Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 56

56: Chaptrer 56 56: Chaptrer 56 Chaptrer 56
Seraphina”™s POV
Margaret reached over and squeezed my hand supportively before Robert began.

“It was August fifteenth,” he said.

“A Tuesday night, if I remember correctly.

The pack had been having some minor issues with rogues in the area, but nothing serious.

Nothing that suggested what was coming.”
He paused, running a hand through his graying hair.

“The attack came just after midnight.

But these weren’t ordinary rogues, Sera.

They were organized, well-armed, and they knew exactly where to strike.

They bypassed the outer patrols somehow, went straight for the pack house and the family quarters.”
My chest tightened with dread, but I forced myself to keep listening.

“Your father fought bravely, but they were outnumbered and caught off guard.

The rogues had inside information-they knew the security protocols, the guard rotations, even which rooms the family slept in.”
“Someone betrayed us,” I whispered.

“Maybe,” Robert confirmed.

“Someone with intimate knowledge of your pack’s defenses and routines.

Someone your parents trusted.”
The silence that followed was heavy with grief and anger.

I could feel Caleb’s hand tighten around mine, his warmth anchoring me as the reality of my parents’ murder settled over me like a shroud.

“Were they ever caught?” I asked.

“The rogues, or whoever was working with them?”
Robert’s expression grew darker.

“Some of the rogues were killed in the fighting, but the leaders escaped.

As for the traitor…” He shook his head.

“Never identified.

The investigation went cold after a few months.”
“That’s not unusual,” Margaret added sadly.

“The northern territories were always chaotic.”
“And the rogue problem has only gotten worse,” Robert said.

“Especially in the last few years.

The borders are practically lawless now.

Packs are fleeing south every week, looking for protection with Alpha King.”
A chill ran down my spine as I thought of Damien, back in Silver Moon Harbor, dealing with his own rogue incidents.

The attacks Caleb had described earlier suddenly seemed much more ominous.

“How bad is it really?” I asked.

“The rogue situation, I mean.”
Robert said bluntly.

“These aren’t desperate loners looking for scraps anymore.

They’re organized, well-supplied, and getting bolder every month.

Some of them are carrying military-grade weapons.”
“That’s not possible,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth.

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Margaret agreed.

“But it’s happening anyway.

Someone is funding them, training them, giving them resources that ordinary rogues would never have access to.”
The implications hit me like a physical blow.

“You think whoever killed my parents is still out there.

Still organizing attacks.”
“It’s possible,” Robert said grimly.

“The methods are similar-well-planned strikes against established packs, targeting leadership and key infrastructure.

If it’s the same group, they’ve grown significantly more powerful over the years.”
I felt sick.

Not just because of what had happened to my parents, but because of what might be happening right now.

If these organized rogues were behind the attacks in Damien’s territory…

Margaret stifled a yawn, then smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry, honey.

It’s been such an emotional day, and we’re not as young as we used to be.

Why don’t we call it a night?

You and Caleb can go through Robert’s files tomorrow, and we can discuss everything with clearer heads.”
“Of course,” I said, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was.

“I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Margaret said firmly, pulling me into another warm hug.

“Having you here, knowing you’re alive and safe-it’s the best gift we could have asked for.”
Caleb stood up, stretching slightly.

“I’ll show you to the guest room,” he said.

“It’s upstairs, second door on the right.”
“Actually,” Margaret interjected with a meaningful look at her son, “why don’t you give Sera your room?

The guest room is full of boxes from when we helped the Peterson family pack up last month.

Your room will be much more comfortable.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly.

“I don’t want to put anyone out.

I can sleep on the couch.”
“Absolutely not,” Margaret and Robert said in unison, making Caleb and me exchange amused glances.

“My room it is,” Caleb said with a resigned smile.

“I’ll take the couch.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling guilty about displacing him from his own bed.

“Are you kidding?

I get to be the gentleman who gives up his room for a beautiful lady-my mom would be so proud!” He grinned widely, that boyish charm making him look even younger than his years.

“Besides, the couch downstairs is actually pretty comfortable.

I’ve fallen asleep on it watching late-night movies more times than I can count.”
“Let me just…” he started, then stopped abruptly as we reached his bedroom door.

