The Alpha Donated His Kidney to Make Sins

I'm Crystal Chase, the pampered only pup of the Chase pack, and after sifting through a whole litter of prospects, I bound myself to a wolf who might as well have been mute

Every message I fired off? He read it and ghosted me.

Every call I placed? Straight to voicemail, no pickup in sight.

That first year we were bound, I woke up in the dead of night burning up with a fever , barely clinging to consciousness as I rasped out voice memos to Preston Lewis, begging for help.

It wasn't until the housekeeper swung by the next morning to tidy up that she found me passed out cold and rushed me to the hospital.

That same night, Preston finally dragged himself home and coolly informed me he'd be crashing in the guest room, because I'd trashed the master bedroom in my delirium.

Year two of our bond, I was mugged on some foreign street, the blade so close to my throat I could feel the cold kiss of steel.

Terrified out of my mind, I dialed Preston, he was nearby, or so I thought screaming for him to come get me.

Ten calls. Nada.

A total stranger wolf ended up sticking by my side, getting me patched up at the healer's.

Five hours later, Preston rang me up, chewing me out for blowing off the pack banquet.

...

By year five, my ride's controls went haywire on the interstate, flipping me into a wreck that cost me my pup.

In the endless drone of that dead line, I felt the little life slipping away bit by bit, and that's when I finally snapped out of it for good.

I stumbled off the healer's table, grabbed a hammer from god-knows-where, stormed into Preston's office, and smashed his phone to smithereens. "If you can't check messages or pick up calls, what's the point of keeping the damn thing?"

Preston just stood there, cool as a winter frost, letting me rage like a cornered she-wolf.

Until a custom chime pinged from the wreckage, a special tone he'd set, and it cut off under my hammer's swing.

For the first time, a hairline crack split his icy calm. He snatched his keys and bolted down the stairs.

I hailed a ride and tailed him.

Half an hour later, his wheels pulled up to some swanky apartment complex.

In the blaze of midday sun, I spotted her: a she-wolf, cradling her swollen belly, easing out of the building unit with tiny steps, her face whiter than fresh snow.

From the side, she looked young.

Preston hustled over, let her sob out a few words, then scooped her up bridal-style, gentle as handling glass.

"The pup'll be fine, I swear. Don't worry..."

I gripped the cab window so hard my nails cracked, blood trickling warm and sticky.

Turns out, the wolf I'd shared a house with for five years could drop everything for a single ping.

He could wear worry on his face