Alpha's Dark Desires
Chapter 99: Wreck

Chapter 99: Wreck

Kane’s POV:

After barricading myself in my room and throwing on some clothes, I paced back and forth, the weight of my actions settling heavier with each step. My wolf was subdued now, quiet but unapologetic, leaving me alone to wrestle with the guilt. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

How could I let that happen?

When I finally heard the bathroom door creak open, my heart leaped to my throat. I turned instinctively but stopped myself before meeting her gaze. Shame coiled tightly in my chest, and I couldn’t bring myself to face her. Instead, I stared at the floor, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.

"I’m really sorry," I started, my voice low and strained. "I didn’t mean—"

"It’s fine," she cut in, her tone soft, forgiving. Too forgiving.

I chanced a glance at her, and there it was—a smile meant to comfort me, to put me at ease. But instead of easing my guilt, it only made it worse. She shouldn’t have to reassure me. I was the one who’d faltered, who’d almost betrayed her trust.

Her kindness was unbearable.

"I’ll, uh... I’ll start making breakfast," I mumbled, looking away quickly. I didn’t wait for her to respond, already moving toward the kitchen, desperate to give her space—and to escape the suffocating guilt that had me in a chokehold.

As I busied myself with pans and ingredients, the mundane act of cooking gave me something to focus on, a small reprieve from the storm in my mind. But even then, flashes of her startled expression haunted me, her gasp echoing in my ears.

"Stupid," I muttered under my breath, flipping a pancake with more force than necessary.

I needed to do better. To be better. For her.

When I heard her footsteps behind me, I stiffened for a moment before forcing myself to relax. "Coffee or tea?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral, casual, as though my heart wasn’t racing and my stomach wasn’t in knots.

"Coffee," she said softly, her voice carrying a tentative warmth.

I nodded, not turning around. I needed to gather myself before I could face her again.

She moved around the kitchen with an ease that made everything else fade into the background. The sight of her flipping pancakes while I worked on her coffee and cracked eggs into a bowl was oddly domestic, a stark contrast to the chaos of my thoughts. It was grounding, soothing.

Then she spoke, her voice tinged with amusement. "Hey, for an obnoxious alpha, you sure look and behave like a child," she teased, her chuckle light but her words cutting through my lingering guilt.

I glanced at her, about to respond, but she added, "Can you relax? I said it’s fine. I’m not mad..." Her voice softened, and then she murmured, almost to herself, "Rather, I’m mad at myself for not being ready for you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I froze, catching the vulnerable edge in her tone. She’s blaming herself?

I turned to her, closing the distance in a few quick steps. Gently, I grasped her shoulders, urging her to face me. "No," I said firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I said we’d take it slow, and I meant it. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this."

Her eyes searched mine, the faintest shimmer of uncertainty lingering there. "Okay," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Then if you stop blaming yourself, I won’t either."

I exhaled a long sigh, the weight on my chest easing slightly. She always had this way of leveling me, of pulling me back from the edge. "Deal," I said, my lips quirking into a half-smile.

The atmosphere shifted then, the tension dissipating as we returned to the mundane task of finishing breakfast. She teased me a few more times, poking fun at my "alpha seriousness," and for the first time since the shower, I found myself genuinely laughing.

By the time we sat down to eat, the air was light again, and we fell into easy conversation. For a moment, everything felt right.

Later that day, back in my office, the memory of her laughter lingered, carrying me through the endless stack of contracts and pack matters. But the hours dragged on, and by the time I glanced at the clock, my heart sank.

"Shit," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. It was already 5 PM, and I’d promised myself I’d head home early to make it up to her.

The desk was still cluttered with papers I hadn’t finished, but I made a quick decision. I’d tackled the most pressing issues already—these logistical details about pack operations could wait. I grabbed my keys, reassuring myself. "They can handle a few things without me."

With that, I was out the door, my mind already at home with her. My little mate.

As I pulled into the driveway, a familiar sense of calm washed over me. Home. Her scent was faint but still lingered in the air, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. I stepped out of the car, eager to see her—half expecting to find her curled up on the couch with that book of hers.

But the couch was empty.

I checked the kitchen, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound greeting me. Nothing. Frowning, I headed to our room, then to the study where I’d found her last night having fallen asleep reading that naughty book.

Still nothing.

I paused, rubbing the back of my neck, trying not to jump to conclusions. Where could she be?

If this had happened before this morning, before we talked and cleared the air, I would’ve panicked. My mind would’ve spiraled into worst-case scenarios—thinking she’d gotten scared again and bolted like she used to whenever things got too intense. But not now.

We’d sorted everything out earlier, hadn’t we? Even kissed before I left for work. I replayed the moment in my mind—her small smile, the way she looked at me with trust. No, she wouldn’t run again. She wouldn’t.

Maybe she’d taken my advice and gone out. I’d suggested it plenty of times before, encouraging her to explore, to get comfortable with the pack and the territory. The thought brought some relief, but then my mind snagged on something else—the conversation about officially introducing her to the pack as my mate and their Luna.

She hadn’t been thrilled.

No, that’s an understatement—she’d looked terrified.

I told myself it couldn’t have driven her away. It was just nerves, right? Everyone felt that way before a big step. Still, the thought clung to me like a thorn, sharp and persistent.

With a heavy sigh, I stepped out onto the porch and sat down, staring out at the fading light. I’d wait. She’d come back. She had to.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, doubt began to creep in, its claws digging deeper with every passing second. If I’d marked her, I could’ve linked with her, reaching out across that invisible bond to find her. But I hadn’t. My wolf, Ash, had made sure to remind me of that on more than one occasion.

If you’d marked her, you wouldn’t be sitting here like a fool, he growled in my head, pacing restlessly. We could feel her. We’d know she’s safe.

Not the time, Ash, I snapped back, though his frustration mirrored my own.

The sky turned from amber to dusky purple, and still, I waited, my heart a tangled knot of worry and guilt.

What if she ran?

The thought sliced through me like a blade, and I clenched my fists. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

The growing darkness around me felt suffocating, and my patience was thinning. But I stayed put, resolute. Wherever she was, she’d come back. She had to.

And I’d be right here, waiting.

Just then I spotted her figure as she came in through the gate. My face light up, a smile finding itself on my lips but it dropped immediately I spotted her face. she’d been crying.