Chapter 5 – The First Alpha Who Waited

Elira

I told him everything.

Sitting cross-legged on the thick fur throw, a mug cooling in my hands, I poured out the pieces of my life like ash from a broken urn.

I didn’t hold back.

He asked only when he needed to. Just enough to clarify something—never interrupting, never challenging. His questions were quiet, thoughtful. Like he was collecting fragments with care, trying not to crack them further.

I told him about the scent. About the first Alpha who caught it and snapped, claiming me before I’d even learned what the mate bond was.

I told him about the next. And the next. How each time, they marked me almost immediately—some gentle, some rough, none of them asking. As if fate gave them permission to bypass consent.

I told him what came after—the descent. The madness. The blood. 

Four Alphas buried. One driven to the brink of sanity. Five packs burned through like kindling leading up to yesterday’s events with the fifth dead alpha. Each one thinking they would be the one to fix it. 

I told him about the whispered names. Curse-born. Witchblood. Wolf’s Bane. I told him how I tried to run. How I prayed no one would find me again. How it never worked. And he listened.

When I finally went quiet, the lodge was still. The fire snapped softly, the logs collapsing inward. Caelan sat across from me on the floor, legs folded beneath him, forearms resting loosely on his knees. He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.

His expression was unreadable—but not cold. Just… processing.

Finally, he spoke. “Well,” he said slowly, “a pattern is definitely emerging.”

My lips twitched, almost smiling despite myself. “You think?”

He tilted his head. “They all claimed you immediately. Marked you fast. Forced it.”

I nodded once. “None of them asked. None of them even thought to.”

He was quiet a moment longer. Then: “Maybe that’s the key.”

I frowned. “The key to what?”

“To breaking it.”

His golden eyes met mine. Steady. Unflinching.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Elira. I want you. Badly. And my wolf wants you even more.” His voice was gravel, low and raw. “From the moment I caught your scent, it was like something ancient inside me snapped awake.”

My pulse jumped. But I didn’t flinch.

He held up his hands, palms open. “But I’m not going to be like the others. I’m not going to take you. I’m not going to claim you. I’m not going to mark you.”

I stared at him. Not because I didn’t believe him. But because no one had ever said that to me before. Not one.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “As long as it takes.”

My throat tightened. “Even if I never want it?” I whispered.

He nodded once. “Then I’ll live with that. And I’ll protect you anyway.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. His words shouldn’t have made me want to cry. But they did.

“You deserve the choice,” he said. “You never got it. So I’m giving it to you now.”

The silence between us stretched. But it wasn’t heavy. It was sacred. And when he finally stood and offered me his hand—not to touch me, not to claim me, but just to help me up—I took it.

For once, I didn’t feel like prey. I felt… seen. I let him guide me to my feet, my hand still curled in his for a breath longer than necessary.

When I let go, he didn’t comment on it. Just offered a soft nod and turned toward the hearth.

“I’ll have one of the women set to work today on preparing a room for you. Your own space. Windows aired out, bed fitted, shelves stocked.”

My brows lifted. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply. “It’s yours. I’ll have her bring a few more sets of clothes, too. And shoes. And anything else you need.”

He stirred the embers in the fire absently, then looked back at me.

“Is there anything you like to do? Hunt? Fish? Cook? Garden? Weave baskets? Gods help me, embroider?”

I blinked at the question. “What?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m trying to figure out how to make your stay feel less like a hostage situation and more like… a home.”

No one had ever asked me that before either. What do you like to do? Not what I was allowed to do. Not what I was useful for. What I liked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I used to gather herbs with the healer. I enjoyed that. Learning their uses. I liked the quiet. And I used to sing, when I was younger. Before everything fell apart.”

Caelan’s brow lifted. “Sing, hmm?”

“Don’t ask. I won’t.”

“Damn,” he muttered, mock disappointed.

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest didn’t fade.

“If you want to help with the herbs, we can arrange that,” he said. “Our healer would welcome the extra hands—and the company.”

I hesitated. “You trust me with that?”

“I don’t think you’re going to poison us.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said gently.

And he did. Somehow, I think he really did.

He reached for a log near the hearth and tossed it onto the fire. “You’re not a curse, Elira. You’re not some broken thing to be handled carefully until you crack.”

He met my gaze.

“You’re just someone who’s never been given the chance to choose.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing at all.

But for the first time in years, I started to think maybe—just maybe—there was a life for me beyond the curse.