A Father's Guilt

POV: Aeliana.

"Someone who fucking saved you, pup."

The voice was a deep, resonating rumble that didn't just vibrate in my ears—it settled into my very marrow. It was heavy with authority, laced with a grit that made my skin prickle, and yet, there was an underlying warmth that felt like a physical touch. In my dream, the darkness of the alley was absolute, save for the phantom scent of rain and something primal.

"What’s your name?" I whispered. My own voice sounded small, breathless, lost in the heat radiating from the massive shadow standing over me.

"Aeliana."

The way he said it—slow, deliberate, like he was tasting the syllables—sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity straight up my spine. My heart began to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage.

"Huh? That’s my name—"

"Aeliana! Aeliana, wake up!"

The voice changed abruptly. The deep, masculine growl vanished, replaced by the sharp, familiar tone of my best friend. My eyes snapped open, and the ceiling of my bedroom came into focus, shimmering with the faint, lingering glow of my glitter lamp. Sloane was hovering directly over me, her face a mask of intense curiosity.

I felt the heat flushing my cheeks almost instantly. I pushed her back, scrambling to sit up as the remnants of the dream clung to me like cobwebs. The sun was already stabbing through the gaps in the curtains, reminding me that the world hadn't stopped just because my head was spinning. I reached over and flicked off the light, the room suddenly feeling too bright, too real.

"What the hell were you dreaming about?" Sloane asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied me.

"Nothing. Why?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but my lungs felt tight.

"Nothing? Your heart was racing like you’d just run a marathon through the woods. And you were... I don't know, making faces."

I shrugged as innocently as I could manage, though my skin still felt like it was on fire. "No idea. Just a dream."

I moved to stretch, and the lie died in my throat. As I reached my arms over my head, a vicious, white-hot spasm of pain shot through my shoulder and neck. I gasped, my hand flying to the spot where the beast had sunk its teeth in the night before. I groaned, doubled over, as the throbbing intensified.

Sloane was by my side in a heartbeat, her hand on my back. "Are you not healed yet?" Her voice was laced with genuine worry. "Aeliana, it’s been hours. You should be good as new. We might have to tell Aunt Crimson and Uncle Varic."

"No. Not a good idea," I snapped, perhaps a bit too quickly. The last thing I needed was my father going on a warpath or my mother putting me under packhouse arrest. "I’m fine. Just stiff."

I stood up, trying to suppress the flinch as my right ankle gave a sharp, familiar twinge. Morning was always the worst. The old injury, the one that never truly left me, felt like it was made of rusted iron today. I limped slightly, my gait uneven as I started toward the bathroom.

"I’ll use Kaelen’s shower; he’s already left for morning training," Sloane said, sensing I needed space. I nodded, closing the door to my small ensuite behind me.

It wasn't a luxury bathroom, just a standard tub-shower combo, but it was my sanctuary. I pulled Kaelen’s oversized shirt over my head and stood in front of the floor-length mirror. My skin, usually a deep, healthy tan inherited from my father, looked a shade paler today. My eyes drifted down to the intricate chandelier tattoo that curved perfectly under my breasts. I’d gotten it the day after my eighteenth birthday, a small act of rebellion that I still loved.

Dad had nearly lost his mind when he saw it, grumbling about why I’d want to draw attention to my chest. I suppressed a smirk. He’d probably drop dead on the spot if he saw the garter-belt tattoo high on my thigh. That one was still a secret.

I carefully peeled away the makeshift bandages I’d applied the night before. I hissed as the fabric tugged at the skin. Looking down, my breath hitched. The bite marks were still there. They were closing, yes, but at a snail’s pace. For a werewolf, this kind of wound should have vanished within an hour of the shift. Instead, the edges were still raw and angry.

A cold pit of unease settled in my stomach. Why was I healing so slowly? Was it the creature? Or was there something wrong with me?

I stepped into the shower, letting the near-scalding water beat against my achy shoulder. I stayed there until the steam filled the room, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of the stranger’s voice and the terrifying memory of the monster in the alley.

***

An hour later, Sloane and I finally made our way downstairs. We’d managed to burn off some of the morning tension with a brief, ridiculous pillow fight that ended with feathers everywhere. I’d opted for a silk ivory camisole tucked into a pair of ripped denim skinny jeans and flat ivory shoes. I threw a thick cardigan over the top, not for the cold, but to hide the bandages on my shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but the marks were still far too visible for comfort. I loved my heels, but today, my foot wasn't having it. The limp was pronounced enough as it was.

