From Ashes to Alpha

Several days passed since my meeting with Mia in the park. I had returned to my duties, to Amelia's political maneuverings, to the endless responsibility of balancing two worlds that never seemed to stop threatening to collide.

My phone rang just before midnight. Mia's name flashed across the screen, causing my heart to skip a beat. I answered immediately, moving away from the pack members gathered in my living room.

"Mia?" I stepped onto the balcony, closing the door behind me. "Everything okay?"

The silence on the other end lasted a moment too long before she spoke. "Sorry to call so late, James. I just... I needed to talk to someone who understands."

I could hear the strain in her voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly," she replied, her voice soft. "Everything's happening so fast. Too fast."

"Tell me," I encouraged, leaning against the railing, looking at the same night sky I knew she was under, somewhere in the city.

"Can you come over?" she asked suddenly. "I'm at the Royal Grand, Suite 1507. I just—I could use a friend right now."

I hesitated, glancing back at the closed door where I knew Amelia and the others were waiting. "Give me twenty minutes."

The Royal Grand Hotel stood like a gleaming tower of glass and steel in the heart of downtown.

I nodded to the doorman, who recognized me immediately—one of the perks of moving in Amelia's wealthy circles—and took the elevator directly to the fifteenth floor.

I knocked softly on Suite 1507, hearing movement inside before the door opened.

Mia stood there in loose-fitting yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Even dressed down, she looked radiant.

"You came," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Come in."

The suite was extravagant—larger than the entire apartment we had shared years ago when we were both struggling outcasts.

What struck me immediately was the overwhelming scent of flowers. Bouquets of every variety filled nearly every surface of the living area.

"Your admirers have been generous," I remarked, picking up a card attached to a particularly lavish arrangement of white roses. "'Your voice healed my daughter's nightmares. God bless you.' Seems your gift is making quite an impact."

Mia closed the door, running a hand through her hair. "That's part of what I wanted to talk about."

A television was playing in the background, the volume low. I recognized Mia on the screen, performing on what looked like a major music competition show. The ticker at the bottom announced, "Breakout Sensation Mia Wilson Advances to Finals."

"Congratulations," I said, gesturing toward the TV. "You didn't mention you were on 'Voice of a Generation.'"

"It wasn't planned," she sighed, collapsing onto the plush sofa. "My friend entered me as a joke. Then I kept advancing, and suddenly..." She gestured to the room around her, to the flowers, to the stacks of fan mail on the coffee table. "This happened."

I sat across from her, noting the dark circles under her eyes despite her success. "Fame not all it's cracked up to be?"

"Fame is complicated enough for normal people," she said, running her fingers along a pile of envelopes. "For someone like me..."

Her phone buzzed for what seemed like the dozenth time since I'd arrived. She glanced at it and immediately silenced it, tossing it aside.

"Your manager?" I guessed.

"One of three who want to represent me now," she confirmed with a humorless laugh. "Plus four record labels, six major venues, and a skincare company that thinks my 'luminous complexion' would sell their new night cream."

On the television, a commentator was enthusiastically describing Mia's performance. "What sets Wilson apart is not just technical skill, but that indescribable quality that reaches through the screen and touches your soul. Viewers report feeling calmer, happier, even healthier after watching her performances."

Mia grabbed the remote and jabbed the power button, plunging the room into relative silence. "It's getting out of hand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything's happening too fast."

I studied her face, seeing beyond the fatigue to the fear beneath. "What really prompted this call, Mia?"

She rose from the sofa and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of the city skyline.

Neon lights painted the night in blues and purples, reflecting off the glass. She pressed her palm against the cool surface, as if trying to reach through it to the world beyond.

"I got the official notification tonight," she said, still facing the window. "I'm in the finals. Live broadcast, nationwide. Estimated viewership of over ten million."

The implications hit me immediately. "That's a lot of exposure."

