Page 23 of Rejected By My Shadow Alpha
"Nothing, sweetheart," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Time to head home."
She nodded slowly and wandered off, forgetfulness settling over her like mist. When she was gone, I crouched in front of Liora, brushing a lock of silver hair from her face. Her eyes still wouldn't meet mine. I wanted to scold her sternly, but I knew it might not achieve the aim I wanted. I said nothing for a while, weighing how best to convey my message.
"We talked about this, didn't we?" I said softly with a sigh
She nodded. "I'm sorry, Mama, but June already knew. I showed her last week, and she promised not to tell."
I felt my heartbeat accelerate, fear clawing at me. I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. "Wolves can't be trusted with secrets, baby. She might tell her parents without meaning to, and then someone tells someone else, and before long, they're knocking at our door with questions I can't answer."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I just wanted her to see the butterflies."
"I know." I sighed. "But meaning well isn't always enough. We cannot risk people knowing about this. Someday, when you are grown, you can use your powers, but first, you have to learn to master them and use them for good."
She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I held her close for a moment. Her heart beat fast, and her wolf trembled beneath the surface. She was just a child, but she carried something ancient in her blood, something that could not and must not be exposed.
"Go inside," I murmured. "I'll be in soon."
She padded off quietly, silver strands swaying in the breeze.
I stood alone in the garden for a long time, staring at the plants. They looked unharmed, but I could still feel the residue of power in the air. It was something old and untamed. Liora wasn't just any pup. Nia had been right from the start. She was born of a fated bond and carried a magic that hadn't been seen in generations.
I walked the rows slowly, fingers grazing lavender stalks, breathing in their calming scent. I hadn't even planned on joining the secret healer network. Honestly, it sounded like one of those things for ambitious young rogues with too much time and not enough real-world experience. It was Nia who first mentioned it, while we were bundling dried valerian root for sleep tonics.
"You've got a gift, Ruby," she'd said, her weathered hands deftly tying twine around a bouquet of herbs. "You know how to blend things, how to feel what the body needs. That's not something I taught you. That's yours."
I had rolled my eyes at her, amused. "If I've got a gift, it's because you've been hammering it into me for the past six years. Shouldn't you be the one joining this fancy secret group?"
Nia had snorted, brushing dried twigs from her apron with a huff. "Please. I'm too old to learn how to navigate all thosemodern apps, and don't even get me started on typing emails, my fingers ache just thinking about it."
I'd laughed at that, picturing her squinting at a phone and hunting for the letters one at a time like they were herbs hidden in a forest, but Nia had grown serious, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "I'm telling you to join because there are wolves out there who need what you know. Not everyone has someone like me in their life. You could help them."
Her words stayed with me. So, I did it. I joined not because I needed a community, and not because I was looking for comfort or connection. The reason was simple. I wanted to help. There were so many rogue wolves scattered and struggling, too afraid or too broken to seek out medical help because they had no packs or community they could trust. I had spent years under Nia's guidance, learning not just how to use herbs, but how to listen to symptoms, to energy, and to the unspoken pain in someone's posture or scent. I could offer that knowledge and share what I had learned from a healer who still whispered the names of herbs in their ancient wolf-tongue.
Wolves were dying of wounds that could be stitched, infections that could be treated, and trauma that could be eased. If I could be a small part of changing that, I would.
That was the plan, until Wolfsbane22 replied to one of my posts.
His message had been brief but precise, acknowledging my method and suggesting a slight tweak to my dosage. He was respectful and direct. There was something about his words that pulled at me. I didn't know his name. None of us shared those but his messages lingered. He was sharp and methodical, but there was a quiet tenderness in how he responded, like he saw beyond the wound.
I started to look forward to his feedback. We exchanged notes on trauma care, bloodline mutations, and rare plantcombinations. When I shared my insomnia blend, lavender and elderflower, he tried it and thanked me. It became our rhythm. After that, our chats shifted. There is an ease with which we communicated with each other. It wasn't just about herbs or remedies anymore.
He once told me, "I sleep better near pine trees. I think it's the scent. I do it to remind my wolf we're not lost." A laughing emoji followed.
I replied with a hilarious sticker, "For me, it's rosemary. It anchors me when my thoughts spiral."
He responded, "I'll try it. You always have something useful."
Some nights, we talked about nothing at all. I told him about the sound the river made near my cabin. He told me about an old scar and how he'd earned it saving a rogue pup.
We weren't just healing others. Sometimes, I feel we were unknowingly starting to heal each other.
When I'd once mentioned almost carelessly that I'd been marked and rejected by my mate, I hadn't expected his response.
"I'm sorry. That kind of pain changes everything. I'm glad you are strong enough to survive it."
He didn't ask for details. Just that simple, sincere message that made my wolf go still and quiet inside me as if she were listening, remembering.
And that's what unsettled me the most.
