Alpha’s Last Gift : A Daughter’s Devotion

After a house fire took my mother and brother, my father—once a powerful Alpha—lost everything. We fled to a city of strangers, where he drank away his sorrows and left me in his shadow. Life was hell, especially when I was diagnosed with lung cancer and he was slowly dying from kidney failure.

In my last months, I found unexpected closure and happiness. I made the heartwrenching choice to give him my kidney, hoping my sacrifice would mend our fractured bond.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got stage four lung cancer.” The doctor’s words hung in the air as I laid on the hospital bed, trying to process what he had just said.

He had wanted to talk to a family member about it first, maybe go over the treatment plan, but when I told him I didn’t have anyone, he hesitated before giving me the news.

I was too stunned to react, not sure if I should feel devastated or relieved. Devastated because I didn’t have much time left, and relieved because maybe, just maybe, I’d finally leave all this pain behind. No one really loved me anyway. The only family I had, my biological dad, wished I was dead and never wanted to speak to me again.

I sighed, saying nothing. The doctor cleared his throat and added, “You’ll need to stay in the hospital a bit longer until we get your condition stable. We can discuss further treatment later.”

I just nodded, and he left the room.

Three days ago, I was at work when it happened. My head started spinning, and my chest felt like it was being squeezed by a vise. I couldn’t catch my breath, and then I blacked out. I had been dealing with chest pain and shortness of breath since I was a teenager, but I always brushed it off. I didn’t have the money for doctor visits, so I just pushed through. But lately, it had gotten worse. I was coughing up blood and feeling weaker by the day.

Someone called an ambulance, and I ended up here, going through test after test. On my first morning in the hospital, Mia, a colleague from work, showed up to visit.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to see her.

“Silly, I came to check up on you. I saw you faint yesterday and called the ambulance. I was worried,” she replied, her voice filled with genuine concern. We both worked as cleaners at a casino, and I had only known her for a few months, but it touched me how much she cared.

She handed me my belongings—the bag I took to work, my uniform, everything. “I’ll just put these here, okay?” she said, opening the stand next to the bed.

“Thanks, Mia. You didn’t have to come. Don’t you have a shift today?” I noticed she was still in her work uniform, probably coming straight from the night shift.

“I’ll stay until lunch,” she said with a smile, and for the first time in a while, I felt a small flicker of warmth in my chest.

After that, a nurse brought in my lunch. I’ve always hated hospital food—too soft, too bland. This time, they gave me steamed veggies, mashed potatoes, and some kind of soup. I couldn’t help but make a face.

Mia noticed and laughed. “Come on, eat up. I’m not leaving until that plate’s empty.”

I rolled my eyes but started eating, though not happily. Mia kept chatting, making jokes, and generally keeping the mood light. I realized we were talking more today than we had in all the months we had worked together. I’ve always been the quiet type, especially at work—I just like to stay out of everyone’s business. But Mia was different, genuinely nice.

She actually cheered when I finished eating, like I had done something impressive. Then she helped me get to the bathroom. I felt gross and needed to clean up, and of course, Mia had thought of everything, bringing me soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a towel.

After she left, I pulled out my phone from my bag to check for any messages. Not much, just one from Rosetta, a girl I kind of consider a relative. She had texted me earlier, that morning [Phoebe, will you come home for New Year?]

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before replying, [I’m not sure, I’m still sick.]

She responded almost immediately. [Please make time, it’d be great if the three of us could spend it together.]

I sighed and typed back, [Okay, I’ll try.]

New Year’s was just two days away. Most people would be making plans with family or friends, but with my messy family situation and lack of close friends, I usually just spent it alone, sleeping through it all in my apartment.

I sat there, still in a daze, trying to wrap my head around how I could end up with something like this. I had never smoked a day in my life, but I worked two jobs—a waitress in a bar and a cleaner at a casino—so I guessed I had been around more than my fair share of secondhand smoke.

My dad was also a chain smoker and an alcoholic. I hadn’t lived with him for years, but for the last eight years of my life, that was all I knew. Now, Rosetta was the one staying with him, taking care of him because he couldn’t do much on his own anymore.

I didn’t know how to process it all. It was a shock, for sure. I had heard about people losing their lives to cancer, seen it happen to others, but it was different when it was me. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell my family about it.

Two days later, the doctor came to check on me again and asked what I wanted to do. He laid out my options—chemo, surgery—but he didn’t sugarcoat it. The chances of it working were low.

