The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 47

“Leave us,” I say to Sarah without looking at her, my attention locked on Zane’s face with desperate intensity. “Now.”

Zane’s features hold an electricity I recognize from battlefields and border disputes—the particular alertness of a man carrying information that will change everything.

But beneath the urgency lives something softer, something that looks almost like relief, and that combination narrows the possibilities to a single name that floods my veins with equal parts terror and hope.

Morgan.

He found her.

“Paul, we were in the middle of a conversation about our marriage, and I hardly think your brother’s interruption warrants—” The mask slips for half a heartbeat before Sarah reconstructs it.

Rage flickers beneath the surface of her composed features, quickly buried under layers of practiced hurt.

She arranges her face into the expression of a wife publicly humiliated, but her fingers curl against her silk robe with tension that betrays the calculation churning behind her eyes.

“I said leave.” The Alpha command threads through my voice before I can soften it, and Sarah flinches like I’ve struck her. “Whatever you wanted to discuss can wait until morning, or next week, or never. Right now, I need to speak with Zane alone.”

Sarah’s expression cycles through wounded pride, calculation, and finally cold acceptance.

She gathers her silk robe around her shoulders with exaggerated dignity and sweeps toward the door, pausing just long enough to let Zane feel the weight of her displeasure.

“We will finish this conversation, husband,” she says quietly. “Whether you want to or not.”

The door closes behind her with a loud click, and I’m already moving toward Zane before the sound finishes echoing.

“Tell me everything,” I demand, reaching for my jacket where it hangs over the back of a chair. “Where is she? How far? What kind of security does she have? I need details, Zane, and I need them while we’re moving because I refuse to waste another second.”

Zane’s eyebrows rise at my urgency, but he doesn’t argue. “She’s in a suburb about forty minutes from here, staying in a house registered under a name that took me three days to trace back to her friend Ricky.”

“Then you can explain the rest on the road.” I stride past him into the corridor, my legs eating distance with a purpose they haven’t felt in two weeks. “We’re taking my car, and we’re leaving now.”

The packhouse blurs around me as I navigate toward the garage, Zane keeping pace at my shoulder with an easy stride like he expected exactly this reaction.

The night air hits my face when we emerge into the parking area, crisp and cold and carrying the scent of pine from the distant tree line.

My car sits waiting where I left it this morning—a black sedan with tinted windows and an engine that can outrun most problems.

I slide behind the wheel while Zane takes the passenger seat, and the engine roars to life before either of us has fully closed our doors.

“Start from the beginning,” I say, guiding the car down the winding drive toward the main road. “How did you find her?”

Zane settles into his seat with tension like he is preparing to deliver information he knows will provoke a reaction.

“I didn’t look for Morgan directly. The trackers made that mistake—they searched for a pregnant woman traveling alone. But Morgan isn’t desperate in the way they assumed, and she wasn’t alone.”

“Ricky.” The name tastes complicated on my tongue. “The café owner.”

Cormac’s team uncovered the connection when they canvassed the human businesses Morgan frequented during her rare escapes from the packhouse.

“Ricky Martinez, except that’s not her real name.” Zane pulls out his own phone and scrolls through what looks like research notes.

Silence stretches between us for several miles, filled with the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires against asphalt. The suburbs begin to appear on the horizon, their lights glowing against the darkness like scattered stars brought to earth.

“We need to discuss the pregnancy,” I say finally, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “Elena said Morgan was roughly eight weeks along, which places conception within the window where both of us—”

“I know the timeline.” Zane cuts me off with uncharacteristic sharpness. “I’ve been doing the same math you have, Paul. The child could be yours, or the child could be mine, and neither of us will know for certain until after the birth.”

“It doesn’t matter whose blood the baby carries.” The possessiveness rises through me with familiar force, and I let it surface in my voice. “Morgan is mine. She has been mine since the moment I first scented her. I will claim her tonight.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.

Zane is quiet for a long moment, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. When he speaks, his voice carries a steadiness that surprises me.

“With respect, brother, Morgan isn’t property to be claimed.” He turns to face me, and the determination in his eyes matches anything I’ve ever seen in my own reflection.

“She should be able to choose which bond she wants to honor, and I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that she might not choose you.”

“She’s my mate, Zane. The bond—”

“The bond exists between Morgan and me as well.” The confession lands like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“I’ve felt it since the night we spent together. Whatever you sensed when you first met her, I sense it too, and I believe with everything I am that she belongs with me just as much as she belongs with you.”

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