Page 32 of Fated Alpha Baby

Last night, I fought the demons for the very first time. I’d always been hanging back when the coven fought the enemy, staying with Clarissa to keep her safe. But last night was different—I wasn’t in control of my powers, and they surged more strongly than they ever had before.

I had no choice but to be on the frontlines, fighting to save my daughter. But what struck me the hardest was how strongly I felt the bond between Conan and me, and seeing him fighting those demons, knowing he was at a disadvantage, is what added fuel to my determination.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I sniffle quietly so I don’t wake Clarissa, but that’s when I pick up a wolf scent that shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t belong to Conan, or Simon, or any of the other Iron Breath wolves.

It’s a faint trace of wolf scent that was there when Clarissa was born.

My eyes fly wide with horror and realization as I take another, deeper breath.

The stress of last night must have burned through the effects of the potion, and her wolf side is peeking through.

I quickly get to my feet again and hurry back to the other room, crouching by the black bag that has our belongings and pulling everything out, flinging clothes behind me in my search for the black box Amalia handed me before the ritual.

The old wooden box holding memories of the past—painful memories like Conan’s rejection in the form of a note I found on my fridge eight years ago—is inside the bag.

But the black box from Amalia isn’t there.

“No…no…” I mumble, rummaging through everything again. But my second search is useless.

The box with the potion and instructions to make more is gone.

It must have gotten lost in the wreckage…

I’m doomed.

I know that much.

If Clarissa doesn’t have that potion to mask her wolf, Conan will find out that she’s his daughter.

I can’t let that happen.

That’s when I decide to visit Conan’s library, listening for any indication that he’s in the house. But it’s quiet, and I’m able to slip down the hallway to the room at the end of the wing.

I know the house like the back of my hand—one half of the mansion that belongs to the Beckers. It’s Conan’s half, where he lived with his parents until they died. His grandfather, Elder Bernard, lives in the other half of the mansion, where it’s darker, gloom spreading across the place as if his venerability fills every hallway, every corner.

As I click the handle and step into the library, I’m flooded with more memories that come crashing from a dark corner of my own. My mind, where I’d buried the memories of Conan and grieved the loss of what could have been many years ago.

When we were kids, he’d sneak me into the library, where we’d hide away from his grandfather until the old alpha stopped looking for him. It had become somewhat of a ritual to hide out here, and in those moments, we’d become closer.

I sigh heavily as I close the door behind me. I’ll take a look around, see if I can find anything that resembles the recipe of the potion Amalia had given me, and then leave before Conan returns.

By the time I’m done sweeping the library for a way to keep Clarissa’s wolf scent hidden, my tummy roars at me. It’s been hours of searching, and I haven’t found anything. The only thing that might work is a serum rubbed on a wolf’s scent gland, but it fades after two hours.

It won’t work for long-term use.

Taking a seat behind the desk and sighing with frustration, I hang my head in my hands, mulling over my options. Maybe if I took Clarissa and ran away…

That’s not an option. It is dangerous out there, and I can’t put my daughter in more danger. She’s better off with the pack. And despite what I said to Conan in anger, we’re better off in the valley, where the wolves will keep us both safe. I can’t afford to fight the demons on my own.

But there is another fight I must face—this one against Conan.

I’ll have to pay Dorothy a visit. As the pack’s seer and healer, she might be able to help me with a solution to keep Clarissa’s wolf a secret.

As I’m about to stand up, I see something hidden behind a messy pile of papers on the desk, and I frown. Only a corner of the box is visible, but the patterns carved into the wood are familiar.

Hesitantly, I lift the papers to reveal the carved wooden box—the same box of dominoes Conan brought along to his first visit to Dorothy’s cabin on his quest to befriend me.

My heart lurches as I lift the box, instantly being sprung into a memory I wish had died a long time ago.