Page 35 of The Alpha’s Heir

I spoke through clenched teeth so the people outside couldn’t read my lips. “What am I supposed to do?”

Whatever truce we’d settled on started to fade as frustration crept onto his face again. “It’s a ring. You say yes, and put it on.”

“Say yes to what?” I blinked, acting dumb while my wolf chuckled.

“To marriage,” he hissed. His knee must’ve been bothering him because he shifted slightly. “It’s a proposal. You say yes to marrying me.”

“Well, you didn’t ask….” I laughed as sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Kidding.” I plucked the ring from the box and slid it on my finger.

The weight felt heavier than it had any right to be, and I let myself turn, wondering what Roman thought as the flashes on the street grew frantic and the crowd started to cheer.

If this was a show for the gods, I didn’t much like it. But I was powerless to stop the trajectory.

The pain on Roman’s face was a knife to my heart. He covered it well, returning to the stone expression I was learning he wore like second skin. A perfect soldier, it seemed.

My wolf whined in protest.

I lowered my gaze to the ring.

It’s like a collar.

It’s not forever. The ring wasn’t a mating mark. I could take it off any time I wanted. And maybe after all this sacrificial wedding stuff was over, I could find a way to untangle this web and convince my mate we belonged together.

I glanced up at Roman again.

Time seemed to slow as his panicked eyes met mine, and then his face contorted into a mask of undisguised rage. “Everyone, down!”

The glass window behind me exploded.

11

Roman

Training for crisis scenarios gets repetitive, but there is a method to the madness. Muscle memory. A learned and automatic reaction. The brain doesn’t have to think as the body moves in the way it was trained.

I was grateful for all the hours I’d put into training now as my heart lurched into my throat when the masked man threw something at Meg through the window.

My vision tunneled. I watched in slow motion as fractures splintered across the windowed wall of the restaurant and the glass exploded into diamonds.

Ironically, I was just telling the officer who’d stopped by that this location for the arranged reporter photo ops was a logistical nightmare.

“Assailant fleeing on foot,” I yelled into the headset as I rushed forward, eyes never leaving Meg. “Five ten. Business suit. Graying hair under the knit black mask he was wearing.”

Meg tilted the table forward, spilling their lunch everywhere, and dragged a screaming Justus behind the cover. She was capable. Smart. That knowledge still wasn’t enough to slow my heart.

Sirens blasted on the street. The officer I’d left in the back of the restaurant moved to isolate the waitstaff.

“Science,” I cursed under my breath, seeing the blood. I should’ve been chasing the assailant—should’ve checked Justus first, because he was my charge—but I needed to look her over for injuries.

“Where are you hurt?” I asked.

“My hand,” Justus moaned. “I cut my hand.”

Meg gasped as I grabbed her by the shoulder, and her eyes widened slightly in question as I leaned closer, turning her chin to make sure she wasn’t harmed.

Ten feet away. That’s how far I was.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “It’s his blood.”