Page 18 of Alpha’s Wife

“This way,” I say.

She hesitates, but then follows, weary but clearly cold and too spent to argue. I take her down the hall and open the door to the spare room that always has a bed made because Lottie, the cleaner for the pack hall who insists on tidying up my cabin too once a month, keeps everything ready for a guest, though I’m never sure who she thinks I’ll have to stay. It’s a simple room, but comfortable, and I watch the exact moment she registers that I haven’t taken her to my room, and the way her shoulders drop with relief.

“I’ll have those windows fixed with wards by morning,” I tell her, “but even if you tried to escape, you wouldn’t clear the security system, magic or not, so don’t even try.”

She nods and glances around, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, making her flush even more pink, which I try not to notice. “Where’s your room?”

I grin, letting my canines show. “You want to know where my room is?” I ask, watching as she blushes, shaking her head, a denial on the tip of her tongue. I incline my head. “Across the hall. I won’t bother you in your sleep. You have my word. I’ll have your things brought down, so get comfortable.”

She takes it all in with her jaw set, and she doesn’t argue, which I suspect is costing her something because there’s a fire burning in her eyes.

“I hate you,” she says. There’s no heat to the words, though, just exhaustion, and something else she’s holding back.

“I know,” I say, turning away before my wolf riles me up any further. He’s happier than he’s been in over a month of her being here, all because she’s now under the same roof. And that’s exactly why I didn’t want it to happen, but I’ve had my hand forced, and here we are. She’s a distraction I can’t afford, but if I have to keep her close, then I’m just going to have to use it to my advantage. I’ve never failed to tire of a woman once I’ve had a taste of her—the sooner I fuck her, take the bond magic, and realize that she’s nothing special, the sooner I can get back to concentrating solely on the island.

Chapter 9 - Selene

I wake up warm and far too comfortable, and that’s the first thing that’s all wrong about this. I shouldn’t be snuggled up in this bed.

The feeling nags that I shouldn’t be comfortable here, that there’s something wrong about all this. The light seems different, the mattress is softer, and there are sounds beyond the room that don’t fit. Then I wake up a little more, and as the sleepiness fades, it all comes rushing back in one ugly wave. My wasted escape attempt, the tree line, his hand closing around my wrist, the magic slipping through my fingers, along with my chance of freedom, and the humiliating walk back down the hill. The fact that he had to carry me at one point.

I’m in Ronan’s cabin. I escaped, and I failed. And then I proceeded to sleep better than I have in years, under the roof of the shifter who kidnapped me. It’s like I’ve got a death wish.

I turn my head and spot a bag sitting by the door and a stack of books I recognize on the side table. Someone must have packed up the cabin and brought everything down. Ronan must have brought them in while I was asleep, and I didn’t even notice; the thought unsettles me and makes me blush at the same time, which feels unnerving.

I force myself to get up because lying here feeling sorry for myself isn’t a plan, and if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I need to make better plans.

The room itself gives me nothing useful. The window already hums with freshly enacted wards, the bed is large and undeniably comfortable, with genuine heating, which is rare in these old cabins, and there’s a surprisingly nice bathroom with my belongings waiting to be unpacked. The expectation that I’ll be staying a while hangs in the air.

I dress quickly in a comfortable matching pants-and-top set, wash my face, and rifle through the bag until I find the brush and toiletries. No need to look as rattled as I feel. When I’m satisfied I look presentable, I walk the room, running my hand along the seams of the wards, looking for weaknesses I know won’t be there. When I get to the door, I try the handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and step out into the quiet hallway.

The cabin looks bigger than it did last night, and in some way worse for being so nice.

I turn the corner, and it opens up into the main room, with a long table and beautiful reclaimed flooring, a kitchen at the far end that he has clearly spent money on but hardly ever uses; it looks spotless, like something out of a photoshoot with the large picture window behind it overlooking the docks and ocean beyond, the island just visible in the distance. I can just picture him standing there, looking out at the one thing that has driven him his whole life—even when he’s standing in this beautiful kitchen, with everything he’s built all around him, I bet he still can’t just enjoy it.

I walk through the main room, past the bookshelves that are stacked two deep. I spot one that I recognize from the shelves in my coven’s library, a guide to coastal herbs, and it makes me wonder why a rogue wolf would care to own it. Perhaps it’s Ryder’s; Ronan doesn’t strike me as much of a reader, though looking at all these books, perhaps I’ve got that wrong.

Resting my hands on the smooth surface of the kitchen island, I run my fingers along the grain and consider that it would be so much easier if his home were cold, dark, and scary to match the things he has done to me. Instead, it feels warm, lived-in, and a little lonely, in the way the walls feel a little too quiet. And finding myself feeling sorry for him, thinking of him looking out at that damn island from his own kitchen window, makes a person so much harder to hate than if he were just a straight-up monster.

“There’s coffee,” he says, behind me.

I turn too fast. He’s walking in from the porch with the cold wrapped around him, his dark hair damp, sleeves shoved up his forearms, and my stupid heart starts racing at the sight of him. I tell myself it’s fear, but I know that’s a lie.

“I don’t want your coffee,” I tell him.

“That’s a lie,” he says, crossing to the barista-style machine in the corner, the only thing that looks well used in the kitchen. “You’ve been awake for half an hour. I heard your heartbeat change.”

Damn wolves and their unfair advantages. “Well, that’s deeply invasive.”

“So is tricking a kind boy into leaving the door unlocked, or trying to break wards I spent all night installing,” he says, pouring two cups and holding one out for me. “Truce? It’s only a coffee.”

I take it because I’m never going to win a standoff without caffeine, even if I don’t want to admit wanting it. I take a long, restorative sip, hoping that he’ll just vanish before I’ve finished drinking so I don’t have to deal with him right now. Unfortunately, not only is he still there, but the coffee is so good I also make an embarrassingly contented sigh before I can stop myself.

“You approve,” he grins.

“Clearly a good coffee machine, zero skill required,” I retort.

He shrugs, clearly amused, and leans back against the counter, his arms folded in a way that annoyingly highlights his well-built frame, which I stubbornly refuse to think about, and says, “Emma told me you like rich coffee, and I pay attention, especially to things I mean to keep.”