Page 82 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

The footsteps behind me stopped.

I turned. Zane stood outside the elevator doors, soaked through, bedraggled, like a child who'd done something wrong waiting for punishment. He still clutched that beat-up guitar, case stained with mud and blood.

"Get in," I said.

He hesitated a second, then stepped into the elevator.

The doors closed slowly behind us. In the cramped space, I could smell him—rain, sweat, blood, and a faint familiar cedar scent. That smell like a key, inserted into some locked door deep in my memory, gently turning.

I shoved that door back shut.

"Clean your wounds," I said, eyes on the jumping floor numbers. "You leave first thing in the morning."

He didn't answer.

The elevator rose. Floor numbers ticked upward. Neither of us spoke, only the elevator's hum and two people's unsteady breathing echoing in the enclosed space.

The door opened.

I walked out, pulled out my key, and opened the apartment. The entryway light was still on, soft white noise drifting from Lily's room.

I stepped aside from the doorway.

Zane stood outside and didn't immediately enter. His gaze moved past my shoulder into the interior—that warm, bright space full of life. Lily's stuffed bunny on the couch, her unfinished Lego castle on the coffee table, her crooked drawings stuck to the fridge door.

His eyes reddened.

"Come in." I took a deep breath. "Don't stand in the hallway."

He stepped inside.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I stood in the entryway, watching his dripping figure in the middle of my living room, light casting his shadow long and longer. His shoulders trembled slightly—from cold, or something else.

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall," I said, voice staying flat. "Clean towels in the cabinet. I'll find you clothes."

He didn't answer. He just stood there, back to me, looking at the drawing on the fridge—three stick figures. An adult with a ponytail, a child with pigtails, and... a tall man with a beard.

Above the drawing, crooked crayon letters spelled: "My Family."

I felt something squeeze my heart hard.

"I'll get clothes." I turned and walked quickly to the bedroom.

The moment I closed the bedroom door, I leaned against it, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

I brought him home because I softened.

This was definitely a mistake.

Chapter Seventeen

Zane

I stood under the shower head, letting the hot water pound against my wounds—Ethan hit hard, that bastard. My ribs were bruised to hell, and the cut above my left eye was still bleeding. But honestly, compared to the last five years, this pain felt like a mosquito bite.

Steam rose around me, fogging the mirror. I stared at my reflection—eye sockets sunken like I'd just crawled out of a grave. Mia was right. I looked like a lunatic.