The Omega Who Rose from the Ashes: The Alpha's Regret

Trishelle’s POV

Silver. Bradley was attacked with silver.

The words echoed in Trishelle’s mind, a relentless, torturous rhythm. Silver - the poison that delayed a werewolf’s healing, rendering them as vulnerable as any human. If the bullets remained lodged inside him... she couldn’t complete the thought. Her arms wrapped instinctively around her swollen belly in a futile attempt to hold herself together. She rocked back and forth, a desperate, mindless motion, and felt the pup roll and shift in response to her panic’s sharp spike. The rest of Sam’s words dissolved into meaningless noise as she tumbled into a dark, silent pit of despair. Her breath came in shallow gasps. The world around her seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the terrible image of Bradley lying somewhere, bleeding, dying.

James’s POV

James ended the call, his mind already firing commands through the pack link. *Warriors to Goldmoon. Five of you. Now. Pack a bag for me and Trishelle. Enough for a week. Move.*

He turned his full attention to the woman beside him, who looked so small, so broken. Pulling her into his arms, he felt her body tremble against his. Her pain cut through him as if it were his own, a sharp, stabbing ache in his chest. He found himself almost grateful, in that moment, that their bond wasn’t fully sealed. The raw, unfiltered agony of a complete mate bond would have shattered her or sent her into premature labor. He couldn’t risk either.

Gently, he pushed her back just enough to see her face. He wiped the endless stream of tears from her pale cheeks with his thumbs and brushed the sweaty strands of brown hair from her forehead. The emptiness in her eyes, that vacant, haunted look, made his gut clench so hard he nearly doubled over. A vicious oath formed in his head. If that damned Alpha died, he would find a way to bring him back just to kill him again himself for putting that expression on her face.

The thought made him pull back as if he’d been slapped. *His* mate. Trishelle was *his* mate. How had he allowed himself to ignore it for so long? He shook his head. No, he’d known. He simply hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to face what it meant. But now was not the time to drown in that revelation. She needed him present, focused.

"Trishelle," he said, his voice soft but firm. He wasn’t sure she could even hear him through her grief. "Trishelle, love. We need to go."

She turned her head, her eyes focusing on him slowly, as if waking from a terrible dream.

"Silver," she whispered, the word a ghost on her lips, barely audible.

"Baby, I ordered our bags packed. I’ve secured us tickets. Let’s go see your mate. Let’s go to Alpha Bradley." He kept his voice steady, anchoring her to the present.

At the sound of Bradley’s name, something shifted in her. She blinked, and fresh tears welled in her eyes, but these seemed different - less hopeless.

"We’re going to Bradley?" she whispered, her voice fragile as spun glass.

He nodded firmly. "Yes, we are."

She sniffed and wiped her face with the hem of her shirt. James grabbed a handful of napkins from the nearby table, gently wiping her eyes and encouraging her to blow her nose as he would a child. She looked fragile, felt fragile in his arms, like the babe she carried. But he sensed something stirring beneath that fragility, something stronger beginning to emerge.

Trishelle’s POV

His words, simple and direct, cut through the fog of her grief. Alpha Bradley. She was mated to an Alpha.

The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow, stealing her breath. It meant she couldn’t fall apart. It meant she carried a duty that extended far beyond her own pain. They weren’t officially mated, not in ceremony, but she had been accepted at Goldmoon. The pack recognized her. If they had completed the bond, she would be their Luna right now. As if in agreement, the pup kicked - a strong, determined flutter against her ribs that seemed to say, *Be strong, Mama.*

She was carrying the child of an Alpha. She would not be weak. Not anymore. Bradley’s pack needed her. Their child needed her. And somewhere, Bradley needed her strength, even if he didn’t know it yet.

She stood abruptly, the movement so sudden James flinched. A new fire lit her eyes, a hard, glittering determination replacing the emptiness. She looked down at James, who still knelt on the floor, surprise written across his features.

