Alphas' Proud Mate novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77

The room is quiet, unnaturally so.

Not even the wind dares to whisper through the windows. The only sound that breaks the silence is the steady beep of the heart monitor beside Kali’s bed- -a stubborn reminder that she’s still holding on.

Jack hasn’t moved in hours.

He sits like stone, slumped forward in the chair by her bedside, one hand wrapped tightly around hers, the other resting against his lips. His eyes- bloodshot, heavy–lidded, hollow–never leave her face. His beard has grown in rough patches, his clothes unchanged for days. He hasn’t slept. He hasn’t

eaten. He won’t.

Because what if she wakes up and he’s not here?

What if she slips away again and he misses it?

No. He won’t risk it. He’d rather starve. Rather die right here with her than leave and come back to an empty bed.

“Please,” he whispers against her knuckles, voice cracked and raw. “Please come back to me, Kali. Just open your eyes.”

But she doesn’t–not even a twitch.

And it’s driving him mad.

Outside, beyond the glass window that framed the room, the Alpha King stood silently like a ghost–watching.

He should be in there, by her side.

But how could he? How could he face her?

If she wakes, he knows she’ll seek the familiar warmth of her mate–of Jack–rather than the father who once ordered her death… as a birthday gift.

He presses a fist to the windowsill, his jaw clenched with regret. Stupid. Foolish.

The signs had been there. The moment he laid eyes on her, his wolf had howled, pup! That broken, desperate cry still echoes in his mind.

But he hadn’t listened because there had been so many reasons to doubt. Kali bore no scent–nothing to identify her. And in their world, scent is everything. It’s how they recognize blood, bond, and truth. Her absence of scent had been unnatural, as if something had masked or poisoned it.

So he ignored the pull in his chest. Ignored the echo in his soul. Ignored what he felt, because the evidence wasn’t there.

But now… her scent is returning.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Pine and fresh rain–soft, earthy. The smell of home after a long storm.

He doesn’t need the doctor’s confirmation anymore.

She’s his.

His daughter.

His Maya. That’s the name she was born with, even if Kali suits the woman she’s become.

She doesn’t look like the little girl he used to cradle in his arms or spin through the garden until she squealed with laughter, No, this woman is grown. Fierce. Wounded by the world. But beneath the bruises and strength, the delicate shape of her lips… the gentle arch of her brow… those haven’t

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changed.

And he almost destroyed her.

His fingers tremble as he remembers that night–the night everything shattered.

He had just returned from the meeting with the Elders, his temper boiling beneath the surface. The stench of incense still clung to his clothes. Elder Varkos, the high priest with skin like cracked bark and eyes like cold stone, had stood before the royal court and declared Maya–his only daughter–a

curse.

“A blood–bom omen,” Varkos had said. “If not sacrificed before the next red moon, the kingdom will fall into decay. Plagues will claim our people. The skies will refuse to rain. Your Majesty, she must die to save us all.”

The King had barely restrained himself.

He had stood up slowly, voice cold as ice. “If any man speaks of harming my daughter again, I will see their heads in the dirt before sundown.”

That was the day he made the decision–not as a king, but as a father.

He would protect her.

Always.

But when he returned to her chambers to read her favorite story–the one about the wolf who loved the moon–her bed was empty.

But she had vanished without a trace.

Even Tom–the loyal boy who guarded her like a shadow–was missing. Tom, son of the Queen’s personal guard. Her childhood companion. Her protector. He would never leave her side unless… something terrible had happened.

The Elders claimed it was the Moon Goddess who had taken her as a sacrifice, that the curse had lifted the moment she disappeared.

And the King, broken and desperate, had believed them.

For years, he mourned. Felt the ache of severed connection, the unbearable silence where their bond had been.

Then Celestia came.

A child found alone in the woods, bruised and bloodied, with no memory of who she was. The kingdom needed a princess. The people needed hope. They wanted to believe the curse was lifted–that this girl was the Goddess’s gift. A gift from the heavens.

He was too broken to argue.

He took her in.

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But his Queen–his mate–never accepted her.

And slowly, grief ate away at her mind. She began to wither. She would wander the palace halls at night, searching for Maya, whispering her name in the dark. She never touched Celestia. Never smiled again.

And he?

He buried the guilt. Crowned Celestia as heir. Told himself he’d done what he had to do and.

But now…

Now Maya lies just beyond the glass.

Alive.

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Barely.

And the girl he raised as daughter–the one he once protected with his sword—had tried to kill the true heir.

Had manipulated him into nearly doing it himself.

The Alpha King turned from the window, his face shadowed in grief and fury.

Roses once tended with loving hands now stretch wild, curling over rusted fences. And at the heart of it, a forgotten playground.

A single, cracked swing sways slowly in the breeze, even though there’s no wind.

And there–beneath a weeping willow that once held a tire swing–is the Queen.

She sits in a wheelchair, draped in silks that were once the envy of the courts but now hang loose on her frame. Her hair, once golden, tumbles in dull waves. Her eyes… they look right through the world.

Fading.

Fading, like everything she once loved.

She spends most of her time here.

Because once, this was where her little girl laughed.

“My love,” the Alpha King says softly, his voice catching in his throat as he approaches.

No response.

He kneels beside her chair. Takes her frail, cold hand in his.

“Our princess,” he whispers. “She’s back.”

The Queen doesn’t move.

That distant, broken gaze remains locked on the empty slide ahead.

“That girl,” she murmurs hollowly. “She’s not our daughter…”

“No,” he says, gently shaking his head. “Not Celestia.”

He places her hand over his heart, and for the first time in years, his voice cracks with emotion. “I mean our baby girl. Maya.”

At that name, her hand trembles.

“Maya…?” she breathes.

“Our Maya,” he whispers. “She’s alive.”

The Queen’s breath hitches. Her chin quivers. “No,” she says in a strangled voice. “The Goddess took her… She took her from us.”

“She didn’t,” he says, tears finally burning in his eyes. “She gave her back. She has our blood. Our little girl is back.”

A sob bursts from the Queen’s chest, shaking her thin shoulders. Her hand grips his desperately now, t! e behind her eyes cracking like shattered glass.

“If… if she’s truly our daughter…” she whispers brokenly, “then she would have… she would have my necklace.”

The King freezes.

The necklace.

The moonstone pendant shaped like a crescent moon… the one Maya never took off, the one he had clasped around her neck himself when she turned five. The one she claimed would protect her from nightmares.

He remembers it vividly.

And suddenly, a flicker of hope blooms in his chest–hope that Kali’s return might give the Queen the strength to live again.

He clutches his wife’s hands tightly and murmurs, “When she wakes up… we’ll know for certain.”