Page 52 of The Alpha Wolf’s Secret Baby Boy

Our relationship may be irreparable, too much having happened between us despite last night’s brush with normalcy. It’s nearly impossible to think about last night without becoming angry again.

It meant nothing to her. She was planning on leaving regardless of what happened.

I shake the thought aside when she sniffles. Right now, Poppy needs to be reunited with her son.

That’s the only way I’ll ever get to meet him, too. Be a part of his life. Make up for the first decade I missed.

“Is that,” I gulp as I point to the blanket she’s holding, “his baby blanket?”

Poppy’s lips tremble as she glances down at the blanket and nods tentatively. “Y-yes,” she stammers, then lifts her head with a defiant glint in her eyes between the tears as she holds it tighter to her chest.

“I’m going to get him back,” she says, then turns and follows the trail of withered ground that leads toward the forest.

“Poppy! Wait! You can’t go out there alone!” I call out after her, already chasing behind.

“Are you going to stop me?” she throws haphazardly over her shoulder, still marching forward.

I reach her in a few strides and grab her arm when she snaps around and snatches it away, glaring at me.

“Don’t, Damian.”

“No, Poppy,” I say sternly, using my authoritative alpha voice. “You ran away once. You almost ran away again today. I’m not losing you out there in the woods now.”

“I’m not running away, Damian!” she snarls at me. “My son is missing! I can’t wait around for someone else to decide if it’s safe to go after him!”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair and growl. “If dark witches are using black magic out there, you’ll get yourself killed. What use are you to Daniel if you’re dead?!”

Poppy gasps, my voice more powerful than ever.

“You realize how bad this is, right?” I ask with a grunt. “We can only hope that Aoife is right, and that those fucking witches don’t harm him. Let us do things the right way, so that no one is hurt, and we get Daniel back.”

Poppy opens her mouth to protest—and I don’t blame her, because just as much as she hates waiting around, so do I—but we’re interrupted when Connor comes over.

“We need that blanket, Poppy,” he says gently as he approaches us. “Dorian is still sending out a team of scouts to check the surrounding areas, figure out what route they’re using, and then we can plan and move in on them. It’s safer this way.”

“I want it back,” she says in a warning tone as she hands the blanket to Connor.

He nods before tucking it under one arm. “I will be right back. Aoife wants to use his scent to conduct a ritual—”

Poppy is about to protest when I step between her and Connor and tell the beta, “Do whatever needs to be done to find my son. Tell my brother I am counting on him.”

Connor nods and leaves immediately, running back toward Dorian’s house.

“How are you okay with any of this?!” Poppy exclaims, and I turn around and grab her shoulders.

“I’m not okay with any of it. Not with Daniel’s kidnapping, not with the witches being here, not with the threat out there. I’m not okay with any of it. But I’m being logical about this. Neither of us is any good to Daniel if we’re dead. For all we know, this could be a trap. There could be an ambush waiting on the other side. We need to be prepared.”

“You’re all wasting time!” Poppy argues. “Daniel—”

I grip Poppy’s shoulders tighter, yanking her forward and staring deeply into her eyes, pushing all my personal feelings aside: the pain, betrayal, the hurt of having to find out about my son this way. She shrieks in surprise, her eyes widening though they’re full of tears, and a pang of sympathy grips my chest.

“Daniel is going to be fine,” I whisper authoritatively, pronouncing each word with conviction and a touch of hope that my statement is true. “Daniel is the son of an alpha, Poppy. He has my blood running through his veins. And if he’s anything like you, his mother, he’s going to be okay.”

“I’m nothing…” she whimpers, her bottom lip trembling. “I couldn’t protect him, Damian. I failed my son. I failed Daniel.”

She hangs her head, and that’s when the height of sympathy strikes me, ripping through my chest like a blade forged from hot, molten lava.

I grab her face, this time with both hands, wrestling with the anger I’m feeling and the agony of losing my son before even knowing he existed.