Page 25 of Alpha Unchained (Wolves of Wild Hollow #2)

"If anyone can outmaneuver Kate when it comes to bacon, it’s you and our baby,” he says with a soft chuckle.

He winces slightly as he rises, careful and deliberate in his movements.

Gently, he slips his shirt off my body and pulls it on, each motion slow and measured.

He doesn’t complain, doesn’t make a sound beyond the quiet exhale of effort, but I can see the pain etched into the set of his jaw.

Still, he moves like a man who won’t let a little thing like bruised ribs stop him from showing up.

I watch him dress. Watch the careful way he moves, the bruises he doesn't try to hide, the quiet way he rolls his shoulders like he's preparing to take on the weight of everything we’ve left unsaid. It stirs something in me—admiration, fear, longing. Maybe all of it at once.

I cross the room to where Kate had left a folded stack of my clothes on the chair last night—leggings, a soft cotton tee, and a flannel that smells faintly of lavender and sun-dried cotton.

I pull them on quickly, grateful for the warmth and the small gesture of comfort from someone who knows how hard it is to keep moving forward when the past is still clawing at your heels.

There’s a mirror on the far wall, but I don’t need to glance at it to know how I look.

The way he’s watching me—like I’m everything he never stopped wanting—tells me all I need to know.

Downstairs, the Rawlings kitchen is a small kind of chaos—the good kind. Coffee brewing, biscuits on the table, someone left a record spinning low in the next room. It’s too domestic, too warm, too real not to ache a little.

The Rawlings' cook is at the stove, expertly managing a skillet of bacon while chatting with one of the younger pack members. The smell of fresh biscuits and coffee fills the air. Kate’s voice cuts through the low din from the communal dining room, where she’s already seated with Hudson and a handful of others.

Her tone is sharp, unmistakable, carried across the space with that effortless authority she wears like armor.

The whole place hums with a kind of familiar rhythm, stitched together with love, legacy, and sarcasm.

She spots Luke and narrows her eyes. “Well, well. Look who decided not to let himself die.”

Luke looks at Hudson. "Are you going to let your mate speak to an alpha male that way?"

Hudson lowers his coffee mug and grins. "Why not? It's amusing as hell to watch, and I could kick your ass if I needed to."

Kate snorts, running her hand affectionately down Hudson's arm. "You tell him, sweetheart."

Luke rolls his eyes. “Good morning to you too, Red,” he says, holding a chair for me before sliding into one of his own with an almost inaudible hiss. He tries not to show it, but I catch the way his hand braces the table.

“Don’t think that breakfast means forgiveness,” Kate warns, narrowing her eyes as she lifts her mug with deliberate calm. “You’re still on my list.”

“Let me guess,” he says, trying for charm. “Not the good one?”

Kate glares. “You’re somewhere between burnt toast and wet socks.”

Hudson chuckles as he turns to me. “Better than last week. Then he was dog puke and unsanded splinters.”

Luke winces. “Progress.”

Kate tosses a biscuit at his head, which Luke deftly catches. “I'll give you one of those. You have to earn the rest.”

I glance between them, already feeling the warmth of something I hadn’t dared hope for: a beginning. I look to Hudson. "Are they always like this?"

He nods. "Pretty much, but if you can get one of them riled at the other, it gets really entertaining."

Luke catches my hand under the table and laces our fingers together. It’s a quiet gesture, but the weight of it settles deep.

Kate eyes the movement, then leans over the table. “If you hurt her again, Luke McKinley, I’ll gut you like a trout and wear your skin as a raincoat.”

“That’s... vivid,” he says, blinking.

“Good,” she replies, sipping her coffee. “I want you to remember it.”

Hudson doesn’t say much, but his presence is solid, quiet. Like he’s keeping the peace by being the wall we all bounce off of.

There’s laughter. There’s food passed around. For a little while, it feels like a real family table. Luke even manages to win a smile out of Kate with a story about a failed moonshine run that ended with two goats, a shotgun wedding, and a pond.

And just as I reach for the jam—wondering if, against all odds, we’ve turned some invisible corner—the French doors are flung open, followed by a gust of cold air.

Hudson’s phone buzzes at the same time. He answers without a word, his entire posture changing. Upright. Alert.

He listens. Nods once. Then hangs up.

“Waylon’s back,” he says, his voice flat and hard. “And he’s not alone.”

My hand freezes over the jar.

Luke is already standing, the warmth of breakfast gone in a breath. His eyes go flat. Cold. Calculating.

“What does he want?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“Probably what he always wants,” Hudson says, rising. “To make a mess and call it power.” Hudson’s eyes flick to Luke. “This time, we don’t let him walk away.”

Luke nods. “I should have known letting him walk away was going to come back and bite me in the ass.”

Kate snatches the last piece of bacon and grins at Luke. “Yeah, you should have.”