I told him I wanted to go home first, and he nodded like he understood. He said I should be with my loved ones and try not to stress too much in my condition. I gave him a bitter smile. If only it were that easy.

After handling all the paperwork on my own, I walked out of the hospital, feeling weak. The cold hit me as soon as I stepped outside, but the streets were still bustling with people wearing funny hats and blowing trumpets.

That was when it hit me—tonight was New Year’s Eve. Everyone was out, either heading to parties or cozying up with their families by the fireplace. But here I was, all alone.

I found a bench at the bus stop and sat down, the shelter overhead keeping the falling snow off me. I just watched people as they passed by, their faces telling different stories. Some looked like they were in a hurry, others were tired, but most were smiling, laughing, and enjoying the night with friends or loved ones.

Then I saw a family of four walking together. The dad carried the littlest one, while the older kid—maybe five years old—held onto the mom’s hand. They looked like they had just come back from grocery shopping, probably lived in the neighborhood. Watching them reminded me of my own childhood, back when life felt perfect and I was happy.

We were a real family back then, in our own way. But one night changed everything. Out of nowhere, a fire broke out in our house. We were all asleep, but I remember someone grabbing me and pulling me outside. I was half asleep, but I could feel the heat, the smoke choking me as I coughed hard. It was one of the Omega maids, Olga, carrying me out.

I was so disoriented and started crying, calling out, “Dad, Mom, Christof!” But before I could get any answers, I passed out.

When I woke up, it was daylight, and I was in the pack’s infirmary with an oxygen mask strapped to my face. Healers were rushing around, and I felt this sharp pain in my chest and throat.

I started crying again, and Olga noticed. She came over, hugged me tight, and tried to comfort me. “Miss Moore, thank the Moon Goddess you’re awake! You’re safe now, everything’s okay.”

I couldn’t speak, but I tried to ask about my family. Olga just told me to eat first and handed me a bowl of porridge and a glass of warm milk. I didn’t want to eat, but she insisted, so I forced it down as fast as I could.

As soon as I was done, I looked at her and begged her to take me to my family.

Olga looked at me with a worried expression, then gently caressed my cheek. She helped me out of bed and led me to another room.

As soon as I stepped inside, I saw my dad sitting by a bed. Relief washed over me—he was covered in white bandages, but he was alive. I tried to call out to him, but my voice was gone, just a raspy whisper. He was crying, his face buried in his hands, and I felt panic rise up inside me. My eyes filled with tears as I rushed to his side.

When he noticed me, he broke down even more, pulling me into a tight hug. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me,” he kept repeating, his voice shaking with guilt. I didn’t understand what had happened, but seeing him like this scared me.

I mouthed, “Where’s Mom? Where’s Christof?” and that was when he started crying again. After a moment, he stood up and looked at the bed next to him. I had not noticed it before, but someone was lying there, completely covered in a white cloth. My dad’s hand trembled as he reached out and slowly lifted the cloth.

It was my mom. Her eyes were closed, and her face was smudged with black ash. The smell of burnt wood filled the room. I was too young and too naïve to fully grasp what was happening, so I looked up at my dad, hoping for some kind of explanation. But all he could do was shake his head and cry harder, sinking to his knees.

He hugged me again, his voice breaking as he told me that Mom was gone. The world around me started to blur, everything becoming distant and unreal. Dad kept talking, saying that he had managed to get her out of the house last night, but she had inhaled too much smoke and died from gas poisoning.

Then he told me the worst part—he couldn’t save Christof. My brother was trapped inside, and by the time they found him, all that was left were his bones on his bed.

I was in shock. It was too much for a tenyearold to handle. Just last night, we were having dinner together, and now Mom and Christof were gone.

I stared blankly as Dad told me everything. He then asked Olga to take me back to my bed and get some rest. But I couldn’t. As soon as I laid down, the reality hit me, and I started crying uncontrollably.

I tried to get up again to see my mom, but Olga held me tight and called for help. I screamed as loud as I could, but it was like no sound came out. Eventually, they had to sedate me so I’d calm down and finally fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up, the infirmary was quieter. I saw Dad lying on the bed next to mine, his eyes closed. I panicked—what if he was gone too? I called out to him, my voice barely a whisper.

After a few tense moments, he opened his eyes. Relief flooded over me. He gave me a tired smile, his eyes puffy from all the crying.

