Mommy, I Want A New Alpha Daddy

AZALEA’S POV — "Where's Elion?" My mother leans over, asking in a whispered hush. I know what she's thinking. This is embarrassing. Lyra is sitting in my lap, tracing the pictures in the book we're holding, distracted and oblivious to her father's absence. I doubt she even understands that this is her grandfather's funeral, my father, the late Alpha Darcus. The pressure of my mate's absence weighs heavily on my chest, making it harder to breathe and easier to let the tears slip. Scanning left to right, I blink the tears away as I twist my head to glance over my shoulder. The disappointment shouldn't be new, but he promised that he'd be here. He wouldn't miss this, would he? My gut twists at the idea of him not coming at all. I don't know why I continuously convince myself that he'd change. "Probably stuck with something from the pack. Alpha things, you know?" Another excuse, another lie— all in the name of our bond— the sacred magic that blessed us. In all honesty, I have no idea where Elion is, he said he'd meet me here and I took Lyra when I left early to make sure everything is perfect. "Alpha Elion is going to be a better Alpha, he will create a super pack once he takes over The Storm Blazers." A woman from two rows back beams, the words slicing like a knife through my chest, and my ears become red with angered heat. This is a damn funeral, and she's talking about merging packs? This is the place and time to celebrate and mourn my father, not gossip about the new It Pack. My bones rattle as anger surges through me. If only they knew truth about their beloved Alpha Elion. My knee bounces as the blood rushes through my veins shakily. "Mommy, I can't read when you do that." Lyra whines, her soft voice calming the raging storm inside of me. My daughter, my biggest blessing. My fingers twirl into the short ponytail dangling to just below her neck, the soft brown locks shimmering as the sun catches the locks. "Sorry, Ly-Bug." I kiss the top of her head, biting my lip as my anger simmers into a bland, empty vessel. "Do you think Elion is busy merging the packs as we speak? He's probably so busy. Who would blame him if he can't even make it?" Another woman sighs as if it's the most tragic thing about all of this. Me. I would blame him. My eyes flutter shut as I clutch the book tightly, my teeth grinding as I force air into my lungs through my nose while the rage sparks again. "Mom," I breathe, standing, "Take Lyra, please." I whisper, handing my five year old replica over to my mother, and the anger bleeds into sorrow at the sight of her teary eyes as she forces a smile while taking my daughter into her arms, giving her an extra tight hug as if Lyra is the only thing that's keeping her together. Some days, I feel like my daughter is the only thing keeping me together. Not my mate, but my daughter. Perhaps the Moon Goddess cursed me with a mate like Elion only to gift me Lyra afterwards. I want to ask if she heard what they had said, but that wouldn't be fair to upset her even more. Gasps and whispers erupt like a wildfire that spreads across the funeral guests, and my attention is pulled to the three people walking through the rows of chairs that are draped with black cloth and occupied with guests. Relief floods my bloodstream at the sight of that familiar dirty blonde hair, but my feet falter as it quickly turns into blazing hot rage when I see who's with him. Bexley, accompanied by a little boy. The coos, the sighs, the sympathy and the condolences that are given as they walk by only adds fuel to the fire, and the looks given by the guests is utterly humiliating. They look like the family. And who the hell was stupid enough to impregnate Elion's step-sister? Elion smiles softly, his eyes carrying the sorrow that's overflowing in my chest. Each step toward me has the very ground I'm standing on quaking. Every breath becomes shorter as my eyes flick between the two. Bexley has her slender arm linked with Elion's, her long fingers clutching the fitted suit I had tailored specifically for him for my father's funeral. Dad liked perfection, and I did everything to make today perfect. I wanted his last day above ground to be just right, to have him look down at me and be proud. And Elion has the audacity to bring her and ruin everything. "What is she doing here?" I question when they stop next to the seat I'm standing in front of, my voice as bitter as the taste in my mouth. "Oh, Azalea." Bexley coons, letting go of Elion to throw her arms around me. "I'm so sorry about your father, I heard he was a great Alpha," The pitiful act is spot on, I must give her that. Her tight squeeze is reassuring and as fake as her bag slung over her arm. There is no way that Bexley, a low ranked omega, could afford a real bag, unless Elion gave her the money. I can feel a crowd of eyes on me, each person watching, and some probably wondering why