To Rule the Alpha's Heart

26. What He Has Never Had

CALLA VORONÍN

Einarr led the Onyx Craven pack away from the hot springs at the crack of dawn, and their journey continued.

Although the Alpha had devoted several hours to tending to Calla's aching muscles in the hot spring, pain still lanced through her body with every movement. She'd hoped that a long night's sleep might help, but the aches only worsened overnight. Calla hadn't even been able to pull herself atop Einarr's wolf's back the next morning without Cyril's help.

She felt incredibly burdensome...

It was the worry that she might be seen as a burden that motivated Calla to hide her discomfort throughout their trek. Anytime a whimper or moan threatened to escape her lips, she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. By the end of the second day of traveling, sores lined her mouth. At least the pain distracted her from the relentless aching of her thighs and back.

Every night, relief swept through Calla's body when the sun started to fall beneath the mountainous horizon. She knew that, as soon as dusk fell, Einarr gave the order to stop and set up camp for the night.

It was the same each night– a comfortable routine.

Without fail, when Einarr decided to stop for the evening, Cyril arrived at his side to lift Calla's weary body from her mate's back. Despite her best attempts to help the elders unpack the wagons, Cyril consistently managed to corral her into a tent, insisting that she rest. Sometimes, she ate dinner amongst the pack. Other times, she fell asleep before the hunting party even returned with their kill.

Einarr, on the other hand, never seemed to rest. After a long day of traveling, he busied himself by organizing patrols and hunting parties. He devoted himself to tending to his pack, from the youngest pups to the wisest elders.

Calla could only stand aside and watch as her Alpha served the Onyx Craven, never revealing a hint of wariness or displeasure. He demonstrated his love for every shifter that followed him. Truly, he was a born leader...

And every night, despite the inevitable exhaustion that he hid from the world, Einarr came to her.

He entered their tent and lowered his body onto the many blankets and furs that served as their bed while traveling. With a gentle caress down the length of Calla's spine, he began to serve. After a particularly long day of traveling, he'd massage the muscles from her neck to her thighs, leaving no part untouched. Other nights, he simply traced the pads of his fingers up and down her spine, circling the little dimples on the small of her back.

It felt heavenly. More often than not, Einarr's attentive touch lulled Calla to sleep. When she closed her eyes, he did not lift a hand to disturb her. And yet, some small, traitorous part of Calla wished that he would...

☽☽☽

On the seventh night of their journey, it was nearly nightfall by the time Einarr brought their caravan to a stop. They'd spent the entire day trekking across a barren tundra where the herds had spent the last week feasting on low-lying shrubs and grass. The elks depleted the tundra of its consumable foliage and continued their migration westward.

The Onyx Craven had no choice but to follow, which meant crossing the treeless, frozen plain as quickly as possible. Einarr wanted to avoid camping in such an exposed location, so they began the trek early in the morning. The pack barely managed to reach the evergreen forest on the other end before nightfall.

Palpable relief spread through the pack as soon as the last member crossed the treeline that obscured their location from any threats. Tonight, they were in such a hurry to set up camp before darkness completely overtook the forest that neither Einarr or Cyril warned Calla against helping to unload the wagons.