Later that day, we headed home. Our manor was mostly burned, so we had to move to another house in the pack—a guest house that had been empty for a while.

Some of the Omega maids had died in the fire too. Their bodies were buried alongside Mom and Christof earlier that day, but the official ceremony would be held in a few days. We all needed time to recover first. These last few days were a rollercoaster of emotions for me.

As Dad and I walked into the new house, an eerie emptiness settled over us. It felt so different without Mom. She would’ve been checking every room, commenting on things, and making sure everything was just right.

She had such a strong presence, as befitted a Luna, and I admired her for that. Meanwhile, Christof would have gone straight to the best room to settle in. But now, it was just the two of us, and the house felt so much emptier.

It felt so strange not having them around anymore, and my eyes started to well up again. We walked into the house in silence. Dad took me upstairs to a room that was supposed to be mine and told me to stay put.

I just nodded, feeling numb. A few hours later, I could hear people talking downstairs—probably one of Dad’s Alpha meetings. I stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything crash down on me. I glanced out the window at the bright moon and whispered a prayer to the Moon Goddess, hoping for some kind of protection for my family.

Then, I heard a frantic knock on my door. It made me jump, and I called out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Olga. Please open the door!” came the urgent reply from the other side.

I opened the door, and Olga quickly told me in a hushed voice that I needed to come with her.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Alpha Colby will meet us where we’re going,” she replied.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but her serious look made it clear I should follow. She grabbed my hand, and we rushed to the back door. She told me to transform, and I could tell from her expression that it was important.

We took off running, and I struggled to keep up with her, even though she was an Omega. She was incredibly fast. Once we were a good distance away, she shifted back to human form and pulled out some clothes from her backpack for us to change into.

“Where’s Dad? Why are we so far from the house?” I asked, but she just told me to hide behind some trees.

I waited anxiously, my heart pounding. Eventually, I saw a figure sprinting toward us—it was Dad. His scent made it clear. I tensed and glanced at Olga, who was still beside me. She stepped out to hand him some clothes as he stopped, looking injured and out of breath.

I came out too and asked Dad what was going on, but he ignored me, quickly changing clothes. “When will it come?” he asked. Then, Olga responded, “In just a few minutes.”

I had no idea what they were talking about when I heard a terrifyingly loud sound approaching. It was so overwhelming that I flinched, and Dad pulled me into his arms, trying to comfort me.

The noise grew louder, like a horde of beasts closing in. I shut my eyes in fear as Dad held me tightly and said, “Phoebe, come here!” He carried me close, trying to shield me from the terrifying sound.

Suddenly, I felt a heavy rush of wind sweep over us, and my father leaped into the source of the terrifying noise. We landed on a hard, cold surface.

When I looked around, we were inside a small, moving box. Later on, I figured out that this noisy thing was called a train, and we had sneaked onto it. Olga was with us, and we had landed in a container packed with boxes. Once she was sure we were safe, she said, “The pack isn’t safe anymore. We need to move.”

“Why? Aren’t they all family?” I asked, not understanding.

They didn’t explain further, even though I kept asking. Olga pulled out some plain bread and water from her backpack, and we shared a simple meal together.

We couldn’t just move to another pack; a fallen Alpha like my father could be seen as a threat. So, that was how I ended up in this place, New Arcadia. Meanwhile, Olga jumped off at then nearest city from the pack to keep an eye on things. She gave my father an address to contact us once we were safe.

I snapped back to reality when a loud noise grabbed my attention. I looked up and saw beautiful fireworks lighting up the sky, followed by the sounds of horns and New Year celebrations. This was one of the human creations I had come to admire. After living among them for years, I had learned a lot about their customs and culture. They might not have our werewolf power and speed, but they made up for it with their cleverness.

The fireworks kept lighting up the sky for another five minutes, and I just sat there, tearyeyed. The dazzling display felt like a cruel joke against my miserable situation—diagnosed with cancer and spending New Year’s all alone. I didn’t think things could get much worse.

I knew I couldn’t reach out to my friends or colleagues; they were probably busy celebrating with their families or close friends now. I didn’t feel like I really had anyone I could call a close friend—most were just acquaintances.

However, life had dealt me some serious blows before. A few months after we moved to New Arcadia, I found out the real reason behind the fire that night. One of the pack members had been plotting to take my father’s place. He set the fire and then rallied followers to attack my father right after we had settled into our new house. My dad, still wounded and grieving, wasn’t prepared for the sudden assault, and he was defeated.

