Alpha's Regret After She Kneels novel Chapter 97

“When this is over,” he says, his tone careful but determined, “I’d like to court you. Properly.”

The words catch me off-guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. Zion has always been kind to me and always supportive in a way that felt genuine and uncomplicated.

His offer is flattering, and there’s a part of me that wants to say yes—to take the chance at being someone’s first choice for once.

We stand three feet apart, but the space between us feels charged with possibility. Outside my window, the last light of day casts the mountains in gold, a beauty I've barely noticed these past weeks of conflict and strategy.

I study Zion's face, the strong line of his jaw, the quiet confidence in his stance. He doesn't fidget or rush to fill the silence—he simply waits, giving me the space to process his words.

How different he is from Raiden, whose presence dominates every room, whose emotions crash like waves against my consciousness through our bond. Zion offers calm waters after a storm.

Safety after danger.

The promise of something steady rather than passionate. Something built rather than fated.

My fingers find the silver bracelet at my wrist—the token of my mate bond with Raiden. Though tarnished now, it still warms against my skin. I've tried to remove it countless times, but something always stops me. Pride, perhaps, or some foolish lingering hope.

"I..." My voice falters, and I clear my throat. "I'm still legally bound to him."

Zion nods, his expression somber. "I know. That's why I said 'when this is over.' The council will rule on the dissolution soon. You'll be free."

Free.

The word echoes strangely in my mind. Is that what I want? Freedom from Raiden would mean freedom from the pain, the betrayal, the constant struggle for power and respect.

But it would also mean freedom from the moments of connection that still occasionally pierce our mutual defenses—those brief, shattering instances when our bond flares bright enough to remind me why the goddess chose us for each other.

Zion takes a careful step forward. "I'm not asking for an answer now. And I'm not—" he hesitates, choosing his words with characteristic precision, "I'm not expecting to replace what you had. I know that's not possible."

His honesty touches me. Unlike so many others in the pack hierarchy, Zion has never played games or hidden behind political maneuvering. What you see is what you get—an increasingly rare quality in my world.

But as I search my feelings, I realize there's nothing there. No spark. No pull. My wolf stirs uneasily, her loyalty still firmly tied to the mate who's hurt us time and time again. She paces restlessly beneath my skin, neither rejecting Zion outright nor accepting him. Just... uncertain.