His Rage

(Kennedy's POV)

The air was heavy with the stench of blood and smoke, clinging to my senses like a heavyweight. My arm throbbed from the gash that stretched across it; the crude bandage wrapped on it did little to stop the steady trickle of blood. It was only a minor wound, nothing that could not heal with time; however, the pain kept nipping at my mind, a never-ending reminder of my failure in letting the ambush catch me by surprise.

What we had thought of as a handful of rogues, the worst they could be, escalated into an excellently executed plot. It was not a series of senseless attacks; they lured us deeper into the heart of their territory and then pinned us from all sides. The battles went on for days: outnumbered and with endless tension.

We managed to break through, however.

When they realized the advantage had passed, the rogues scattered. My pack was exhausted, with blood-matted fur, and slow-twitch movements from weariness. Yet even as we stood among the broken bodies of our enemies, I felt no relief.

"Alpha," Dean said, his voice thick with fatigue, stepping beside me. "We need to rest, regroup. The pack can't keep going like this."

I looked at him, my jaw clenching. "We head back," I said, the resolution in my voice admitting no arguments.

"Alpha," he tried again, his concerned tone dripping from his voice, "you're injured. You've hardly slept in days. You—

"I said we head back," I growled. I felt my wolf stir dangerously, uneasy, beneath the surface. I was restless. Every second spent away from her was another knife twist in my chest. Alina.

Knowing she would have waited for me, oblivious to the danger that had just come our way, I ran with an element of urgency laced with dread. I had vowed to keep her safe, yet left her behind. What if something happened?

I swung onto my horse, disregarding the sharp flare of pain in my arm, and led the way back. It was a blur. Every mile that brought me closer to the pack lands did little to ease the storm raging within me.

The sun was dipped below the horizon by the time we arrived, casting the pack lands in a muted twilight. I didn't wait for the others. Immediately after we passed through the gates, I dismounted and strode toward the house while my heart was pounding from both anticipation and unease.

The house was silent as I entered, the air still and heavy. I called her name once, twice, but no sign of noise came. My chest tightened as I began searching room by room, my wolf growing restless with each space.

Where was she?

Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, but I shoved it down. She had to be here. She wouldn't leave without telling me.

Her sweet, subtle scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air, but it wasn't fresh. I stormed through the halls, calling her name louder now, my voice echoing off the walls.

Finally, I found one of the maids in the kitchen, her face paling when she saw me. "Alpha," she stammered, bowing quickly.

"Where is she?" I demanded, my voice a low growl.

The maid's eyes darted nervously as she stammered, "S-she's not here, Alpha. She… she has been going out during the day. Early, before breakfast, and returning late in the evening."

That hit home. "Out?" I repeated, my tone dead quiet.

"Yes, Alpha," she said at once. "She's been going to a bakery in the village. For a week now, every day."

“A bakery? My mind was reeling, confusion and anger struggling for dominance. What was she doing? Why hadn't she told me?

I whirled and headed towards my quarters. I was in no state to face her like this, bloodied and bruised. She hated violence, and to see me in this condition would only terrify her.

I ripped the ruined clothes off and washed them as fast as possible, trying not to let the sting of water on my wounds get to me, Pulled on a clean shirt, rolled the sleeves down over the bloodied bandage on my arm, and was out of the house.

The silence was on the packed village streets, muted by the lateness of the hour. I strode with a purpose toward the bakery as the words of the maid ran around in my mind.

Why a bakery? What could draw her there day after day?

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted out into the cool morning air, mingling with the indistinct murmur of voices from inside. Lantern light spilled through the windows, a warm glow against the cold fury building in my stomach.

I paused outside the door, my senses sharp as I tried to catch the conversation. And then I heard her laugh.

It was soft, almost melodic, and brought me to a stop. I'd heard her laugh before but not like that. This was unrestrained, real.

A growl rumbled low in my chest as I stepped closer to the window. What I saw made my blood run cold.

She sat at a table, her face aglow with a light in her eyes that I had not seen in weeks. Across from her, a man sat, flashing dimples as he leaned into her, one hand reaching to touch her cheek.

My vision blurred red as I watched her smile-smile-at his touch. That smile was not for me. She had never looked at me that way.

And before I knew it, a roar tore from my throat, and her name reverberated through the night like a stroke of thunder.

"ALINA!"