At least he managed to warn Olga in time. She got me out of there and planned for us to escape together. Now, as I glanced up at the moon, I wondered if the Moon Goddess still cared about me. Things had been so tough lately, and it felt like She had left me behind a long time ago.

My phone buzzed, and it was Rosetta calling. “Phoebe, why aren’t you coming home for New Year’s?” she asked.

I froze when I heard Rosetta's voice. I had completely forgotten about my promise from a few days ago. After a moment, I said, “Sorry, I was busy tonight, but will come by tomorrow morning.”

Since we had first arrived to the city, my dad and I had been crashing at our distant relatives, the Marskes’. Randle Marske had met my father a few times when he visited the city, and when we moved here, he and his daughter Rosetta welcomed us with open arms.

Randle wasn't a werewolf, but his late wife was an Omega from our pack. My father had once protected her, and she had moved here, marrying a human. Rosetta and I were close in age, which helped us bond quickly.

“Colby, make yourself at home,” Randle had said when we first arrived. “We’ve got plenty of room here. We owe you a lot.”

“Thanks, Randle. I really appreciate it,” my father replied.

“Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you need. It’s pretty quiet with just me and Rossie here,” Randle assured us.

After we settled in, my dad struggled to find a decent job. With no official university certificate, he could only get work as a laborer. I was enrolled in the cheapest school in the neighborhood, but it was fine.

Surviving up to this point was something to be thankful for, but I was juggling a lot. I worked odd jobs—distributing flyers, pet sitting, yard work, running errands—to make ends meet. The education system here was also different from what I had known back in the pack, and keeping up with homework and jobs was overwhelming.

Over the years, my dad had also gotten worse. He had fallen into a deep depression, drinking heavily and losing the strength and charisma that used to make him so admirable. Now, he just seemed tired and detached, watching TV and stacking up cans of beer.

Three years after we moved in, Rosetta’s father had a heart attack and died suddenly. It hit us all hard, but it seemed to devastate my dad the most. He became even more withdrawn and irritable, and our relationship suffered. He stopped being affectionate and started blaming me for everything—if the house wasn’t clean, if I didn’t do the dishes, or if dinner was late.

I wanted to tell him I was exhausted, but he would just lash out, calling me a spoiled brat and saying he regretted saving me. He would also compare me to Rosetta, saying we wouldn’t have made it without her and her family’s help. I’d bite my tongue and get the work done, avoiding arguments. Our interactions became a constant source of tension, filled with hurtful words and broken things. I would leave crying, and he’d drown his sorrows in more drinking. It was a painful cycle.

But now, with my time running short, I was thinking it might be worth reaching out to him again. Maybe I could see him and finally tell him about my illness.

I slowly walked back to my apartment, where I had been living alone for the past two years since I turned eighteen. It was just a few blocks from the hospital, but with no buses running this late and a taxi being too pricey, I braved the cold winter night on foot. I bought a cup of coffee to warm my hands along the way.

When I finally made it to my apartment, I was hit with a nasty coughing fit as soon as I got inside. I turned on the old heater and collapsed onto the sofa, wrapping myself in a blanket. But the coughing wouldn’t let quit, and then I noticed red clumps of blood on my hand.

Panicked and shivering, I grabbed some tissues and tried to calm myself. I remembered the medicine the doctor had prescribed and took it before forcing myself to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up way too early because the heater had stopped working and the room was freezing. I added an extra blanket and tried to catch some more sleep.

A few hours later, my alarm blasted, jolting me awake. My body was aching, but I dragged myself into the shower for a quick cold rinse. I had promised to visit Dad today, so I got everything ready and even cooked some lasagna for us to share before heading out.

When I arrived, Dad barely looked at me, while Rosetta greeted me with a warm hug. “Here you are! I was worried—you said you were sick,” she said.

“That’s probably just another lie. She’s never honest and doesn’t care about us,” Dad suddenly blurted out.

Rosetta was always kind, and I felt bad for her being caught in the middle of our family drama. She tried to stay neutral, but Dad clearly favored her over me, even treating her like his own daughter.

Things had gone south when I turned 18. After some humiliating photos of me were sent to him from an unknown number, Dad flipped out, calling me all sorts of names—slut, whore, bitch—without letting me explain. He said my mom would be disappointed and that I should just leave because he couldn’t stand me.

