Page 58 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Instead, I teach him how to make proper coffee, how to calculate change without a register, how to handle difficult customers with grace. In return, he shows me that trust, once broken, can slowly be rebuilt.
The evening is winding down, customers thinning out as closing time approaches. Dylan has already left for a study group, and Olivia had to pick up her kids from soccer practice. Margo and Alex are clearing tables while I balance the day’s receipts, the café quiet except for the soft jazz playing over the speakers.
The bell above the door chimes, and I feel a shift inside me, as if something is stirring. A feeling of dread overtakes me, and I glance up cautiously.
My entire body goes still.
Standing in the doorway of my café is the man I never thought I’d see again.
Erik Wild.
Chapter 10
Erik
The trail has gone cold so many times.
I’m in yet another city, chasing yet another weak clue that will probably lead to another dead end. For a year, I’ve been searching—following rumors, hunting whispers, tracking the faintest echoes of where Fiona might have gone.
Maya still refuses to tell me anything. Griffin encourages me to keep looking but offers no help. The nobles have stopped questioning her absence, content with the knowledge that the “artificial shifter” is no longer within palace walls. Only Jerry looks at me with something akin to pity when I return from each failed search.
The Silver Ring Organization has become more aggressive in recent months. We’ve discovered two more of their bases, freeing dozens of artificial shifters in various stages of experimentation. Most are too broken, too far gone. The ones who survive the initial rescue often fade within weeks, their wolves unable to sustain them.
Without their fated mates, they simply deteriorate.
The thought that Fiona may have suffered the same fate haunts me day and night. The only comfort I have is that I can still feel the faded thread of our bond—distant, muted, but present. It means she’s alive, at least. And as long as she lives, I’ll keep searching.
Today, I find myself in a small town three hundred miles from the palace, following a lead about a woman who fits Fiona’s description, including the dark hair that I assume she now has. The locals directed me to this café called The Morning Brew. It’s quaint, with exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture that somehow works together. The kind of place that feels like it has a story.
I pause at the entrance, hand on the doorknob. Something stirs inside me: my wolf, suddenly alert after months of restless silence. It’s the same feeling I had when I first met Fiona in the forest, bleeding and defiant. The same pull, the same recognition.
The bell chimes as I push open the door, and my heart nearly stops.
She’s here.
Fiona is standing behind the counter, her hair falling in gentle waves to the middle of her back, her gray eyes lifting to meet mine. For a moment, the world around us disappears—the customers, the café, everything fading into the background.
She’s alive. She’s healthy. She looks...strong.
The relief that floods through me is so powerful my legs nearly give out. For all my desperate hope, part of me believed that I would never see her again. That she had died alone, far from home, because of my stubborn pride.
But here she is. And she’s looking at me like she has seen a ghost.
“Fiona,” I whisper, the name escaping my lips before I can think.
She recovers from her shock quickly, her expression morphing from surprised to closed and guarded. “We’re closing soon,” she says, her voice neutral. “Last orders in ten minutes.”
I blink, momentarily thrown by her casual dismissal. Does she think I don’t recognize her with the darker hair? Or is she trying to pretend she doesn’t know me?
“Fiona,” I repeat, louder this time as I approach the counter. “It’s me. Erik.”
“I know who you are,” she says quietly, her gaze sliding past me to check on the few remaining customers. “What can I get you?”
A young woman with purple hair appears beside Fiona, curiosity plain on her face. “Everything okay, boss?” she asks, her eyes darting between us.
“Yes, Margo,” Fiona says, her composure firmly in place. “Just a late customer.”
“I need to talk to you,” I tell Fiona, ignoring the curious stare of her employee. “It’s important.”