"I am the Luna of Goldmoon," she declared, her voice clear and steady, surprising them both with its strength. "And right now, I need to address my pack. We will stop there first before we head to the airport. Tell Sammy to gather everyone in the main hall. I will speak to them and put their fears to ease. Please see to our ride, Alpha James."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her spine straight, her head held high. Each step felt like a small victory over the despair that had threatened to consume her moments before.

James watched her go, thinking he had never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of her finding her strength. She paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?" she demanded, a hint of the old Trishelle in her tone, but now layered with new authority that made his wolf sit up and take notice.

James shot to his feet, a grin spreading across his face despite the grim situation. Pride swelled in his chest. "Yes, ma’am."

Bradley’s POV

Bradley writhed on the hospital bed, fire racing through his veins with every breath. The human doctors had managed to remove two of the bullets, the ones closer to the surface. The third, however, was lodged deep against his ribs. One wrong move during extraction and he’d puncture a lung. The human surgeon had been clear about that, his face grave as he explained the risks.

Sam hovered nearby, repeatedly telling him to stay still, and Bradley felt the insane, overwhelming urge to grab his Beta and throw him through the nearest window. The silver poisoning made his wolf irritable, made *him* irritable, stripping away his usual control.

The thought brought a hazy memory of him and Trishelle joking about that very scenario during childbirth. He’d chuckled, saying it was a good thing labor wards were on the ground floor, just for that reason. The memory of her face, her laugh, brought a sliver of peace through the pain. It wrapped around his heart like a balm, cooling the fire just enough to breathe.

He was glad he hadn’t given in to the temptation to fly her out to Goldmoon earlier. What if she’d been with him when the attack happened? What if she’d been hurt too? The thought made his blood run cold. No. He shook his head, a slight, painful motion that made his vision swim. It was better she remained far away, safely tucked in at Bloodmoon, protected by James and his warriors.

He heard Sam on the phone, urging Lorenzo to hurry. The human doctor’s stitches itched and burned against his skin, and he prayed his own pack doctor would arrive soon to redo them properly. Werewolf physiology required different techniques, different care. Sam hung up, a strange expression crossing his face.

"That was Sammy. Your mate addressed the pack," Sam said, a note of awe coloring his voice. "She let everyone know you’re alive. That we have the best trackers on the case. She reassured them you’d be fine and that she’s going to make sure you get home in one piece." He paused, shaking his head in wonder. "Bradley, she was magnificent. Sammy said half the pack was in tears, but she stood there, pregnant and strong, and gave them hope."

Pride, hot and fierce, bloomed in Bradley’s chest, momentarily eclipsing the pain. His mate. His Luna. Even from hundreds of miles away, she was protecting his pack, caring for them when he couldn’t.

"She is my Luna," he rasped, his voice rough but filled with conviction.

Sam nodded, his own pride evident in his expression. "She is our Luna."

Even through the haze of suffering, Bradley felt his wolf’s chest swell with satisfaction. The beast shook out its phantom mane and whispered in his mind, *You see now why we were mated? She is strong. She is worthy.*

Sam sighed, the sound heavy. "That was the good news." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture Bradley had learned over the years meant he was about to deliver something bad.

Bradley’s patience, already worn thin by pain and silver poisoning, snapped. "Spit it out, man."

Sam slowly edged toward the door, a move Bradley didn’t miss despite his compromised state.

"Now, Alpha, I want you to hold on to that warm, fuzzy feeling of pride you just had in your mate. Don’t deny it - I could see it in your eyes, and you have every right to feel it." Bradley’s irritation became a palpable wave in the sterile room, making the air feel heavy. Sam was usually direct, but he knew how irrational Alphas became about their mates’ safety. With the assailant still out there and no hard evidence linking the attack to Bloom, the further away Trishelle remained, the better. At least, that’s what Sam had thought.

"Well, Alpha," Sam began, taking another step back toward the door. "Samuel just informed me he sent over supplies and more Goldmoon warriors. Lorenzo already left, so he’s sending them with someone else." He paused, swallowing hard.

Bradley’s eyes narrowed dangerously. It had better not be who he thought it was. He held his breath, a calm descending over him that was far more dangerous than his rage. The kind of calm that preceded a storm.

Sam dropped the bomb.

"The Luna is on her way."

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