Page 71 of Alpha Charmed

And no decorations beyond the functional. Nothing personal. Nothing that says someone lives here, rather than just exists.

Until now.

“This is where you live?” I’m still in his arms, and I find I don’t want to object.

“When I’m not in town for Network business.” He sets me down on the porch, careful, almost reluctant to let go. “I built it fifteen years ago. Extended it twice when the pack grew.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s empty.” His voice is quiet, honest. “I never minded before. Figured it was just temporary—somewhere to sleep between patrols and meetings. But lately…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

Lately, empty has started to feel like lonely.

I understand that better than I want to admit.

“You’ve never brought anyone here.” It’s not a question. I can tell—the space has no feminine touch, no evidence that anyone but Caius has ever crossed this threshold.

“Never.” His gray eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “I was ready for the right person.”

“For what?”

“You know for what.” He pushes open the door, and warm air rushes out to greet us. “For you. Always for you.”

The interior is even more spartan than I expected.

Quality furniture, well-maintained, but chosen for durability rather than aesthetics. Maps on the walls—territorial boundaries, patrol routes, strategic positions. A study visible through an open door, filled with pack records and leadership documents.

No art. No photographs. No evidence of a life beyond duty.

My chest aches with the recognition of it. I’ve done the same in my own space—stripped away anything personal, anything that might suggest I’m more than just the coven leader. We’ve both been hiding behind our roles for so long that we forgot what it means to just be people.

The kitchen catches my attention—large, professional. Copper pots hang from hooks. A massive table dominates the space, scarred from years of use.

“You cook,” I realize.

“For the pack. Weekly dinners, sometimes more often.” He follows my gaze. “My predecessor didn’t believe in it—said an alpha shouldn’t serve his people like a servant. I disagreed. Cooking for them reminds me why I do this. Who I’m protecting.”

“That’s surprisingly domestic for a wolf alpha.”

“Wolves are pack animals. We’re supposed to take care of each other.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s the only way to make sure the younger ones eat properly. Left to their own devices, they’d survive on raw meat and questionable berries.”

“Questionable berries?”

“There was an incident. Torin still teases me about it. Apparently one of my younger wolves convinced himself that bright red berries screaming ‘don’t eat me’ were actually a delicacy.” He grimaces. “The antidote took three days to brew.”

“I might have that recipe in my archives.”

“You probably sold it to me. At a significant markup.”

“Professional rates apply to all customers, Alpha Sternwolf. Even ones with questionable decision-making wolves.”

I file that away for later teasing and continue my exploration. The private balcony catches my attention—doors leading out to a view that must be spectacular in daylight. Where he watches, and thinks, and runs when sleep won’t come.

“It’s practical,” I observe, running my fingers along a worn leather chair.

“That’s a polite word for sterile.”