fate of the alpha - episode 3 by Tasha Black Page A

sword shrank back into the shard of a crystal key.
    She placed it carefully in her pocket and walked slowly back to her friends.
    Cressida curled around Ainsley’s limp body.
    “Is she okay?” Grace asked.
    Cressida nodded.
    “Just passed out, it looks like.”
    “What about you?” Grace asked.
    “Banged up, but okay. You?” Cressida asked lightly.
    Incredibly weak and stupid.
    “I’m fine,” Grace said quickly. “How did you know it wasn’t Ophelia?”
    “How did you not ?” Cressida asked.
    “I can’t believe I let it get away,” Grace said softly.
    “ I can’t believe you shot me .” Cressida replied.
    “It’s not like it was silver,” Grace said. “You got better.”
    Indeed, there wasn’t even a scar on Cressida’s shoulder from where Grace had shot through her to kill Garrett.
    “What do we do now?” Cressida asked.
    “Let’s start by getting her home,” Grace answered.
    It had been a long, horrible night. To her credit, Cressida nodded and hopped up.
    Each of them slipped an arm around Ainsley and headed toward her house.

                                   

    CHAPTER 18
    A  insley drifted in and out of fever-dreams.
    She dreamed of all things wolf and woman, but twisted, and terrible.
    She ran through the bamboo forest on wounded paws.
    She baked a cake and frosted it with ashes.
    She howled at a blood-red moon.
    And all the time she was searching, tracking the pull of her mate. But he was nowhere to be found.
    An oven glowed orange, singeing her snout.
    A child cried out in anguish.
    And Ainsley dreamed on...
    A few times the fever released her from its grip to toss her casually in its hand. During those cool moments of flight, she heard snippets of the waking world.
    “—no, Grace, she’ll be fine,” Thad Volker said, like they’d been talking a long time already. “She just needs to rest.”
    “Did it really kill Ophelia—” MacGregor’s soft voice began.
    But Ainsley never heard the rest.
    She was already walking barefoot in an endless blueberry patch, plastic pail on a string around her neck, searching for a ripe berry in the wintertime.
    “Ainsley,” sang the rich oboe of her mother’s voice.
    Ainsley turned quickly.
    Her parents stood between two rows of blueberry bushes. They wore fluffy white bathrobes. Mrs. Connor held their old cat, Mr. Purrington, in her arms, stroking him slowly. The air filled with the scent of the gingerbread they used to bake on rainy days.
    Ainsley tried not to cry.
    “We’re so proud of you Ainsley,” her father smiled, with that twinkle in his eye. Then he quoted Dostoyevsky. “ The soul is healed by being with children .”
    The air went cold and a huge rumble shook the ground.
    Ainsley crouched into her fiery wolf, and spun to see the world melt into darkness.
    A single light harshly illuminated a man with golden hair.
    He looked up and smiled at her, blue eyes flashing in the spotlight.
    Julian.
    But why was he happy?
    “Ainsley Connor,” Ophelia Winter boomed.
    Ainsley blinked and the alpha was before her.
    “Your pack has failed in its duty,” she scolded. “There is nothing left for the wolves of Tarker’s Hollow. And there is no new blood to give you strength. I cast you out.”
    At these words, Ainsley felt herself forcibly shifted back into her human form. She was naked, humiliated, and her soul was shattered.
    “Ainsley,” Erik whispered. “Oh, Ainsley.”
    She closed her eyes and followed his voice with every fiber of her mind.
    No. Please, no.
    If Erik had joined the parade of visiting ghosts, it meant he was dead, too.
    If Erik was really gone, she would never go back to the cool brightness of the real world. She would rather chase the ghost of him through this purgatory forever.
    She sensed his presence nearby. Something had changed about him. Though she knew it was impossible, she swore she could feel his touch.
    His fingers slid through her hair, tugging it gently at her