Page 10 of Fated Alpha Baby

“Mint. I want mint flavor. It’s mine and Nico’s favorite ice cream flavor!” she declares proudly, and I giggle at the thought that the young wolf and my daughter are such good friends.

The son of the Nightcreek Alpha is like Clarissa’s big brother, even if they’ve hardly seen each other this year.

“Then you will have mint flavor,” I assure her, and tuck her into bed with another kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Bug.”

“Good night, Mommy,” she says before she turns around and sighs, closing her eyes.

Turning off her light, I pull the door closed with only a crack left open so I can hear her from my bedroom if she calls out for me. But I’m not ready to go to bed just yet.

I wander to the kitchenette in our log cabin, needing something to wash the day’s exhaustion from my bloodstream before I wash it off my skin.

Chamomile tea. Just as my guardian used to make it.

Sighing as I take a seat at the kitchen table while I wait for the kettle to finish boiling, I prop my chin in my hands and stare blankly ahead. Moments like these aren’t unusual, and over the years, they’ve become less crippling than they used to be.

The worst of it was over by the time Clarissa arrived, but throughout the years, I have experienced moments when I relive the past. Wondering what life is like for her father. Wondering if he thinks about me. Wondering what life would have been like were I not banished from the Iron Breath Pack.

Of course, with Clarissa’s birth came the emergence of my powers, and I discovered that I was a witch all along.

I wasn’t shiftless because I was useless.

I was shiftless because my powers had a different source.

It’s not like it mattered to the werewolf pack I was born into. Nor did it matter to Clarissa’s father.

And yet, I still find myself facing moments like these, when the past comes flashing back, and the hurt I’d faced eight years ago threatens to choke me again.

Perhaps it feels stronger than ever because of the volatile situation with the demon attacks on our doorstep. With every passing day, I grow more fearful about my daughter’s safety, and wonder if she would have been safer in the Bitterroot Valley. With her father and his pack.

My palms tingle as if my magic is responding to the mere thought, reminding me that I don’t need him. I have the ability to protect her on my own. And I don’t need a man who chose status over love.

He’d never be able to choose her.

A faint knock on my door snaps me out of my miserable thoughts, and I stand up and open it without hesitation.

There’s only one woman who knocks so sweetly at my door.

“Sister Amalia,” I bow briskly and step aside for her to enter. “Please, come in. I was just preparing tea.”

High Priestess Amalia smiles as she saunters inside, stopping to take a long, deep breath of the herbs filling the air.

“Chamomile and elderberry…” she purrs with a satisfied grin. “It appears someone needed soothing. I am glad I stopped by.”

“Speaking of which…” I say as I close the door behind her, then proceed to follow her to the kitchen. “Clarissa wants to try a new flavor.”

“I know,” Amalia smirks as she produces a full tincture bottle from the satchel hidden inside the folds of her cloak. She passes it across the table. “I picked up on her aversion to strawberries while we’d been having tea of our own. I prepared a new flavor for her. Mint, to be exact.”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously at Amalia, but it’s playful. “You always know things.”

“I am not the High Priestess for nothing, Hannah.”

“I’m not disputing that,” I giggle as I proceed to the kettle. “I was just wondering why I haven’t seen you out of your cabin these past few days.”

“I have been busy…”

“Of course.” Once I’ve poured two mugs of steaming water over the fresh herbs, I use some magic to quicken the tea’s steeping. Fire power provides a neat trick, so I don’t have to double-boil my teas on the stove.

When I turn with both mugs in hand, I find Amalia staring at me with keen interest, almost lost in thought while her eyes are fixed on me.