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The door to the cabin opens, and Titus enters, carrying in two jugs, his eyes alight with something I might take for excitement, if I thought the man capable of such an emotion. He strides toward the kitchen, where he sets the jugs on the counter, before rummaging through the cupboards.

Curiosity compels me to follow, and I find him pouring liquid from one of the jugs into a glass. After a moment of sniffing, he sips it, gives a hard shake of his head, and tips the rest back.

I approach from behind, standing on tiptoes to see over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Homemade elderberry wine.” He pours another glass and hands it off to me, which I sniff, just as he did.

Potent.

I’ve never had any kind of alcohol, outside of eucharist wine, the holy blood of Christ, which tasted divine, as I recall. My mother always told me that wine was an acquired taste, and I always joked that I must’ve been vampire, as much as I enjoyed the taste of it.

She didn’t find that funny, of course.

I tip the glass for a small sip, and my tongue puckers the instant it makes contact, the earthy tart flavor dancing over my taste buds. Licking my lips, I close my eyes and open them on a smile. “More.”

Brow quirked, Titus pours a bit more into the glass, then grabs a separate glass for himself, which he fills almost to the top.

“Where did you find this?”

“Out back in the shed, the first day here. There’s a few bottles of it.”

“It tastes like absolute sin. Delicious.”

“It’ll also knock you on your ass, if you’re not careful.”

“I’m very careful.” I take it upon myself to fill my cup to the rim, and carry my drink to the living room, smiling as his gaze trails after me. I plop down onto the couch, nearly spilling the wine as it splashes up the side of the glass. “I shall not be knocked on my ass.”

Titus plants himself on the floor across from me, drink in hand. “Are you reading again?”

“Yes. Would you like me to read aloud?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t bore you to tears the last time?”

There’s a shyness in his eyes when he looks down at his drink. “I like the sound of your voice.”

Burying my smile into my drink, I take a long swill, swallowing down the burn of the alcohol that warms my belly. I pick up where we left off, reading to him, and over the top of the book, I catch his occasional stare before he quickly casts it away.

As if he’s embarrassed.

All my life, I’ve been made to believe Alphas were these sexually charged beasts that would take without asking. I once overheard a girl from the neighborhood, whose father worked at Calico before it shut down, talk about them as heartless, mindless machines that set their sights on women when they raided the hives, and sniffed out all the virgins to plunder.

Yet, this guy can’t even look at me without looking away.

With each chapter, my muscles turn warm and soft, my head light with burgeoning mirth. It isn’t long before I’m straining to see the words on the page and notice the slight slur of my voice that comes as a bit of an irritation. The more I focus, though, the worse it seems to get.

A hiccup pops in my throat, midsentence, and I let out an ungracious snort, slapping a hand over my mouth. “Oops.”

What appears to be a slight smile stretches Titus’s lips, and I lower my book, completely enamored by the sight. It’s the first time I’ve seen the Alpha smile like this. Maybe at all.

“Are you … amused?” I’m drowning in waves of amber, as he lifts his gaze to mine.

“Very.”

“Wasso funny?” I clear my throat in a poor attempt to be serious, which only serves to widen his smile.

“You’re drunk.”