"More than I ever planned for," she agreed, turning back to face me. "James, what if my eyes change color during the performance? What if someone recognizes the ancient melodies for what they are? Some of the older wolves still remember the witch songs—what if they're watching?"

I rose to join her by the window, careful to maintain a respectful distance despite my instinct to pull her close. "Those are valid concerns."

"Valid?" she echoed with a short, incredulous laugh. "They're terrifying. If I'm exposed, it's not just me at risk. It's every wolf trying to live peacefully among humans. It's the entire balance you've worked so hard to maintain."

"I just don't know if I should continue with the competition," Mia said, turning back to the window. In the reflection, I could see her fingering the spot where her mother's hairpin usually sat—the hairpin now in my pocket. "This is all too complicated."

I reached into my pocket, feeling the cool silver against my fingertips. The gesture grounded me, reminded me of the simpler connection Mia and I had shared before politics and power came between us.

"What does your heart tell you?" I asked, the question softer than I'd intended.

"My heart?" She gave me a sad smile. "My heart's been a poor advisor in the past."

The statement hung between us, laden with unspoken history—our history.

"Then think of it this way," I offered. "What would your mother want for you?"

Mia closed her eyes, considering the question. "She'd want me to use my gift. To help people."

"Then there's your answer," I said gently. "This is your chance, Mia. To show the world who you truly are—not just as a wolf's daughter or a witch's descendant, but as Mia Wilson."

She turned to me fully now, moonlight from the window casting her face in silver. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not simple," I acknowledged. "But your music is a bridge, Mia. It connects worlds in a way that treaties and politics never could. It shows humans and wolves alike that there's beauty in our differences, in our shared experiences."

A tear slipped down her cheek. "What if I lose control? What if my eyes change on national television?"

"Then wear sunglasses," I suggested with a small smile. "Or change the staging to use dimmer lights."

That earned a laugh, albeit a watery one. "Very practical solutions, Mr. Alpha."

"As for the melodies," I continued, "work with the arrangers. Modify the most potent phrases, dilute them enough that they still work but won't trigger recognition from those who might know."

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tear. "You really think I can do this? Stand in front of millions without exposing what I am?"

"I think," I said, taking a calculated risk and stepping closer, "that you're stronger than you know. You've been hiding in plain sight your entire life. This is just a bigger stage."

Mia looked up at me, vulnerability and determination battling in her expression. "Will you be there? At the finals?"

"Front row," I promised without hesitation, knowing it would cause complications with Amelia that I'd have to deal with later. "I wouldn't miss it."

"And if something goes wrong?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "If I slip?"

I reached out then, unable to stop myself, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I'll be there to catch you. I always will be."

The air between us charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with her witch blood or my wolf nature. It was purely human—the connection between two people who had once meant everything to each other, and perhaps still did.

Her phone rang again, breaking the moment. This time she checked it and sighed. "It's my new vocal coach. I should take this."

I nodded, stepping back. "I should go anyway. Dawn comes early, and I have a meeting with the eastern packs tomorrow."

She walked me to the door, hesitating before opening it. "Thank you, James. For coming. For listening."

"Anytime," I said, meaning it more than I probably should.

"Oh, and James?" she called as I stepped into the hallway. "That hairpin I gave you?"

I patted my pocket. "What about it?"

A smile touched her lips, a genuine one this time. "It's more than just a keepsake. My mother told me it was a protection charm. An ancient witch artifact."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You gave me a magical artifact and didn't mention it?"

"I only remembered after you left," she admitted. "The way you talk about the old bloodlines jogged my memory. Besides..." Her smile turned mischievous. "I figured the big bad Alpha could use all the protection he could get."

Despite everything—the complications, the politics, the tangled web of relationships waiting for me back at the compound—I laughed. It felt good, natural. Like the person I was before the weight of leadership fell on my shoulders.

"I'll treasure it," I promised. "And I'll see you at the finals."

As I walked toward the elevator, I could hear her humming softly behind the closed door—a melody that seemed to follow me, wrapping around my heart with each step that took me further away from her.