Page 58 of Alpha Charmed

“The night Corwin died,” I whisper, “I almost came to you.”

“You did?”

“I was standing at my door. Coat on, boots laced. Ready to walk to pack territory and just… break down. Let you see me shattered.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t. I convinced myself you wouldn’t want to deal with my grief. That asking for comfort was weakness. I was a coward.”

“You were grieving.” His voice is fierce, gentle. “And afraid. That’s not cowardice—that’s being human.”

“You keep saying that. Being human.”

“Because you forget it sometimes. You hold yourself to impossible standards and then beat yourself up for failing to achieve them.” He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You lost your familiar—your anchor, your companion, your magical stabilizer. You were allowed to fall apart. You’re still allowed.”

My eyes burn. I refuse to cry—I’ve cried enough lately, more in the past weeks than in the previous year—but the pressure builds behind my breastbone anyway.

“Everyone I’ve let in has just… stayed,” I say quietly. “Leire. Sakura. Zeph.” I trace the lines of his face—the sharp cheekbones, the stubborn jaw, the mouth that drives me equally mad with desire and frustration. “You.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” And I do. The claiming proved it, but this conversation proves it more—the willingness to be honest, to admit weakness, to share the private fears we’ve both been carrying in silence.

“I was a coward about it too,” he says. “Different kind from yours, but the same result.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “You’re mine. I’m yours. Whatever comes tomorrow, that doesn’t change.”

I kiss him.

Not the fierce, desperate kisses of recent days—though those have their place. This is soft. Tender. A promise made with lips instead of words.

He responds in kind, his hands gentle on my face, his mouth moving against mine with deliberate care. The claiming marks burn in unison, responding to the emotion between us, binding us more thoroughly than any magic ever could.

When we break apart, both breathing unsteadily, the moonlight has shifted across the floor. Hours have passed without either of us noticing.

He doesn’t move to release me. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

The invitation hangs in the air. He searches my face for uncertainty, for hesitation.

He finds none.

“Your bedroom is upstairs.” It’s not a question.

“It is.”

“And you want me there.”

“I do.” I rise, taking his hand. “Tomorrow could change everything. Tonight—” I pull him toward the stairs. “Tonight is ours.”

He follows without argument.

I wake to gray dawn light and a wolf alpha curled around me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

His breathing is deep and even, his arm heavy across my waist, his face relaxed in sleep. I’ve never seen him this unguarded—always the alpha, always controlled, always watching. Now he’s just Caius. Just the man who loves me.

Loves me. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it settles into my chest like coming home.

“Stop thinking so loudly.” His voice is rough with sleep. “It’s too early for strategic planning.”

“I wasn’t planning.”

“You were absolutely planning. Your whole body just tensed.” He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, to the claiming mark that’s become as familiar as my own heartbeat. “What is it?”