Alpha’s Regret: Begging For My Luna Back novel Chapter 95

The weight of the long day at the Pack house settled deep into my bones. It was a good kind of tired though because my time with the kids was just perfect. Marco’s small hand was in mine as I led him up the path to our place.

“Did you see how well my painting was?”

“I did honey” I said, squeezing his hand. “You were amazing.”

My eyes flickered to my phone on the kitchen counter the second we stepped inside. The screen was dark. Silent. No messages. No missed calls. A cold knot of worry, which had been a dull ache all day, tightened in my stomach. Astor had been gone for a day now without a word.

But thanks to the bond even in the silence, I could feel him. A steady, low hum in the very center of my being, like a heartbeat that wasn’t my own. He was alive. He was okay. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he was breathing. That was the only thing keeping the panic from swallowing me whole.

I made Marco’s favorite for dinner pasta with a ridiculous amount of cheese and he chattered about his new friends, wolves, anything and everything. I listened, I nodded, I smiled, but part of me was far away, listening for a sound that wouldn’t come.

After his bath, I tucked him into bed, pulling the soft blue comforter up to his chin. He smelled of soap and warm, sleepy boy.

“Is daddy coming home tomorrow?” he asked, his eyelids already heavy.

“Soon, my love,” I whispered, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “He’s just… taking care of some things.”

“Okay,” he murmured, already half in his dreams. “Tell him I miss him.”

My throat closed up. “I will.”

I kissed his forehead and turned out the light, leaving the door open a crack.

My daughter. Was someone tucking her in? Was she safe?

The dishes were my excuse to stay busy. The warm, soapy water, the clink of plates it was a normal sound in a world that felt like it was tilting. Scrub, rinse, repeat. Don’t think. Just scrub.

The phone’s ring was like a ray of hope in the quiet kitchen. My heart leaped into my throat, soapy water splashing everywhere as I fumbled for it. Astor.

But the name on the screen wasn’t his. It was Kyle.

The hope curdled into something sour and cold. I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. Kyle?”

His voice was hard, accusing, with no hello. “Where is he, Faith? Where’s Astor?”

The question was so unexpected it threw me. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me where he was going.” It was the truth. I only know that he is going to somebody he really trusts to help him.

“Stop the bullshit,” he snarled, and I could almost see his sneer. “I know you two are up to something. He leaves right after I talk to you? That’s not a coincidence.”

Something in me snapped. The worry, the fear, the endless days of missing my child it all boiled over. “Up to something?” I hissed, keeping my voice low so Marco wouldn’t hear. “The only thing I am ‘up to‘ is trying to find my daughter! Where is she, Kyle? Just tell me if she’s safe. That’s all I want to know!”

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was colder. “Why did he really leave, Faith? I don’t like games”

“I told him you were following me, that you’re obsessed! But I did not tell him about our daughter. I kept my word. Now you keep yours. Where. Is. She?”

He had the nerve to laugh, a soft, cruel sound. “You don’t need to worry. She’s very, very happy. She has two loving parents who take perfect care of her.”

The words were a knife to my heart. “I am her mother!” I cried, tears finally spilling over. My hand was trembling so hard I had to brace myself against the counter. “Why does she need other parents? I’m right here! I’m alive!”

“You played me, Faith,” he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I helped you. I got you out of your horrible life. And you didn’t even say thank you. You just ran.”

“I needed to get away from everything! From everyone!” I sobbed. “That doesn’t mean you had to steal my child from me!”

“Someday soon,” he said, his voice suddenly light and mocking, like this was a fun game for him. “I’ll tell you. But for now… this is just so much fun.”

And then there was nothing but a dial tone. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He had hung up on me.

I slid down the kitchen cabinet onto the cold floor, the phone dropping from my numb fingers. I wrapped my arms around myself, but I couldn’t stop the shaking. The tears came then, silent and hopeless. He wasn’t going to tell me. He was enjoying my pain.

A long time later, I dragged myself to bed. Marco was sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I clung to that sight, using it as an anchor. But when I finally fell into an exhausted sleep, my dreams were not peaceful.

It wasn’t a normal dream. It felt too real, too sharp. It felt like a memory, but it wasn’t mine.

There was a woman running. She was in agony and pregnant.

The world around her was on fire. It was gray smoke and bright orange light. She heard shouts, but they were not the shouts of her people. They were sounds of the attack.

The hot smell of blood was thick in the air.

She had to get out of the smoke. She ran to get to the deep trees.

She tripped over something hidden and fell hard. The impact stole the air from her lungs. A loud cry came from her throat.

For a moment, she just laid in the cold mud.

Then she forced herself to roll over. She had to see what tripped her.

It was not a root. It was not a stone. It was a person.

Just her, the dark woods, and the cold earth.

She crawled away from the tree. She found a small, dry patch under some thick bushes. She lay down on the dead, damp leaves.

She screamed in her head, but she knew she could not scream out loud. The enemy might still be near.

She bit down hard. She sank her teeth into the thick flesh of her own forearm. She bit until she tasted blood. The pain in her arm was a small distraction from the crushing pain in her belly.

She pushed with all the strength she had left. She pushed again and again, with long, deep grunts. Time stopped.

It felt like forever. It felt like dying.

Then, she heard a sound.

It was not a scream of pain. It was a new sound. It was tiny. It was loud. It was absolutely furious.

She stopped pushing. She stared down at the small, wet body between her legs.

A son.

He was bloody and covered in mud. He was crying hard.

His life was a tiny, bright light in all the darkness.

She wrapped her thin, torn shift around him. She held him tightly against her racing heart.

Exhaustion swept over her. She was cold and weak. She lay back against the leaves, holding her son.

She looked over the top of his head, toward the red glow of the dying fires. The place where her pack used to be. The place where her life used to be.

It was not sadness. It was something else.

She held her son tightly. She rocked him, slow and quiet. She spoke to the night, to the empty woods, making a vow.

“They took everything,” she whispered. Her voice was flat and hard.

She kissed the top of the baby’s tiny head.

“I will not forget this night,” She promised. “I will have revenge.”