I’d left my hair down to hide the marks on my neck, sticking to my usual routine of tinted moisturizer and a smoky eyeliner that made my eyes pop. A bit of shea butter on my lips, some dangling earrings, and I was as ready as I’d ever be.

As we rounded the corner into the kitchen, Sloane and I both froze.

"Holy shit," Sloane whispered, then immediately let out a loud, sharp whistle. "Nice show, Uncle Varic! Don't let us stop you!"

My father, Alpha Varic, had my mother, Luna Crimson, pinned against the refrigerator. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers buried in his hair, and the sounds coming from them were definitely not meant for public consumption. I felt the heat rise to my face.

Dad let out a low, warning growl, but Mom laughed, unlocking her legs and pushing him back just enough to breathe. She was blushing—a feat only my father could achieve. My parents were forty and thirty-seven, respectively, but they moved with the energy of people a decade younger. Their bond was a living thing, a palpable force that filled the room.

"I would continue," Dad said, leaning back against the counter with a predatory smirk, "but I think Sloane is too innocent to handle the full performance."

Sloane rolled her eyes, heading straight for the coffee. "In your dreams, Uncle V. I’m not innocent."

"Keep telling yourself that," Dad retorted. He looked over at me, his gaze softening instantly. "You okay, Seraph?"

I smiled, noticing he hadn't moved from his spot. Usually, he’d be across the room to kiss my forehead in a heartbeat. The fact that he was staying put meant he was definitely trying to hide his... physical reaction to Mom.

"I'm fine, Dad. You're not going to give me a hug?" I asked, my voice dripping with fake innocence.

He smirked, pulling Mom back into his side and planting a loud, deliberate kiss on her temple. "You sure you want to get this close right now?"

"Yuck, never mind," I said, wrinkling my nose.

Mom rolled her eyes at both of us. "Are you girls actually okay? I heard there was some trouble at the cinema yesterday. Kaelen said you all headed home before it started. Is that true?"

Her eyes were sharp—the eyes of a Luna who missed nothing. I didn't meet them, instead turning to the fridge to pull out the orange juice. "Yep, Aunt Crimson. That’s exactly what happened. Total snooze-fest. So, what’s the plan for the King’s visit? It’s tomorrow, right?"

Sloane jumped in, trying to help with the diversion as Maura, our longtime Omega housekeeper, entered the room with an empty tray. "Breakfast is served in the dining room," she said with a warm smile.

"Thanks, Maura," Mom said.

Dad’s expression darkened at the mention of the King. "He’s coming today. In fact, his convoy is already in town."

"Ooh, I can’t wait!" Sloane chirped, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I heard he’s incredibly handsome. Like, legendary handsome."

"He’s a cocky dickhead," Dad growled.

"Evaric, language," Mom scolded, though there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. She turned to Sloane. "When two people with similar temperaments meet, they tend to clash. Your uncle just doesn't like anyone who might challenge his ego."

We began moving toward the dining room. Dad draped an arm over my shoulders, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head. "You look beautiful today, Seraph," he murmured.

I leaned into him for a second. He never missed a chance to tell me that. Seeing the way he looked at Mom—the sheer, unbridled adoration—always made my heart ache with a strange mix of hope and fear. Would I ever find a mate who looked at me like that? Or would they see the limp, the slow-healing scars, and turn away? The thought made my stomach twist into a knot.

We sat down at the massive oak table, which was currently buried under platters of a full English breakfast—eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and mountains of toast.

"So, will the Alpha King be eating here? Or are you taking him to the packhouse?" I asked, reaching for a piece of toast.

"Here," Mom said, her tone thoughtful. "He doesn't really like large crowds. He’s... private."

Dad snorted. "I don’t think people like him much either."

"Seriously, Evaric," Mom sighed. "He is the Alpha of Alphas. Show a little respect."

"That is exactly why Dad hates him," I chimed in, managing a small grin.

"Ah yes, the classic ego struggle," Mom said, smirking at her husband.

"Can I help with the cooking for dinner?" I asked.

Dad’s eyebrows shot up. "You don't need to play servant to him, Aeliana. Maura can handle the kitchen."

"If she wants to help, let her," Mom countered. She leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Dad’s neck, a move designed to instantly melt his annoyance. It worked; his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Her cooking is actually incredible, Uncle Varic. You have to admit that," Sloane added, already halfway through a strip of bacon.