Since then, he’d only cared about Rosetta and shut me out. Now he even called her “Rossie” while giving me the cold shoulder though I had been juggling multiple minimumwage jobs just to make ends meet and send money to Dad.

I couldn’t even go to university with all the work and stress. Rosetta worked parttime too, but her paycheck wasn’t enough to cover everything, especially since she was mostly at home taking care of Dad.

“What the hell are you doing here anyway? I don’t like seeing your face,” my father grumbled.

“I invited her,” Rosetta quickly said, trying to ease the tension. “I thought it’d be nice if we spent some time together as a family. Right, Phoebe? Oh, you brought lasagna!”

She served up three plates and urged us to eat. Dad hesitated, and as I looked at him, I noticed how much older and worn out he seemed. Life hadn’t been easy for either of us, but it didn’t excuse the way he treated me.

Rosetta tried to lighten the mood by asking, “So, Phoebe, how’s work going?”

“Not bad,” I replied. “I’m working as a cleaner at a casino and doing some waitressing at a bar.”

Dad scoffed, clearly unimpressed with my jobs. I bit my tongue instead of reminding him that those jobs were keeping us afloat.

He hadn’t worked in years, his body too broken down from drinking. He couldn’t even transform into a werewolf anymore. Every few months, I’d go off on my own, camping in the forest or mountains, hunting, and transforming under the moon just to feel connected to my old life.

During those moments, I’d stare blankly toward the south, where my pack was, wondering what it was like now. I also thought about Olga. We had lost contact after we got here, and my father never mentioned her or anything related to the pack anymore.

After we finished eating, I noticed the usual sight: empty beer cans scattered around. He was still drinking heavily, nothing had changed.

I went to Rosetta’s room, and she looked concerned. “Phoebe, your dad’s getting worse. But he just won’t quit drinking.” I was worried too, but I didn’t know what to do. He never listened to me anyway.

Rosetta encouraged me to talk to him anyway, so I took a deep breath and walked over to where he was, sitting in his usual spot on the sofa, glued to the morning news. I tried making small talk, but he just ignored me. Finally, I asked, “Dad, are you still drinking?”

No response. I pressed on, “I really think you should stop…”

However, he cut me off, defensive and angry. “Shut the fuck up. You think you’re better than me? Look at what you’ve become!”

Normally, I’d snap back, but I was too drained. I just said, “I’m only saying this because I’m worried I won’t be able to pay for it if you get really sick.”

That made him even angrier. “You’re a terrible daughter, nothing like Rosetta!”

I tried to keep my cool. “Money’s tight, and I’m sick too. I need to take care of myself.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back. “You’re just being selfish after everything I’ve done for you.”

He didn’t even care enough to ask about my illness. I felt that the conversation was going nowhere, so I walked away to my old room.

As soon as I got inside, I started crying. I didn’t even know when it started, but every time we talked, I ended up in tears.

He was a trigger for me, which was why I stayed away most of the time. I looked around the room, remembering when we first came here.

All I had was the clothes on my back and a backpack from Olga. Inside were some bread and a little cash she had managed to pull together. That money kept us going for about a month. Afterwards, Rosetta had shared some of her clothes with me, and Dad had bought me a few things—furniture, clothes, and toys, mostly in pink.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, I heard my father shouting from the TV room, telling me to take all the stuff from my old room to the basement or just sell it since I was never there anyway.

My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. This room was the closest thing I had to my childhood and my father—a time capsule of better days. But maybe it was time to let go. I wasn’t going to live long anyway, and it’d be easier to do it now than leave it for someone else later.

I spent the day packing up the room with Rosetta’s help and by the afternoon, I had a moving truck come to take the larger pieces—the bed, the cabinets, the tables—to a charity center. My dad just watched from his usual spot on the sofa, sipping from his beer cans.

Later that night, Rosetta asked me to stay for dinner, but I was drained. “I just want to sleep. I woke up way too early today,” I said.

I left without a word from my dad, who didn’t even glance in my direction. The cold air hit me as soon as I stepped outside, and I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. At the bus stop, I started coughing again, this time spitting up more blood. I wiped it away with my handkerchief, but as I went to board the bus, my chest tightened, and everything started spinning.

This time, more blood spurted from my mouth.

In a daze, I collapsed.

Was I about to die?

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