The Alpha Who Regrets Losing Me Chapter 27 – The Connection That Shouldn’t Exist

We didn’t leave the city right away.

That was the first thing that felt different, and it unsettled more than I expected. In the forest, decisions always carried montum; once you chose a direction, your body followed without hesitation, as if instinct refused to let you linger long enough to doubt yourself. Here, however, everything seed to slow just enough to force awareness. Every step, every breath, every glance beca deliberate in a way that made it impossible to ignore what I was feeling.

Rowan didn’t rush , and the absence of pressure only made the situation more real.

We walked side by side through the quieter streets, moving away from the crowded areas without needing to discuss it. The city gradually softened around us, the noise fading into a distant hum, and although the change made it easier to think, it did not make anything simpler. If anything, the clarity only highlighted how complicated everything had beco.

"You’re still thinking about leaving again," Rowan said after a while, his tone calm but precise.

It wasn’t a question, and that alone made it harder to dismiss.

"I’m thinking about options," I replied, keeping my eyes forward.

"That’s not the sa thing."

"It is when you don’t trust the situation you’re in."

There was a brief pause, and then he said, without hesitation, "That includes ."

I exhaled quietly.

"Yes."

There was no point pretending otherwise, and surprisingly, saying it out loud didn’t create the reaction I had expected. Rowan didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, and didn’t try to reshape my words into sothing more convenient. He simply accepted them, and that quiet acceptance made the truth feel heavier instead of lighter.

"You shouldn’t trust ," he said eventually.

That made stop.

I turned toward him, studying his expression more carefully.

"That’s not exactly reassuring."

"It’s not ant to be," he replied.

There was sothing in the way he held my gaze that made it clear he wasn’t trying to convince of anything. He wasn’t asking for trust. He was acknowledging the lack of it.

"But you should understand why I’m here," he continued.

"Then explain it," I said, folding my arms slightly as I faced him.

He paused, just long enough to make think he might actually answer.

Then he said, "Not yet."

I stared at him.

"That’s not an explanation."

"It’s the part I can give you right now."

I shook my head, frustration rising in a slow, steady way that felt far more controlled than anger.

"This is exactly what I ant," I said. "You expect to walk into sothing I don’t understand, and sohow that’s supposed to be enough."

"For now, it has to be," he replied.

"No," I said, more firmly this ti. "It doesn’t."

The tension between us shifted, not explosive, not sharp, but present in a way that refused to be ignored. It wasn’t just about information anymore. It was about control, about choice, and about the line neither of us was willing to cross for the other.

And then, without warning, everything changed.

Rowan reached for my wrist.

The movent was not forceful, and it didn’t feel intentional in the way an action usually does. It was instinctive, almost reflexive, as though sothing in him had responded before he had ti to think. The mont his fingers closed around my skin, the world around us fractured in a way that felt both familiar and entirely different.

The city did not fade into darkness; instead, it seed to peel away, revealing sothing deeper beneath it.

I found myself standing sowhere else.

The air was colder, sharper, carrying the weight of stone and distance rather than asphalt and noise. High walls surrounded , not constructed for beauty but for endurance, rising out of the mountains as if they had always been part of them. Wolves moved through the space with quiet purpose, their presence structured and controlled in a way that felt entirely different from the loose, instinct-driven behavior I had grown up around.

This wasn’t just a pack.

It was sothing more organized, more deliberate, more powerful.

And at the center of it, there was Rowan.

Not the Rowan standing beside in the city, but a version of him that carried a different kind of weight. His presence in that place was absolute, unquestioned, and completely integrated into everything around him. The wolves didn’t just follow him; they aligned with him, as if his existence shaped the structure they lived within.

I could feel it. Authority.

Not loud. Not forced. And undeniable.

Then sothing shifted within the vision. A presence that did not belong. It wasn’t clear, not fully ford, but it carried a different kind of energy, sothing that didn’t align with the rest of the place. It felt like a fracture, like sothing waiting just outside the edges of what I could see, watching without revealing itself.

And then everything broke.

The city returned all at once, sound and movent rushing back in so quickly that it took a second to catch my breath. My heart was pounding, my senses still caught between two realities, and for a mont, I couldn’t tell which one felt more real.

Rowan had already let go of my wrist. But the connection lingered.

"You saw it again," he said quietly.

I nodded, still trying to steady my breathing.

"Yes."

This ti, he didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked more certain than before, as though each repetition confird sothing he had already suspected.

"That place," I said slowly, forcing myself to stay grounded. "It belongs to you."

There was a brief pause.

"Yes," he said.

I narrowed my eyes slightly.

"You didn’t tell you had sothing like that."

"I didn’t tell you a lot of things."

That answer should have irritated more than it did, but instead it confird sothing else, sothing I hadn’t fully articulated until now.

"You’re not just an Alpha," I said.

Rowan held my gaze.

"No," he replied.

He didn’t elaborate, and the lack of explanation made the truth feel larger rather than smaller.

"What was that?" I asked. "The vision, the connection... whatever this is between us."

Rowan exhaled slowly.

"I don’t fully understand it," he said. "But I know one thing."

I waited.

"It shouldn’t exist."

That answer settled into with a quiet weight, because it matched exactly how it felt. This wasn’t sothing natural, not in the way bonds were supposed to be. It was sothing else entirely, sothing neither of us had chosen, yet neither of us could ignore.

We stood there for a mont, the silence between us carrying more aning than any explanation could have.

Then Rowan’s attention shifted. It was subtle, but imdiate.

"They’re watching," he said.

I followed his gaze instinctively, even though I couldn’t see anything out of place.

"Lucien?" I asked.

"No," he said.

That made my chest tighten.

"Then who?"

Rowan didn’t answer right away.

"Soone who knows what you are," he said finally. "Or at least, soone who’s starting to."

The implication was enough.

"We shouldn’t stay here," I said.

"No," Rowan agreed. "We shouldn’t."

This ti, there was no hesitation. No argunt and no delay.

And as we started moving again, leaving the quiet street behind us, one thing beca painfully clear. I hadn’t escaped anything by coming to the city.

I had only stepped into a different part of the sa story.

And whatever this connection between Rowan and was—

It was already pulling us toward sothing neither of us was ready to face.