After My Alpha Left, The Lycan Prince Claimed Me

Grandpa collapsed at dinner.

One moment he was laughing at something Marcus said, his hand steady around his water glass. The next, his face went gray. His fingers opened. The glass hit the floor and shattered, and he followed it down, chair scraping back, his body folding in on itself like something inside had just given up.

I was on my knees beside him before anyone else moved. "Grandpa. Grandpa, look at me."

His eyes found mine. Confused. Struggling. His hand came up and gripped my wrist with surprising strength, and I held on while the pack house erupted into noise around us—someone shouting for the healer, someone else calling an ambulance, Devin's voice cutting through it all with Alpha tone, commanding people to move, to give him space.

But Grandpa wasn't looking at Devin. He was looking at me.

"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm right here."

The ambulance came. I rode with him, my hand locked around his, watching his chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven rhythms. The paramedics worked around me. I didn't move. I couldn't. If I let go, something terrible would happen. I knew it the way you know things in nightmares.

Silverpine Medical Center smelled like antiseptic and fear. They took him through double doors I wasn't allowed past, and I stood in the corridor with my arms wrapped around myself, shaking. Someone draped a blanket over my shoulders. I didn't see who.

The doctor found me an hour later. She was young, tired, and she didn't waste time softening it.

"The damage is extensive. His heart is failing. We can make him comfortable, but we're talking weeks. Maybe less."

I heard the words. I understood them. I nodded.

She kept talking—something about treatment options, hospice care, advance directives—but the fluorescent lights were too bright and the floor was tilting and all I could think was: weeks.

Not months. Weeks.

They let me sit with him once he was stable. He was awake, propped up on pillows, an oxygen tube under his nose. He looked smaller than I'd ever seen him. Fragile. The word didn't fit him. Grandpa Brooks had been a Gamma. He'd bled for his pack. He'd raised me after my parents died and never once made me feel like a burden.

He reached for my hand. I took it.

"Rae," he said quietly. His voice was rough. "I need to see you marked."

I blinked. "Grandpa—"

"Before I go." His grip tightened. "I need to know you're taken care of. That someone chose you. Please."

My throat closed. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my opposite wrist, hard, and nodded. "Okay. I'll call Devin."

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "Good girl."

I stepped into the hallway and pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to pull up Devin's contact. I hit call. It rang four times before he picked up.

"Raegan? What's wrong?"

"Grandpa collapsed." My voice came out flat. Steady. I didn't recognize it. "We're at Silverpine Medical. The doctor says he has weeks. He wants—" I stopped. Swallowed. "He wants to see me marked. Before he dies."

Silence.

"Devin?"

"I'll be there," he said. "Give me twenty minutes."

He arrived in fifteen. I met him in the waiting area, and for a moment I let myself believe this was it. Ten years. He'd finally do it. He'd mark me, and Grandpa would see it, and everything would be okay.

Devin pulled me into a hug. I stood stiff in his arms, breathing in his scent—pine and earth, familiar and distant all at once.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

I did. He listened. His phone buzzed halfway through. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

He pulled it out. Glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened.

"What is it?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Pearl. She's—her wolf is spiraling. She says she can't breathe."

I stared at him. "Devin. My grandfather is dying."

"I know." He rubbed his face. "I know, Rae. But she's—she's in a bad place right now. I just need to check on her. Make sure she's okay. I'll be back in an hour. I promise."

He kissed my forehead. He walked out through the sliding glass doors.

I stood there, blanket still around my shoulders, and watched him go.

One hour became two. Then three. I sat in a plastic chair outside Grandpa's room and stared at my phone. No texts. No calls. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A nurse walked past and gave me a sympathetic look.

My wolf, who had been whimpering softly in the back of my mind since Grandpa collapsed, went silent.

Not howling. Not whimpering.

Just—gone.

I picked up my phone at 12:14 a.m. My fingers didn't shake this time. I typed carefully, precisely, because the words mattered.

*I, Raegan Brooks, reject you, Devin Webb, Alpha of the Ironridge Pack, as my fated mate.*

I hit send.

The pain came three seconds later. It tore through my chest like claws, ripping at the bond that had been there for ten years. My bones ached. My ribs felt like they were caving in. I doubled over in the chair, gasping, pressing my fist against my sternum.

And then—underneath the pain, faint and cautious—I smelled it.

White jasmine.

It was coming from me. From my own skin.

My wolf stirred. Not gone. Not silent.

Breathing.

I stood up. The blanket fell to the floor. I walked down the corridor, past the nurses' station, through the sliding glass doors into the cold night air. I wrapped my arms around myself and stood there, shaking, the severed bond still ringing in my chest like an echo.

The scent hit me before I saw him.

Cedar and thunderstorm. Overwhelming. Safe.

I turned.

Collin Marshall stood beside the hospital entrance, massive and still. He didn't move toward me. Didn't speak. Just watched me with dark, unreadable eyes.

"You're free now," he said quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

"I've known for weeks." His voice was low, unhurried. "Your scent. White jasmine and rain. My wolf recognized you. I waited because you weren't free."

I stared at him. "I don't—"

"Your grandfather is dying," he said. "He wants to see you marked. I can do that."

My breath caught. "You're offering—"

"A contract." He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough that his scent wrapped around me like a shield. "My mark. Courthouse registration. Pack assets in a trust in your name. And a six-month dissolution clause. If you want out after that, you walk away. No questions."

I looked up at him. At this Lycan Prince who had been watching me, waiting for me, while I spent ten years begging for scraps from a man who couldn't even stay for an hour.

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because you're mine," Collin said simply. "And I take care of what's mine."

I should have asked more questions. I should have thought it through. But Grandpa was dying and my wolf was whispering yes, yes, yes, and I was so tired of waiting for someone to choose me.

"Okay," I said.

Collin's eyes flashed gold. "Okay."

He offered me his hand. I took it.

And for the first time in ten years, I didn't feel like I was holding on alone.