The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 37

The front door swings open, and I step inside breathing it in before my brain can catalog what I’m tasting.

No pack scent. No Alpha authority pressing against the air like invisible hands pushing me into submission.

The house smells of dust and cleaning fluid and the absolute neutrality of a space that belongs to no one, which is the closest thing to freedom I have ever stood inside.

‘I miss him,’ my wolf admits, and the longing threads through her presence with an ache that makes my teeth clench.

‘I miss our mate. The bond feels stretched thin from here, and I don’t like it.’

“He didn’t even claim us, so shut up,” I mutter under my breath, low enough that Ricky won’t hear.

The fury rises swift and sharp, filling my chest with heat that has nothing to do with the morning sun streaming through dusty windows.

Paul claims I’m his mate, and then hides me away like a shameful secret while Sarah parades through his packhouse as Luna.

I am the firstborn daughter of Alpha Richard. I am the true heir to the Silver Moon Pack, stripped of my birthright by lies and cruelty.

I am tired of being treated like I am nothing.

“Well, this is cozy in a ‘serial killer’s second residence’ kind of way,” Ricky announces, already moving deeper into the house with purpose sharpening her movements.

“Give me five minutes to check the rooms and make sure my contact actually followed through on the supplies.”

“Your contact,” I repeat, following her through a narrow hallway. “You say that like you have a network of mysterious operatives at your disposal.”

“I have exactly one contact, and he owes me three favors from a situation involving counterfeit immigration documents.”

She glances back with a grin. “The less you know about that story, the better you’ll sleep at night.”

The kitchen opens to our left, and Ricky disappears inside to inventory cabinets while I hover in the doorway, cataloging details my survival instincts demand I notice.

Gas stove, functional. Back door with deadbolt, accessible. Windows positioned to catch morning light without exposing the interior to street view.

‘This is a space designed for hiding,’ my wolf observes, and appreciation colors her tone despite the unease still pacing beneath it.

“Canned goods, pasta, rice, enough coffee to fuel a small army,” Ricky calls from deep inside a pantry. “He definitely understood our priorities.”

“Coffee before safety, clearly.”

“I’m genuinely offended you’d question that hierarchy.” She emerges with two bags of ground espresso clutched to her chest like precious cargo.

“Safety is temporary, but the need for caffeine is eternal.”

I find myself smiling again, the expression unfamiliar on muscles that have forgotten how to hold it naturally.

Ricky leads me through the downstairs—a living room with furniture draped in protective sheets, a bathroom with toiletries arranged on pristine shelves, a back porch overlooking nothing but trees and silence—before taking the stairs two at a time.

“The bedrooms are up here, and before you ask, yes, I’m claiming the one with the smaller closet because I’m a generous soul who recognizes that you arrived with actual belongings.”

“I arrived with one bag,” I point out, following her up the narrow staircase.

“And I arrived with literally nothing except the clothes I’m wearing and my winning personality, so you’re still ahead.”

The upstairs hallway branches into two bedrooms and a bathroom that Ricky assesses with a professional eye before nodding her approval.

“This one is yours,” she announces, pushing open the door to a room that faces east.

“Best light in the house, decent closet, and look—” She crosses to the wardrobe and pulls it open with a flourish.

“Winter clothes are already stocked. My contact really outdid himself.”

I step past her to examine the contents: wool sweaters in neutral colors, sturdy pants that look like they might actually fit, thick socks rolled into neat pairs.

“Come on,” Ricky says from the doorway, oblivious to the internal battle playing out behind my careful expression. “Let’s get a fire going downstairs before this place starts feeling like a mausoleum.”

We descend together, and I watch her crouch before the fireplace with kindling and matches, building warmth from nothing.

She didn’t have to do any of this. She could have called the police, could have told me the situation was too dangerous, could have protected herself the way anyone sensible would.

Yet, she revealed her secrets, offered her sanctuary, and drove me somewhere safe.

“You’re staring again,” Ricky observes without turning around. “I’m starting to think you find me deeply fascinating, which honestly, is a fair assessment.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to thank you for all of this.”

“Don’t.” She stands, dusting off her knees, and faces me with an expression that carries no expectation.

“Gratitude makes everything weird, and we have enough weird to manage without adding emotional debt to the pile.”

The fire crackles in the grate, filling the room with the scent of burning pine, and I make a decision that feels almost reckless in its simplicity.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I announce, and the words carry more weight than they should. “A warm one, with actual hot water, for as long as I want.”

Ricky’s smile broadens into genuine warmth. “That’s the most revolutionary thing I’ve heard all day. Go, indulge, and when you come back down, I’ll have figured out dinner from whatever canned mysteries my contact provided.”

I climb the stairs with legs that feel steadier than they have in months, carrying with me the strange and unfamiliar sensation that I might actually survive this.

The bathroom door closes behind me, and I turn the faucet until steam begins to curl toward the ceiling.

For the first time in a very long time, I let myself breathe.

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