Alpha's Regret: The Seventh Time was Forever

Corvine stepped out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him, but Seraphine didn’t move right away, her fingers still curled loosely against her lap as she stared ahead, her mind already piecing things together without needing to hear a single word of whatever Ravyn was saying outside.

Damon had told her enough earlier, and honestly, she didn’t need confirmation to understand what this was about, because there was only one person in this world who could make Ravyn stand there looking stripped of his pride like that, and that was Bryan.

Bryan was the only reason Ravyn would ever lower himself this much.

Outside, Corvine tried to keep his composure intact, even as Ravyn blocked his path, his presence tense and unmoving like a wall that refused to budge. "Ravyn, move," Corvine said, his voice tight, like he was holding back more than just irritation, but Ravyn shook his head immediately, refusing without hesitation.

"Please," Ravyn said, and there was something unfamiliar in his tone, something raw and unguarded that didn’t belong to the Alpha Corvine had known for years. "Talk to her for me. Bryan doesn’t have much time left. She has to help."

For a second, Corvine just stared at him, disbelief flickering across his face because the man standing in front of him barely resembled the ruthless Alpha he remembered.

If Corvine hadn’t witnessed everything from the beginning with his own eyes, maybe he would have hesitated, maybe he would have considered making an exception, but he had been there through it all, had seen how Seraphine had been treated, how she had been broken piece by piece, and now this same man had the nerve to stand here asking for her help like none of that had ever happened.

Corvine let out a quiet, humorless breath, his gaze hardening. "You told me to kill her child," he said, his voice dropping lower with every word, the accusation cutting through the air. "And now you think you can just show up here like this?"

Ravyn’s jaw tightened, his pride clearly fighting to rise, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to argue back, wanted to throw the blame somewhere else, maybe even call Corvine out for carrying out that order, but none of that came out, because right now, none of it mattered more than Bryan.

"I’m sorry," Ravyn said instead, the words heavy and unfamiliar, carrying a weight that made Corvine freeze where he stood.

For a brief second, Corvine wondered if he had heard wrong.

The Alpha Ravyn he knew never apologized, not to anyone, and not for anything.

"You’re apologizing?" Corvine asked, his voice edged with disbelief, but before he could process it any further, Ravyn did something that completely knocked the ground out from under every expectation Corvine had.

Ravyn dropped to his knees.

The movement was sudden, but the impact of it hit harder than anything else could have, because for an Alpha, kneeling wasn’t just a physical action, it was a complete surrender of authority, of pride, of everything that defined his position.

It wasn’t something done lightly, and seeing Ravyn like this left Corvine momentarily speechless, his mind struggling to catch up with what was unfolding right in front of him.

He had expected resistance, maybe a heated argument, maybe even a fight like the countless times before, but not this, never this.

"I’m not the one who decides," Corvine said finally, his voice steadier than he felt as he turned and walked back toward the car, leaving Ravyn exactly where he was, still kneeling, still waiting.

When Corvine reached the car, he leaned slightly toward the window, briefly explaining everything that had just happened, every word Ravyn had said, every action that had followed, and Seraphine listened in silence, her expression unreadable, her emotions locked away so tightly that nothing slipped through.

After a moment, she opened the door and stepped out.

Her heels touched the ground with quiet certainty as she walked toward Ravyn, her posture straight, her presence calm but cold in a way that made the air around her feel heavier. When she stopped in front of him, her gaze dropped to where he knelt, her eyes void of any softness.

"You killed my child," she said, her voice steady, cutting clean through the tension. "And now you want me to save yours?" She paused for just a second, her expression unchanged. "Maybe you forgot something. I’m a she-wolf, not an angel."

"Sera, I was wrong," Ravyn said quickly, the desperation in his voice impossible to hide now, his eyes lifting to meet hers with something close to regret. "I should never have hurt our child. You can do anything you want to me, anything at all, but Bryan... he’s innocent in all of this."

Seraphine’s lips barely moved as she spoke again, her gaze still as cold as before. "Is he?"

The question landed heavier than it sounded, because even an animal knew who cared for it, knew who stayed up through the night, who sacrificed sleep and comfort just to make sure it was okay, and no matter what Daisy had filled Bryan’s head with, that didn’t erase the truth of who had been there for him all along.

Ravyn faltered, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out. "It’s my fault," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I shouldn’t have let Daisy influence him like that, I shouldn’t have allowed any of it, but please, Sera, I’m already paying for my mistakes. Just help me this once."

Seraphine didn’t respond right away, but the bitterness inside her twisted tighter, sharper, because she couldn’t help wondering if any of this remorse would exist at all if Bryan wasn’t lying somewhere between life and death right now.

Would Ravyn have ever cared about her pain otherwise?

"I’ll ask you one thing," she said finally, her tone controlled, even as something deeper simmered underneath. "And you’re going to answer me honestly."

Ravyn didn’t need her to finish the question to know what she meant.

"Your daughter..." he started, his voice low, stripped of pretense. "I never understood what you felt until I saw Bryan like this."

The honesty was there, raw and unfiltered, but instead of easing anything, it only made the ache inside her worse, pressing against wounds that had never healed.

"Then maybe," Seraphine said slowly, each word measured, "you can bring my daughter back." Her gaze hardened just a little more. "And then I might consider saving yours."

She turned, reaching for the gate, her hand just about to push it open when something unexpected happened.

Small arms suddenly wrapped tightly around her legs.

"Mommy," a soft voice said, fragile and filled with longing. "I miss you. I want pancakes."

Seraphine froze instantly.