The Alpha Who Never Looks Away

Rowen did not sleep. He stood at the tall windows of the Alpha house long after the pack had settled, the curtains untouched, the glass cold beneath his palm. The forest stretched out below, dark and watchful. Normally it soothed him. Tonight it felt like accusation. He told himself he had done the right thing.

An omega without a wolf could not stand beside an Alpha. Tradition mattered. Stability mattered. The pack had enemies. Weakness invited bloodshed. He repeated those truths like they were law, like they could drown out the other thing beating against his ribs. It did not work. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her collapse.

Not the humiliation, not the whispers. Her face. Shocked, then torn open by pain she had not expected. By pain he had caused. Rowen’s jaw tightened. He straightened and forced himself to breathe slowly, the way he did before battle. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Control was everything. He had built his rule on it. Still, the bond refused to go quiet.

It was not the clean severing he had expected. He had felt the snap, sharp and vicious, but beneath it something remained. A pull. Faint, but persistent. Like a hand wrapped around his spine, tugging every time his thoughts drifted to her.

He turned away from the window and crossed the room. The house was silent, servants dismissed early after the ritual. Even the guards outside were keeping their distance. They always did when he wore this mood. Rowen poured himself a drink and did not touch it.

Elara Moonfall. An omega he had seen every day and never truly looked at. Not until the Moon forced his eyes open.

He remembered the way she scrubbed the training hall floors at dawn, hair pulled back, shoulders hunched as if bracing for impact. He remembered noticing bruises once, faint yellow and purple marks at her wrist, and telling himself it was none of his concern. Omegas were disciplined by betas. He had trusted his system. The memory tasted sour now. Rowen clenched his fist and set the glass down untouched.

He should have felt relief. Aven was safe. The pack was appeased. The future he had planned remained intact. Instead, his skin felt too tight. A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” he said, sharper than necessary.

Aven stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She had changed into a pale gown, hair loose around her shoulders. She looked exactly as she always did when she wanted reassurance. “You left the square quickly,” she said softly. “I was worried.”

“I needed air.” She crossed the room and reached for him. Rowen did not pull away, but he did not lean into her either. Her hand rested on his arm, familiar, practiced. “You did what you had to do,” Aven said. “Everyone understands that. An omega like her, it would have been disastrous. The council would never have accepted it.” The council. Rowen’s gaze drifted back to the window, to the dark line of trees beyond the grounds.

“She collapsed,” he said quietly. Aven stiffened for half a breath before smoothing her expression. “She is dramatic, omegas often are and you know that.” He did know the stereotype. He had believed it. Now it rang hollow. “You should announce our engagement soon,” Aven continued. “It will silence any lingering talk.” Rowen nodded once. He did not trust his voice. Aven waited, then kissed his cheek and left him alone with his thoughts.

The moment the door closed, the pressure returned, stronger and insistent. Rowen moved without conscious decision, leaving the Alpha house and crossing the grounds toward the servant quarters. The night air was sharp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. His boots crunched softly against the gravel path. He stopped before he reached the door. This was a mistake.

He told himself that, even as his senses flared. Even as he caught her scent, faint and wounded, threaded with something new. Something that made his chest ache. She was crying. The sound was muffled, barely there, but he heard it. He always heard things like that. Rowen stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows. He did not knock. He did not enter. He simply stood there, listening to the quiet proof of what he had done.

The bond tugged again, almost pleading. “I rejected you,” he murmured under his breath. “It should be over.” It was not. When her crying finally eased, he turned away and returned to the Alpha house, anger simmering beneath his skin. Not at her. At himself. At the Moon. At a fate that had chosen poorly. Morning came grey and heavy.

Rowen took his place at the head of the council table, posture rigid, expression unreadable. Eamon stood to his right, as always, his presence steady and familiar. “The pack is restless,” Eamon said quietly as the others took their seats. “Last night shook them.”

“Let them be shaken,” Rowen replied. “It will pass.” Eamon hesitated. “About the omega.” Rowen’s gaze snapped to him. Eamon did not flinch. “She will continue her duties,” Rowen said. “Nothing changes.” Eamon studied him for a moment longer than was polite. “If you say so, Alpha.” Rowen said nothing. He did not trust himself to.

Later that day, he found himself on the training grounds, watching without intention. Elara moved across the edge of the field with a bucket and rag, scrubbing dried blood from the stones. Her steps were slower than usual. Her shoulders were tense, like she expected to be struck at any moment. A warrior brushed past her, deliberately rough. She stumbled, caught herself, and kept working without a word.

Something dark twisted in Rowen’s chest. He did not intervene. He told himself that stepping in would raise questions. That it would only make things worse for her. That this distance was mercy. Still, his eyes followed her. Everywhere she went, he knew. When she ate. When she did not. When she flinched at raised voices. When she pressed a hand to her chest like it hurt to breathe. The bond pulsed faintly every time she suffered.

By evening, his patience was threadbare. He summoned a guard and sent him to watch the servant quarters. Quietly, no interference unless necessary. The order tasted like weakness. That night, as the Moon rose again, Rowen stood at his window and felt it. A surge. Heat, sudden and sharp, curling low in his gut. His breath caught. “No,” he whispered. The bond answered anyway, humming to life like it had been waiting.

Across the grounds, Elara curled on her narrow bed, hands clenched in the blanket. Her skin burned. Her heart raced. Something inside her pressed outward, restless and aching. Rowen closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass. He could feel her, not thoughts, not words. Sensation. Pain. Confusion. Fear threaded with something raw and powerful. His wolf stirred for the first time in years, pacing, alert.

Mate.

The word rose unbidden, heavy and undeniable. Rowen opened his eyes, breath unsteady. He had rejected her in front of the entire pack. But the bond had not listened. And neither, he realized with a quiet, terrifying certainty, had he. From that night on, the Alpha of Blackmere never looked away.