Bound by Fate: The Alpha's Luna

Chapter 19: Alaric's POV

Alaric stood in the dimly lit hall, watching as Isabella's retreating figure disappeared through the door. His jaw clenched, and he felt the weight of her anger settle heavily on his chest. He had never seen her like this—furious, raw, and deeply hurt. He wanted to go after her, to explain more, but he knew in that moment it would only make things worse.

Beside him, Fenrir shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowed in concern. "She's right, you know," Fenrir said quietly. "We should have told her everything from the start. Especially about Jenni."

Alaric's gaze remained fixed on the door, his thoughts swirling with guilt and frustration. "I know," he replied, his voice low and rough. "But it wasn't about hiding things. I wanted to give her time to adjust, to settle into this world before burdening her with even more confusion. I never thought it would hurt her this much."

Fenrir folded his arms, his usual composed demeanor slipping just slightly as he glanced at Alaric. "You've never been good at dealing with emotions, especially not with her. You should have trusted her strength from the beginning."

Alaric turned to his Beta, feeling the sting of truth in Fenrir's words. He had been avoiding the hardest conversations with Isabella, hoping that, somehow, things would fall into place without him having to face her anger or questions. And now, it had all backfired.

"She deserves better from me," Alaric muttered, running a hand through his hair. His usually calm and commanding demeanor had crumbled. Isabella had a way of unraveling him, bringing emotions to the surface that he hadn't dealt with in years.

Fenrir gave a small nod. "Go after her. The mark will lead you to her. She needs to know that, even when she's angry, you're still there for her."

Alaric looked down for a moment, his mind battling between giving her space and following her. But Fenrir was right. He couldn't just let her disappear into the night alone with all those emotions. The bond between them would guide him, would always guide him to her, and he needed to be there.

He gave Fenrir a curt nod, then turned on his heel and followed the invisible pull of the mark—the bond that connected him to Isabella, that guided him to her no matter where she was. It wasn't overpowering, just a gentle nudge, a whisper that drew him toward her presence.

Alaric pushed through the doors of the pack house and into the cool night air. His heart pounded as he moved quickly, the soft breeze rustling the trees around him as he entered the forest. The bond thrummed inside him, a warm, steady pull that led him deeper into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, he spotted her. Isabella was curled up against the base of a large oak tree, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she were trying to ward off the world. Even from a distance, Alaric could sense her exhaustion. Her chest rose and fell in the deep, even rhythm of sleep.

For a moment, Alaric hesitated. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, and he felt a pang of regret for not being there for her when she needed it most. He had failed her, and he knew it. But now, all he could do was try to make it right.

Quietly, he approached her, careful not to startle her as he knelt down beside her. Her face was tear-streaked, her hair tousled by the wind. She looked so small there, dwarfed by the towering trees around her, and it made his heart ache.

As he gently slid his arms beneath her to lift her, she stirred, her head turning toward him. For a brief moment, he thought she might wake up, but instead, she nuzzled into his chest, her body instinctively curling closer to him.

"Alaric," she whispered softly in her sleep, her voice barely audible, but filled with the kind of vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

He froze for a second, holding her in his arms, as her voice echoed in his ears. His name. She had called out to him in her sleep, and it made his heart swell with a mixture of relief and tenderness. Even through her anger, even in the midst of her pain, she still sought him out.

Gently, he pulled her closer, lifting her fully into his arms. Her body was warm against his, and as he held her, he felt her snuggle deeper into his chest, her face pressing against his shoulder. She was so peaceful now, her earlier rage replaced by the soft serenity of sleep.

He started walking back toward the pack house, careful not to wake her. The night was still, the forest around them quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves. Every step he took felt like a silent promise—to be better, to protect her not just physically, but emotionally too.

As they neared the pack house, Alaric glanced down at her again. Isabella's breathing was steady, her face calm, but the way she held onto him, even in her sleep, told him everything he needed to know.

She still trusted him. Even after everything, she trusted him enough to let go, to let him carry her back.

With a soft sigh, Alaric pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before he stepped into the house and quietly made his way to her room. He laid her down on the bed, carefully tucking her under the blankets.

Before he could pull away, she stirred again, her fingers lightly gripping his shirt as if she didn't want to let go.

"Stay," she whispered, her voice drowsy but insistent.

Alaric's heart skipped a beat. He hesitated for only a moment before he nodded, slipping into the bed beside her. As soon as he did, she curled into him, her body fitting perfectly against his as if this was where she had always belonged.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and as her breathing evened out once more, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her presence soothe his own troubled mind.

Isabella had fallen asleep with his name on her lips. For now, that was enough.