"I know she’s good," Dad said, his voice lowering. "I just don't want her wasting her energy and working herself to exhaustion over a man like him."

I knew what he was really saying. He was worried about my leg. "I’ll be fine, Dad. It’s just dinner."

I never told them how much it actually hurt. As I’d grown older, I’d perfected the art of the lie, telling them the pain was fading, that it was barely a dull ache. The truth was, it hurt every single day. The rogue attack when I was two years old had left me with more than just a limp; it had left me with a permanent reminder of the one time my father couldn't protect me. It ate him alive, I knew that. He’d saved my life that day, but the damage to my nerves and bone had been beyond the reach of our natural healing.

"I think it’ll be a nice gesture," Mom said, her voice dropping into a softer, more serious register. "After all, he did save her life once."

The table went dead silent. Sloane and I both stopped chewing, staring at her in genuine shock.

"What?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat. "When?"

"Spill it," Sloane demanded.

Mom took a slow sip of her water, looking between us. "You were almost five. We were at Saskia Volkov’s second birthday party. You wandered off into the tree line—you were always so curious, Aeliana. You ran right into one of those creatures. A Manangal."

I felt a cold shiver race down my spine. Those things were the stuff of nightmares—half-human monstrosities that preyed on the weak.

"That night was the first time we realized exactly what Viktor was," Mom continued. "He’s a Lycan. He saved you before the thing could do more than touch you. As much as your father grumbles about him, I will never forget that he’s the reason our little girl is still here."

"She’s taller than you are now, Aunt Crimson," Sloane pointed out, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

"She’s still my baby girl," Mom shot back, though she smiled. "Now, if Aeliana wants to cook, she can. Viktor... well, I suspect he has more secrets and more reasons for his behavior than people realize. It’s easier to assume someone is a jerk than to understand why they’re guarded."

"What makes you say that?" Sloane asked.

"I was different once," Mom said, her eyes distant for a moment. "I was bullied, targeted, and treated like an experiment because I was an 'Alpha female.' People tried to kidnap me even after I had Aeliana and Kaelen. Viktor is even more 'different' than I am. Being the only one of your kind... it changes you."

I nodded slowly. The weight of her words settled over me. "It must be lonely," I said softly. "To be one of a kind."

"Don't start sympathizing with him," Dad grumbled, though there was no real heat in it.

I gave him a reassuring smile. "Okay, Dad. So, is there a specific menu, or can I just do my own thing for the side dishes?"

"Do whatever you like, honey," Mom said. "So, I’m guessing you’re skipping training today?"

"Just for today?" I asked, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Mom had been training me with weapons for years. Dad hated it, wanting me to stay safe and sheltered, but Mom refused to let me be defenseless. I loved my staff—a five-foot length of reinforced wood with a lethal silver spike at the end—but I couldn't exactly carry it around the packhouse.

"Just today," Mom agreed.

"Great! I’m going to go talk to Maura and see what we have in the pantry."

I stood up, moving a bit too quickly. As I pivoted toward the door, a violent, jagged spasm ripped through my right leg. My knee buckled, and I let out a sharp cry, grabbing the door frame to keep from hitting the floor.

Before I could even register the fall, a pair of strong arms were around me. I didn't need to look up to know it was Dad; his scent of cedar and old forest was unmistakable. He steadied me, his grip firm and desperate.

"I'm okay, Dad," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face. His eyes were wide, filled with that old, familiar guilt that never quite went away.

"Take it slow, Aeliana," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he stroked my hair. "Please."

A wave of sadness washed over me. I hated that my pain was his pain. I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his chest for a long moment.

"Aww, look at her. Such a daddy's girl," Sloane teased from the table, though her voice was soft. "My dad just threatens me with his slipper when I trip."

Mom laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "He did the same to Vivian when she was younger. Your mother was a handful, Sloane."

"Aunt V is tough," Sloane agreed. "I don't blame him. But look at me. I'm an innocent little devil."

"No devil is innocent," Mom countered, her eyes bright with amusement.

I pulled away from Dad, giving him one last reassuring look.

*‘I’m okay, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful,’* I sent through the mind-link, feeling his protective aura wrap around my mind like a warm blanket.

I turned and walked out of the room, feeling his eyes on my back until I turned the corner. I had work to do. I was going to cook for the Alpha of Alphas—the man who was apparently my savior, my father’s rival, and the most powerful being in our world.

I just hoped my cooking was better than my healing.