’s greeting, but I saw no warmth. Only formality. Expectation.

The picture hurt.

I imagined myself stepping forward, imagined his eyes softening when they found me, imagined him crossing the space between us to catch my hand, to whisper that he had missed me, that nothing had changed.

But he didn’t look.

Not once.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

“Go say something,” one of the omegas muttered behind me. “He’s your mate, isn’t he?”

The words jolted through me.

Was he?

My feet moved before I could think. One step. Two. Three. I walked into the open, heart pounding, hope clinging to me like a fragile thread.

“Elias.” My voice was soft, but I knew he heard me.

He turned.

For a second—just one—I let myself believe.

But his gaze was flat, polite, devoid of recognition. He looked at me as one might glance at a passing shadow—acknowledging but not reaching.

“Samantha,” he said, the name clipped, distant.

No warmth. No memory. No promise.

“I—I thought…” My throat closed. I forced a smile, brittle. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes,” he said simply, and turned back to his warriors.

Dismissed.

I stood frozen, heat prickling across my skin. He had dismissed me as though I were no one at all.

The next day, I followed him.

Not deliberately. At least, that’s what I told myself.

But every time I caught his scent in the halls, my feet carried me closer. Every time I heard his voice in the courtyard, I drifted to the edge of it, desperate for even a sliver of his attention.

At the training field, I lingered near the weapons rack, pretending to sort practice blades while my eyes sought him out.

He moved like a storm, his strikes sharp, precise, devastating. Warriors faltered beneath his power, their pride dimmed by the sheer dominance in his movements. He wasn’t the boy I remembered—he was something honed, dangerous.

When the session ended, I stepped forward, hope trembling in my chest.

“You’ve grown stronger,” I said, my voice shaking despite myself. “I knew you would.”

He wiped sweat from his brow, glanced at me once, and nodded. “Training does that.”

That was all.

Then he turned away, already speaking to Beta Triston, leaving me clutching my words like broken glass.

Later, I found him in the pack house library, seated at the long oak table with scrolls spread before him. My fingers toyed with the chain around my neck as I stepped inside.

“You always hated studying,” I said gently, trying to tease, trying to coax out the smile I remembered.

He didn’t look up. “That was before. Things are different now.”

“I’m still me,” I whispered.

This time, he did look up. His eyes locked on mine, cold and sharp, and for a heartbeat I thought I saw something flicker—regret, pain, memory. But it vanished before I could name it.

“You shouldn’t follow me around, Samantha,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair to either of us.”

My chest caved. The rejection was subtle, but it cut deeper than cruelty ever could.

“I thought…” My voice cracked. “I thought we were—”

“Don’t.” His tone was sharper this time, final. “Don’t hold on to what we were as children.”

Children. That was all I had been to him.

I left before he could see the tears burning in my eyes.

The return feast came, and the Pack House was alive with music, food, and laughter. But I couldn’t eat. The roasted venison grew cold on my plate, the mead untouched. I watched the empty chair at the head table, draped with Elias’s ceremonial sash, waiting for him to take his place.

He never did.

By the time the feast had reached its height, I slipped away. The noise clawed at my chest, and the shadows of the southern woods welcomed me more than the hollow laughter of wolves who had never once seen me as more than a ghost.

I sat beneath the twisted pine where I had first felt the mate bond tug at me. I remembered Elias’s hands brushing mud from my cheek, his smile bright with boyish devotion.

“I’ll choose you,” he had said. “Wolf or not.”

The memory twisted like a knife.

I pressed my forehead to my knees, trying to hold the pieces of myself together.

That was when I heard them.

Voices.

I stilled, breath caught in my throat. Through the branches, I caught a glimpse of two figures. Elias. And his father.

I crouched low, heart hammering.

“She’s a liability, Father,” Elias’s voice was sharp, steady. “I’ve seen warriors lose focus over weaker mates. She doesn’t even have a wolf. What use is that?”

My breath fractured.

Alpha John grunted. “You owe her nothing. She’s been a drain on this Pack since the day I took her in.”

“She shouldn’t be here when I take my place. It will weaken me. Weaken us.”

“Then deal with it,” Alpha John said flatly. “Rose has been waiting.”

Silence.

Then Elias again. Colder this time. “I plan to announce my choice at the feast.”

A pause.

“The Pack needs a Luna who doesn’t drag it down.”

The words pierced straight through me.

I stumbled back, a twig cracking beneath my heel. The voices stopped. Footsteps shifted.

Panic surged. I ran.

Branches tore at my arms, the night air clawing at my lungs. I didn’t stop until the stream appeared before me, the moon’s reflection trembling on its surface.

My chest heaved, tears streaking my face.

It was over.

I had waited two years. I had built my hope on a boy’s promise. And he had erased me with one cold sentence.

He had a new mate.

Rose.

The very girl who had spent years laughing at me, cutting me down, reminding me I was wolfless, cursed, nothing.

And now—she was to be his Luna.

I wasn’t a ghost anymore.

I was less than that.

I was a mistake.