Through the crack, I could see clothes scattered across the floor and what looked like several empty energy drink cans on the nightstand.

“Oh God,” Caleb muttered, his cheeks flushing bright red.

“I totally forgot…

I mean, I wasn’t expecting…” He pushed the door open wider and immediately dove into action, scooping up discarded t-shirts and jeans with lightning speed.

“Sorry, sorry!

I’m usually better about keeping it clean, I swear!”
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him frantically straightening things, his movements quick and efficient despite his obvious embarrassment.

He grabbed the empty cans and shoved them into a small trash bin, then smoothed the rumpled bedsheets with careful attention.

“There!” he announced, standing back with his arms full of laundry.

“Much better.

The sheets are clean, I promise-I actually changed them yesterday.” Another blush crept up his neck.

“Not that I was planning…

I mean, I just like having fresh sheets…”
“Caleb,” I said gently, touched by his flustered sweetness.

“It’s perfect.

Thank you.”
He beamed at me for just a moment before seeming to remember himself.

“Right!

Well, I’ll just…

I’ll let you get settled.” He backed toward the door, still clutching his clothes.

“If you need anything-extra blankets, water, anything at all-just call down the hall, okay?”
“I will,” I promised, warmth spreading through my chest at his obvious care.

He lingered for just a second longer, like he wanted to say something else, then gave me one more shy smile before disappearing down the hallway with his armful of laundry.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself alone in Caleb’s bedroom, surrounded by remnants of the boy he used to be.

Even after his hasty tidying, the room was unmistakably his-walls covered with posters of classic rock bands and old hockey players, a desk still cluttered with automotive magazines and repair manuals despite his attempt to straighten them.

I changed into the oversized t-shirt I’d brought for sleeping and slipped under the covers, breathing in the comforting scent of clean laundry and that subtle hint of aftershave that seemed to cling to everything in the room.

But as I lay there in the darkness, my thoughts inevitably turned to Damien.

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached for my phone and typed out a message.

*How did it go today?

Ophelia texted me about her mom.

Is Adrian okay?*
His response came quickly: *He was perfect.

We had pancakes and went to the park.

He’s currently sleeping and dreaming about dinosaurs, probably.*
Relief flooded through me, followed by a warmth.

*Thank you so much for stepping in.*
*It wasn’t a job,* he typed back.

*Are you safe?* appeared on my screen.

*Yes.

Very safe.

Just processing a lot of information.*
We exchanged a few more messages about my trip, but I found myself reluctant to end the conversation.

The distance between us felt unbearable tonight, and the thought of Damien stepping so naturally into the role of caretaker for Adrian made something deep in my chest flutter with dangerous hope.

Before I could stop myself, I was typing: *I can’t stop thinking about you.

About today, about Adrian, about coming home to both of you.*
Then, feeling bold and slightly reckless: *Is it wrong that I’m getting turned on just thinking about you taking care of my son?*
His response was immediate: *Not wrong at all.

Tell me what you’re thinking.*
Heat flushed through my cheeks as I typed back: *About walking into our apartment and finding you on the couch with Adrian asleep in your arms.

About how domestic and perfect and MINE you’d look.*
*And then what would happen?*
*After I put Adrian to bed?

I’d come back to find you waiting for me.

I’d crawl into your lap and show you exactly how much I missed you.*
The conversation shifted, becoming more intimate as we traded messages filled with longing and desire.

My body responding to his words even across the distance, the mate bond humming with need that only intensified with each text.

*I’m thinking about your hands on me.

About the way you growl my name when you’re buried inside me.

About how desperate you make me feel.*
*Sera…*
*I’m touching myself right now, thinking about you.

Wishing it was your mouth on me instead of my fingers.*
*I want to taste you.

Want to make you come with my tongue until you’re shaking.*
*God, yes.

I need that.

Need you.*
*Tell me where you’re touching yourself.*
*Everywhere.

My breasts, between my legs.

I’m so wet thinking about you, about coming home to you and Adrian.*
*I wish I was there.

Wish I could taste you while you touched yourself.*
The messages continued, each one more heated than the last, until I was breathless and aching with want.

*I love you.

Both of you.*
*Love you too,* came his immediate reply.

*Come home soon.

We need you here.*