Page 12 of Traded to the Alpha Wolf

Rowan’s face is already on the screen when I sit down, looking like every new father, tired but somehow calmer than I’ve ever seen him. Willow is beside him, hair pulled tight, eyes even tighter. Nobody says hello. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, like I can tell they’re about to drop something big.

Willow speaks first. “We ran the panel. Twice. I even called in a favor to have it cross-checked at the university lab we’ve been using.” Her voice is so flat that it makes me anxious. “Cade, there’s omega DNA in her blood.”

I don’t react at first because it doesn’t make sense. Mara is a human. A host, maybe, but not a shifter. There’s no wolf in her, not even a hint, and she’s never presented. I say as much.

Rowan’s voice is low. “We know. But the markers are there. Dormant, but present on both the genomic and the methylation layer. An old line. Maybe she doesn’t even know, and someone tried to breed it out of her line, or at least keep it from surfacing.”

I stare at the wall behind the laptop, trying to process. “So, she’s a failed shift, or a recessive?”

“She’s an omega, Cade,” Willow says. “She’s either lying to us or genuinely doesn’t know.”

I shake my head. “No. I know what an omega smells like, and she’s not one. She’s…” I realize I don’t have a word for what Mara is. There’s no wolf, no anything, just a faint, constant sense of hunger that she brings out in me.

Willow glances at Rowan, who nods for her to continue. “We also found traces of other compounds. Chemical signatures consistent with experimental hormone therapy. Something very weird is going on here. Do you think she knows what she is?”

I lean over the laptop, forehead in my palm, and pick apart what they’re really asking. “No,” I say. “If she’s hiding it, she’s Oscar-level. The way she talks about her life…she’s not lying about thinking she’s just a human. She’s not faking the fear. But she’s not stupid, and she’s not innocent, either.” I look at Willow, at the way she’s pinched her mouth shut, like she’s already five moves ahead and doesn’t want to say it out loud. “She doesn’t know what she is, but the question is, do they?”

Rowan’s eyes flick toward Willow. “The Order handed her over without a fight.”

“They practically forced me to take her.” I remember the cool, deliberate way the woman in charge had smiled, the way the men had averted their eyes. “If they thought she was some omega-in-hiding, wouldn’t they use her? They know what omegas are to us; wouldn’t they want to control or destroy one? So why throw her at me?”

Willow glances down at her notes. “Maybe their research isn’t as far along as we think. Maybe they didn’t know.”

“Or maybe she’s a plant or a ticking time bomb,” Rowan murmurs. “You said yourself she didn’t smell like an omega.”

“She doesn’t,” I say. “Not in a way I’ve ever known. There’s nothing about her that says ‘omega’ except for the way my wolf reacts to her. It’s not even just an attraction. It’s…territorial. Like if I let her out of my sight, something bad will happen. I can’t explain it.” I push my hand through my hair, feel the heat in my palm. “But I don’t think she’s a plant. I think she’s exactly what she says she is, a girl who got unlucky.”

Willow looks at Rowan, but it’s me she addresses. “Keep her close. I want to run more tests. If she’s from an old line, the odds are she’s got something we haven’t seen before.”

“Great,” I mutter. “Just what I needed. A ticking time bomb and a house full of breakable furniture.” I go to close the laptop, but Rowan’s face lingers a second too long, like he’s waiting for me to say the thing we’re all thinking.

“They traded her fast,” I say quietly. “Too fast. The Order is all about protecting humans, right? That’s their propaganda, anyway. So why serve up a young human girl to a monster? It doesn’t add up.”

Rowan’s voice is faint, as if he’s already half gone. “It’s not about protecting humans. It’s about power. If she’s an unknown, even to herself, she’s a liability. The question really is, did they know what they had? Are you going to tell her?”

The question hits because I hadn’t really considered that aspect yet. “Er, yeah, I guess so. She has a right to know,” I say, realizing that is the truth of it. “Send over the report, and I’ll let her read it for herself.”

Willow nods as they both sign off, and I’m left just staring at the blank screen again, wondering how to tell a human they’re not entirely human. I decide to hold off on telling her until Willow’s report comes through, because Mara is either the best liar I’ve ever met or she genuinely has no clue what’s inside her.Either way, she’ll need the proof in black and white if I want her to believe it. I leave the office, the echo of Rowan’s last words still buzzing in my ears, and head back to the kitchen.

She’s at the island, perched on a barstool with her knees drawn up, shuffling a deck of battered playing cards. She’s wearing sweatpants and one of my old shirts, and her hair is twisted up in a knot on top of her head, a few strands falling down to frame her face. She looks impossibly young like this, too small for the stool, her toes barely skimming the polished floor. She glances up when I walk in, her eyes wary, but the rest of her doesn’t flinch.

I pause in the doorway, watching her for a moment. She lines up the cards in perfect rows. Solitaire. The old-fashioned kind, the kind my grandmother used to play on Sunday mornings, except Mara’s version is faster, almost aggressive, as if she’s racing the clock or trying to beat back a tide of nerves.

She doesn’t acknowledge me, but her shoulders hunch a little, like she’s bracing for a fight. I want to tell her there isn’t one coming, not today at least, but I don’t have a script for this. I pour myself a mug of coffee and lean against the counter, pretending not to notice the way she’s watching me from the edge of her vision.

I sip the coffee, thinking about how I’m supposed to break the news. Hey, you’re not just a bartender with a tragic past and a mean right hook; you’re genetically engineered to drive wolves insane. Congratulations, you’re an omega, whatever that means to a girl who’s never shifted, never even known she could. The thought is so ridiculous I almost laugh.

She lays down a card, then another, and then sighs and flings the rest of the deck onto the counter. “I’m stuck,” shesays, her tone flat but not quite annoyed. “You know how to play this?”

“I do,” I say, and walk over. She pushes the cards toward me, challenging.

I scan the game. She missed a black eight, buried under a queen. “Right here,” I say, freeing up the card and moving it into place. “You’re playing too fast.”

She frowns, clearly offended, but then lines the rest up, and within a minute, she’s won. I expect her to gloat, but instead she just sits there, running her fingertips across the backs of the cards, as if waiting for the right question to ask.

She finally looks up and asks, “Why are you babysitting me all the time? Don’t you have, like…important alpha things to do?”

I set my mug down slowly. “I’m protecting my house,” I say, but it comes out wrong, and she cocks her head, lips curling.