Page 24 of Alpha’s Wife

I feel my face going hot, and I try to fight it. “He just doesn’t trust me not to run, that’s it.”

“Of course,” she chuckles. “That’ll be why he’s buying all the things from the bakery, and Lottie has been told to stock the bathroom with all sorts of nice things that I doubt Ronan has ever had use for, and why his scent is wrapped around you. Because he doesn’t trust you.”

I open and close my mouth when I can’t quite find the right answer. It’s clear Emma is amused and on a roll.

“He could have put you anywhere,” she continues. “Locked room, a guard far more menacing than dear Tom, a miserable life. And yet here we are. A girl might wonder what that means.”

“A girl might be better off not wondering,” I say, and it feels honest.

“Mmm.” She smiles. “Safer, that. Definitely.”

A couple of wolves pass through, and I hear Dax talking to them in the background, laughing at something Tom says. For a moment, Emma falls silent, and I wonder if she’s done. I hope she’s done, because I’m on the verge of saying too much, and I need to remember that as much as I like these people, I am a hostage here, and they are loyal to Ronan. Am I a fool to trust them?

The voices fade, and Emma leans closer. “You know my story, how Ronan helped me. He has his roughness, and his desire for revenge is plain to see. But he’s a good man, and I don’t see the villain that many do—outsiders, anyway. He gave me all this and the chance to do good. He does good here.”

“I don’t think he’s a villain,” I say, and the truth feels dangerous. “I should; he’s been a villain to me. But I understand that’s not who he is to you and everyone here.”

“No.” Emma gives me a long look that sees a lot more than I intended. “No, I don’t suppose you do. That’s the problem with him, isn’t it? He’s a beautiful contradiction.”

I look up, surprised at the use of the word beautiful, and see humor dancing in her eyes because she clearly knows he’s hot as hell. I have no words, so I just laugh. It begins quietly, but then Emma joins in, and I can’t help it; the laughter comes louder, and soon we’re cackling. It feels like stress relief, and by the time she pats me on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me to calm down, I feel better than I have all day.

Around midday, a small girl is brought in from the school, clutching a bad cut on her knee and wailing as though the world has ended. I clean it up and find one of the sweets that Emma keeps in the jar for exactly this situation. She stops crying immediately and informs me that I’m her favorite witch—I briefly wonder how she knew I was a witch and assume even her baby wolf can tell I’m different. Other. Emma stands back, watching the whole exchange.

“They take to you,” she says once the girl has skipped back out with her teacher, “the little ones.”

“I’m a soft touch,” I reply. “I looked after some young ones in my coven.”

“You miss them?” Emma says gently.

I nod, feeling the sting of tears that I will never let fall. “Yes, they must be so worried.”

Emma’s face is full of sympathy, and I have to look away. “You’re kind,” Emma says. “That’s why the little ones like you. I’m sure you’ll get to talk to your coven soon, and they’ll be waiting.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing, and as we go back to work, I let the simple rhythm of the day settle me. But the longer I sit in it, the heavier it feels, because I’m so conflicted; I’m so fond of all of them, Emma, Tom, Dax…Bram, even though he’s avoided me since the escape, and that only makes me more determined to win him over again. And I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care that the guard who kept me locked in that cabin is cross with me for escaping. But I see how nice they all are—lost and rough around the edges, but damn nice for it.

Is Ronan nice? No. Nice is not a word I’d ever use for him.

But I can’t forget about all the innocent people on the island who are probably, in the main, also very nice. And probably have no idea that Ronan is standing on the shore waiting to strike. I risked giving him my bond magic last night and didn’t think about them; I only thought of myself. And in the cold light of day, that suddenly feels shameful.

By the time Tom walks me back up the hill, and the light is going, my nerve goes with it, because I know he’ll be there, and I feel more conflicted now than I did when I woke up.

He’s standing at the stove when I walk in, which makes me stop dead in the doorway. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair ruffled, the muscles in his back and arms flex with every movement as he stirs something that smells a lot like proper food.

“You cook now?” I say.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replies, not turning around. “You’ve fed me all week, so it seems only right I return the favor. I heard you’ve had a busy day.”

It shouldn’t surprise me that he knows what I’ve been up to, but it still lands. I’d been braced for a different Ronan—perhaps victorious, smug, or regretful, not this. This feels too domestic and unfamiliar for him. I’m not sure I have the defenses for this.

I walk over as he sets a bowl down for me on the island. It’s some kind of stew, dark and rich, and far better than anything I’ve made all week.

“Eat,” he says, taking a seat, too. “Apparently, you hardly ate at the clinic at all. Emma told me.”

I roll my eyes. “Emma should mind her business.”

He smirks. “Emma minds everyone’s business. It’s why she’s so good at what she does.”

I can’t argue with that, so I do as I’m told and eat. It’s so good I can’t help but tell him, even if I didn’t intend to heap praise on him when I should be more wary. Something in his expression shifts when I do, as though it matters more than it should.