I'm so cold to my mate's step-sister. "Thanks." I pull away from her, the ghost of her touch has my skin erupting from goosebumps as I internally shiver. Elion's smile is soft, that of a person who wants to make someone else feel better, but I'm not the person he's smiling at. He's smiling at her, as if to thank her for being so kind to me, to silently congratulate her for being able to keep herself together. "It's about to start, let's sit." Elion's hand brushes over my lower back as he ushers me toward the chairs. This is your father's funeral— get it together. Inhaling a breath, I nod my head to the side for my mom, silently indicating for her to sit on the edge so that I can sit next to Elion. "Daddy." Lyra reaches out to him, and he smiles softly, patting her head as he walks right past her and my mother, and he sits down beside me, not even greeting my mother. The silence between us is as familiar as the sun rising each morning, and as a gesture of good will, he gently places his hand atop my thigh, the brush of his thumb over my knee is as electrifying as the first time we touched. I pull Lyra into my arms when she reaches out, "Who's the friend?" She whispers, drawing my attention away from the service. "Your cousin," It's the truth, but also not. Bexley is not Elion's blood, but she is his step-sister, which would make the boy Lyra's cousin. "Where's my book?" Lyra asks, leaning forward to teach for the bag at my feet. Gasping when she tumbles forward, I grab her tightly, pulling her back, "I'll get it." I whisper, leaning down as I scramble for the book. A tap on my arm has my attention drawn to Elion, his hooded gaze dark, "Make her sit still." He hisses, his eyes flicking around us in embarrassment. I open my mouth to tell him that she's only five when Bexley leans forward, her eyes bright in contrast with her dark mascara, a wicked grin curving at her lips. Rage bubbles beneath my skin. I will not ruin my father's funeral. Facing forward, I tuck my hair behind my ear, handing Lyra the book. "Mommy?" Lyra whispers, smiling brightly. I bite down on my teeth, ignoring Elion and Bexley as I give my daughter the attention she wants and deserves. I will not be her father. "Yes, Ly-Bug?" My palm traces circles on her back, "Can I go play over there with the flowers?" She blinks, her bright green eyes shining joyfully. Gulping, I force a smile, nodding as I let her slip from my lap. She runs off, but I don't miss the way Elion's judgmental gaze follows her. -- I silently sit with an aching chest as I try to swallow the tears, but it's no use, because they flow like a waterfall, the stream strong and unstoppable. My mother is sobbing beside me, and I know if I look at her, I will shatter at the sight of her broken expression. Glancing toward Elion, his expression is blank, his eyes cool, and I'm surprised to find his attention on Lyra as she runs around through the flowers. her arms outstretched as she touches the delicate petals with her fingertips, and Bexley's son running around after her. Elion's lips twitch up in a small smile, and I watch as his head tilts in admiration. Perhaps Elion just has a problem showing affection. "I love how great they're getting along," Bexley's voice turns the warmth in my chest into ice. My eyes flick toward the little boy, and my eyes narrow on the boy. My chest shudders as my heart skips a beat when Lyra cries out, her little scream ringing through my head like a bell. On full alert, I raise to my feet as her little petite body comes running toward us. "Daddy!" Lyra cries, arms stretched out toward Elion. Tears stream down her face as she rushes to Elion, who stands up, not bothering to pick her up. The ache in my chest can't be explained as I watch Lyra wrap her little arms around Elion's legs. "What's the matter, Ly-Bug?" I lower to my haunches beside her, glaring up at Elion who's just staring at his daughter like she isn't his blood, unfazed. My eyes flit over Lyra, looking for any injuries. "Ashen..." Lyra snickers, barely unable to inhale a proper breath while crying, "He said I'll die because I don't have a wolf," she cries louder, holding onto Elion's legs tighter and my blood boils at the sight of Bexley's son running toward us, "Mommy!" he beams with a worried expression. The apple clearly doesn't fall far from the rotten tree. "Daddy!" Ashen beams, his eyes locked on Elion. My world turns upside down, the earth has stopped turning, and the sun baking my head has turned cold. Elion doesn't spare me a glance as he peels Lyra's arms off him, and kneels. As he opens his arms for Ashen to run into, my heart shatters into shards tinier than sand grains. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" Bexley's concerned gaze flicks to me, her siren eyes glinting devilishly with a wicked grin stretching across her face to match. "Elion, is he your son?" The words come out shakily, but the question is clear.