Page 41 of Fated Alpha Baby

“There was a time when things were different, Conan,” Dorothy sighs. “There was a time when she was the most important person in your life.”

I shake my head firmly. “That changed when she left the valley, Dorothy. And if she didn’t lie to me about Clarissa, perhaps things would have gone back to the way they were. But she made her choices, and she will have to live with them.”

“She is your fated, true mate, Conan. Do not forget that. Do not punish yourself or this pack because of this.”

I click my tongue. “The only one being punished is her. I will make sure of that.”

Rolling my shoulder again, I grab my torn and tattered T-shirt from the foot of the bed, ruined in the fight and ripped off my body to tend to my injury. It isn’t even remotely healed, but I push through the pain in my attempt to get out of Dorothy’s place.

It’s not like she provided much information, except for another lie Hannah told her. Something about a note, about being banished from the pack.

None of that could have happened without me knowing. Grandfather would not have banished her from the pack without it going through me.

What happened that night was a month short of my becoming alpha. All Hannah needed to do was wait. But she was too afraid of what the pack would think.

So she fled, and broke my heart by doing so. And when I found her in Augusta, she looked me in the eye and lied to me about Clarissa. Even after we were mated, she hid my own daughter from me.

If I ever thought I loved her, then that love has since left. There’s nothing but resentment, hatred left behind.

And right now, I don’t feel like talking to her at all.

Fuck what she has to say to me! Fuck her excuses!

It’s not like any of it could ever undo the damage she’s caused.

Chapter 12 - Hannah

The valley finally feels like it’s breathing steadily again, but I remain pacing the floor in Conan’s living room. Waiting. Anxious. Unsettled.

The distant sounds of terror have stopped for a long while. Two—maybe three—hours have passed since the last screech rippled across the planes of the valley and disappeared over the mountains. But even now, I can’t seem to find calm. Not even with knowing that Clarissa is safe, tucked in bed, and sound asleep.

There is another storm brewing, and I feel it tickle my awareness, the hairs on my forearms prickling to alert me of its looming presence. I hold my breath as I hear footsteps approaching, thudding against the porch before they stop.

There’s a part of me that wants to run away and hide from Conan, disappear before he comes in, and pretend I’m asleep in bed. But there’s another that keeps me around, hanging on to the anger in his eyes from earlier, and not wanting to run away from it.

How can I run away now, when he knows the truth?

No matter where I turn, I’ll always see Conan. The mate bond between us demands it. Now that it has been completed in a ritual, there is no escaping what fate has dictated.

Better now than later.

So I take a deep breath when the knob turns, and hold it, shoulders squared and back rigid as the door is pushed in. Conan steps inside, his boots heavy on the floorboard, head hanging, dark hair covering his eyes.

What’s most shocking is seeing his exposed chest covered in bandages, soaked in dark spots of crimson.

I gasp, and that’s when he looks up.

“What happened?” I blurt instantly, another instinct awakening when my heart lurches and I see him wince when he uses his hand to close the door behind him.

Deeply contoured muscles and olive skin are tainted with blood, the bandages covering the damage as if they’re holding his chest together.

“Nothing happened,” Conan grumbles, his jaw twitching as if he’s struggling to be angry.

“Clearly something happened out there!” I raise my voice in concern, inching forward. “Have you been to Dorothy?”

“I have,” he replies flatly.

“Why are you still bleeding?”