Real Mate
1089 Words
Alpha Alexander’s POV
The chilly weather matched the somber mood as we gathered around my mate's grave, dressed in black attire for the funeral. Alfie and Amelia clung to each other, their grief palpable as tears streamed down their faces. Though she had been gone for two days already, today's ceremony seemed to weigh heavier on their hearts than ever before. As for me, I remained stoic, my gaze fixed on the ground below.
Condolences and praises for my mate's character circulated among the mourners, but I found little solace in their sympathetic words. All I wanted was solitude, a moment to collect my thoughts away from the prying eyes and well-meaning words.
Without a word, I turned and left the graveyard, the familiar comfort of my office calling to me like a beacon. I sought refuge in a glass of whiskey, needing its warmth to numb the ache in my heart.
Speeding towards the Alpha house, I found solace in the solitude it promised. There, amidst the quiet emptiness, I could mourn in my own way, away from the collective grief of the pack members who would soon gather at the packhouse to mourn further.
As I sat heavily at my desk, drowning my sorrows in whiskey straight from the bottle, a knock at the door broke the solitude I had sought. Normally, I would have turned away any interruption, but something within me hesitated.
With a reluctant sigh, I managed to call out a gruff "Come in."
The door creaked open, and a familiar scent cut through the haze of alcohol, momentarily clearing my blurred vision. As I focused on the figure entering the room, everything seemed to sharpen and become clearer, despite my inebriated state.
Though I knew I was just drunk, it felt oddly satisfying to be so sharply focused.
"Nessa?" I murmur, blinking to clear the fog of alcohol from my eyes, setting the bottle down on the table to steady my hands.
She offers a small wave, her eyes swollen from tears. I know she's been grieving over Frida's death. Her sudden return leaves me wondering if she's back for good.
Before I can fully comprehend what I'm doing, I rise from my seat and approach her, enveloping her in a tight hug. I breathe in her scent, clinging to her like she's my lifeline, and she reciprocates, patting my back just as I did for her the day she ran away.
When we finally part, I hold her at arm's length, taking in her appearance. She hasn't changed much, aside from her curves filling out and the addition of tattoos. Her outfit—a short-sleeved crop top paired with a unclipped jumpsuit—contrasts starkly with the Vanessa I remember fleeing from this pack.
Her sheepish smile doesn't quite match the boldness of her appearance. I can't help but notice the multitude of piercings adorning her features—her septum and several more scattered around her ears. It's a stark departure from the sweet, shy Vanessa I remember.
"What happened to you?" I find myself asking, my voice rough with a hint of disbelief. Surely I'm not feeling aroused by this? It's absurd.
"Just a little change," she shrugs nonchalantly, though her cheeks flush when her gaze lands on my bare chest.
Realizing my oversight, I hastily retreat to my desk, suddenly self-conscious of my half-naked state. I watch as she takes in the familiar surroundings of the room that hasn't changed since she left four years ago. She follows suit and settles into a chair facing me.
Her attempt to maintain eye contact without glancing at my chest was oddly satisfying, though I quickly pushed aside any inappropriate thoughts. I'm not a creep.
"Thank you," I reply to her condolences, reaching for my whiskey and downing a sizable gulp.
"Yeah, she was a really great woman," Vanessa adds, her nervous fidgeting betraying her discomfort.
"I know," I murmur, the memory of Frida's kindness and warmth flooding my thoughts. For twenty-two years, she had been a constant presence in my life, and she never gave me any reason to complain.
She loved me unconditionally, despite my inability to reciprocate her feelings in the way she deserved. I couldn't love her the way I would have loved my mate, and for that, I would always carry a sense of guilt.
As I listen to Vanessa's words, I can't help but reflect on the complex dynamic between Frida and me. She knew as well as I did that she wasn't my true mate, yet she chose to stand by my side and support me nonetheless.
Our relationship began under unusual circumstances. Frida's father, the former Alpha, had pressured her to choose a mate before his passing. Despite my origins as an orphaned rogue with a troubled past, Frida insisted on bringing me to her father, and ultimately, she convinced him to accept me as his successor. That's how I became Alpha.
Though we shared a strong connection and chemistry, it was clear to both of us that our relationship went no deeper than companionship and mutual respect. We made a formidable team as leaders, but there was never anything more between us, despite the unspoken desire for something more.
While we both harbored hopes of finding our true mates, neither of us was willing to abandon the other. And as time passed, I came to accept that perhaps I didn't have another mate out there waiting for me. And I suspect Frida came to a similar conclusion.
Despite the age difference and the unconventional nature of our relationship, Frida made everything seem effortless and perfect. We had many wonderful years together, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
As I took another swig of whiskey, my gaze inadvertently fell upon Vanessa, who had been silently observing me. There was something in her expression, a contemplative look that hinted at deeper thoughts.
Suddenly, I felt it—a shift in the atmosphere, an unspoken connection that seemed to electrify the air between us. Vanessa's reaction was instantaneous, her head snapping in my direction with such force that it would have caused whiplash if she were human.
The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. We are mates.
The weight of the revelation settled heavily upon me, mingling with the burn of the whiskey in my throat. It was a truth that neither of us had dared to acknowledge, buried beneath years of friendship and shared experiences. But now, in this moment, it was undeniable.
- Writer
