He’s an Alpha She doesn’t Care novel Chapter 139

Hera

She’d arrived a little late to the party that was going on, but all was well. That was all that mattered to her. That matriarch had left the moment she understood what it was Wynta could do. There was no claiming of her back to their bloodline, and no trying to rid her of her abilities either. That would just see the matriarch die herself.

She was unhappy about what she’d just learned, but it was their own doing.

Hera had set all of those seers upon Alpha Dorian. The man would not escape and, as much as she understood Wynta and likely Avetta wanted to kill him themselves, it would not be either of them. He was in custody now, and by the time those seers, all of whom were part of Wynta and Avetta’s direct bloodline, forsaken as it was, when they were done with him.

Yet, the moment Wynta had touched her, it had triggered Hera’s own foresight. She had glimpsed a vision of Avetta with a Mate from this very pack. It was Wynta’s approval that would ultimately lead her mother to accept him, and Hera found herself pondering why he remained silent, rooted in place. Her gaze drifted toward him as they walked.

He stood there, observing, and when their eyes met, he acknowledged her with a subtle nod. Hera felt a flicker of understanding pass between them; he wouldn’t reject Avetta. He likely recognized the torment she had endured. Today, he had been a silent witness to her treatment, drawing his cues from the unfolding events, she surmised.

Curiously, he hadn’t followed them to the hospital, which piqued her interest. Perhaps he was unaware of the true nature of Wynta and her mother’s powers. He likely lacked knowledge about how blood witches operated. By the time this ordeal concluded, she would ensure that Avetta received a band.

Standing outside the room where Avetta had entered with the pack doctor, Hera listened as he introduced himself and one of his nurses. He intended to examine Avetta before determining how to remove the stones embedded in her body, assessing their placement and depth.

Hera lingered in the hallway, contemplating whether to speak with Wynta to clarify the procedure, but her attention was captured by their interaction. The dynamic between them intrigued her, and she decided against interrupting, content to observe. She had no Mate of her own and had long since accepted that she likely never would.

Her life under her brother’s rule had forced her into actions she wasn’t proud of, and the absence of a Mate felt like a penance she was destined to endure. Yet, she found solace in watching newly bonded pairs; their connections fascinated her. As long as no one was harmed, their affairs were theirs alone.

It had taken her years to rediscover her smile and laughter. Even after Hendrick’s departure from the coven, the scars of his tyranny lingered, not just for her but for many who had suffered under his reign. The former king had turned a blind eye to the suffering that had festered under his rule.

However, with the ascension of the new king and queen, the coven had experienced a remarkable transformation. The witches she oversaw were joyful, no longer gaunt shadows of their former selves. They laughed, smiled, and even enjoyed time off. Hera dedicated herself to the long hours alongside Christian, striving to prove she was the rightful heir to Hendrick’s position. She yearned to demonstrate that she could be trusted to lead the royal coven back to its former glory.

The very environment they inhabited had undergone a metamorphosis—brighter, cleaner, and far from the oppressive darkness that had characterized Hendrick’s rule. A thoughtful renovation of their sanctuary had invited sunlight to stream in, and they had adorned the space with plants, transforming it into a cozy woodland home rather than a dank basement.

The witches felt more attuned to the world around them, radiating health and vitality. No longer did they resemble hollow shells; they were vibrant and full of life. Their attire had diversified as well; they wore colorful dresses, blouses, and skirts, with only the royal cloak bearing the king’s insignia to unify them. Without their cloaks, they blended seamlessly into the world, appearing as ordinary people. It was a refreshing change.

She nearly burst into laughter at the playful challenge Wynta had thrown out, watching Jared struggle against the hold of his own beast, which seemed to have him bound in place. She bit her lip, trying to suppress her amusement, as did the rest of his unit positioned nearby.

Clearly, this was a recurring game between Jared and Wynta, a playful rivalry that brought joy to both. The affection between them was palpable, evident to anyone who dared to observe. There was no need for foresight to recognize the bond they shared; it was written all over their expressions.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips when Wynta attempted to claim victory. Even after Jared broke the kiss, he remained resolute, stubborn as she had aptly described him. His entire unit beamed with happiness as Wynta finally relented, allowing Jared to wrap his arms around her. Hera found herself wishing that all bonds could embody such warmth and connection.

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