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Greyson puts food away while I distractedly cook cheddar cheese omelets and bacon for us.

He’s watching me, studying me. And I feel self-conscious. He wants to ask questions, but he’s giving me some headspace, and I both appreciate and feel guilty about it.

When we sit down at the dining table, he asks, “So, what did you do for your pack? Did you have a role there?”

“I helped out with the family business. Did some paperwork. Returned phone calls and handled the office. Ordered supplies. I also took on a caretaker role for the elderly and some of the young wherever needed.”

“Took the role of an alpha’s mate, by the sounds of it.”

“I guess I kind of did.”

He studies me for a moment before adding, “An alpha’s mate’s role around here? Anything you want it to be.”

“Females aren’t given much freedom there.”

He studies me and I’m sure he’s waiting for me to elaborate.

I don’t.

“This is good,” he says after tasting a bite of omelet.

“I love to cook. But I think baking is my… specialty.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I mean… I think so, anyway. I love that there are two ovens on the wall. That’d come in handy.”

“Maybe I had some foresight, huh?”

I smile and take a bite of food and try to chew daintily even though I’m so hungry my belly hurts.

“How come you served me double the food you’ve got?”

“I don’t have a very big appetite.”

This sounds better than admitting it’s automatic for me to give the alpha the biggest portion. Greed in our pack is a sin. Supplies haven’t been abundant for a very long time. But there’s definitely one greedy individual in the pack, the one running and ruining things.

I made him a three-egg omelet, myself a two-egg one. I made him five slices of bacon, myself two. I made him two pieces of toast, myself one.

In truth, even though my portion is much smaller than his, it’s still a big breakfast for me. Much bigger than I’m accustomed to. Before working in the diner, some days I was lucky to eat this much in an entire day.

He’s not eating slowly. He looks like he’s enjoying it, and he’s nearly finished before I’m even halfway done, so I try to eat faster without making it obvious as he’s sitting across from me, talking about his village, telling me about his sister, his folks. His father was in the last council of seven alphas. Some of the alphas on his council are second or third-generation council alphas. Tyson is fourth or fifth, Greyson believes, but remarks that his sister would know for sure, though this is the first time two Savages have been on the same council. Greyson and his council have been in the position for the past few years, but until recently, the former council was still heavily involved as they transitioned into their roles.

I slow down when I realize he’s not in a hurry for me to finish, just leisurely drinking his coffee while chatting with me. In our pack, the men and women rarely even eat together.

We load the dishwasher together and he sweeps the floor while I wipe down the counters. When I’m done and hanging the towel, he crowds me from behind, one palm landing on the counter on my left, his right hand sliding up my right thigh underneath the shirt.

My initial instinct is to seize up tight and brace. So I do. But once his mouth lands on the bitemark on my neck, his hand sliding past my hip, gliding up my torso, stopping to cup my breast underneath his shirt, not only do I loosen up, my head lolls back and lands on his shoulder. His attention on that spot on my neck feels… incredible.

A deep, vibrating rumble rolls out of him while his mouth closes over the mate mark, making my body go gooey as sensations shuttle through me.

I’m dazed when he turns my body so we’re facing one another. The look in his eyes makes my knees buckle. But that’s okay, because he’s lifting me by my hips now to set me on the counter. His hand on my breast begins to knead as his thumb caresses my nipple. He pulls me closer to the edge of the counter with his other hand, then begins to explore between my legs.

I’m immediately slippery, which is so, so strange to me. He plays for a moment as I’m focused on sensation and quickly gasping as his hand leaves my breast, feeling almost disappointed that he stopped what he was doing there until I realize why. He’s freed his erection from his jogging pants and now he’s filling me. Filling me, pulling sounds from me, making me feel those amazing sensations again.

He lifts me and kisses me on the mouth as he carries me through to the family room, his erection still deep in me as he moves us.

It feels inexplicably good.

We’re on the soft furniture, him on top of me, and I find myself fascinated with the expressions on his face, with the sensations inside myself as I feel this odd, new connection we have expanding even further. My mate drives into me over and over while he stares straight into my soul.

There’s so much power within him. Not just his physical strength, either. He has this larger-than-life light about him. This is true alpha confidence, I think - a combination of inner and outer strength. Wisdom. Awareness. I can’t decode all my feelings I’m feeling, but they feel massive. So big I’m afraid I can’t contain them all.

The connection between our gazes is terrifying. And beautiful. If I’d known this was really a possibility for me, I’d have spent my life searching for it. This is such a surprise. Such a beautiful, overwhelming surprise.

He expands within me, and the tremors begin, pulsing inside in a way that has my body bucking as I hold on tight.

Greyson starts working on my mate mark with his tongue again, making me whimper. I can’t get over how sensitive the spot is. I grip his muscled back and enjoy the strength of him, the heat of his body, the safety I feel right now.

Burying my face into his throat, I feel the sudden urge to mark him, too. To leave my own imprint on him. I push the thought away, unsure how he would react to my teeth.

“You feel so fucking good, Stacy,” he rumbles against my throat, before he attacks my mouth with his again, strong lips coaxing mine open, then slipping his tongue in just enough to touch mine. I follow his actions by copying them and it seems to drive him wild. His hands are in my hair as the vibrations continue to thrum against very sensitive places inside me.

Oh, my stars. My heart races. My body writhes. My very soul croons a song about the glory of Greyson Blackwood’s knot.

He’s grunting while he rocks me into the couch with his pelvis, then he lets out a load rumbling roar before he stills on top of me.

I’m staring at the ceiling, tears pricking my eyes as the sensations ebb while my hands feel the goosebumps on his back.

His cock slips out of me, but instead of moving away like most men do at this point, his mouth presses kisses to my throat again. He begins to purr as he flips us so that I’m on top of him. I snuggle in.

His hand caresses my behind as he presses his lips to my forehead, and he’s catching his breath. He’s feeling things, too. Like I am.

“I can’t believe I thought sex was something to just…endure. When you have it with your fated mate, it’s so different,” I blurt, nuzzling into his warmth, feeling happy at the feel of his strong arms around me. “You don't need lubrication and you’re not even rushing to get away from me now that it’s over. Cuddling. Who knew I would like cuddling with an alpha?” I giggle. But it dies fast because something’s wrong. His body is stiff now. I look at his face. His eyes are angry. His jaw muscles are bulging as he grits his teeth. His nostrils are flared.

I feel the change in him on the inside, too.

Uh oh.

He speaks in a low, angry tone, not unlike the tone he used when he caught me after I fired that gun. “I don’t know how to say this without upsetting you, babe, so I’ll just come out with it and we’ll sort it out here and now. I do not ever, fucking ever, want to hear about you, my mate, having sex with anybody. Ever. Don’t give a fuck that it was before we met, don’t give a shit that I’m better at it. The notion of anybody’s hands on you makes me feel the need to inflict violence. It’s just you and me here, so I don’t wanna be inflicting violence. I wanna be here, with you, getting to know you intimately. Get me?”

I nod a little, panic making my pulse race. I don’t like the sight of him angry. I really don’t like that I’ve been the one to make him this way with what I now realize were careless words. I’m not someone who talks a lot around men. I never want to say the wrong thing and face their ire. But I’ve just said the wrongest thing I could say, probably. A chill rushes through me, remorse flooding my system.

He growls with obvious frustration, and I resist the urge to flee, instead showing him my throat.

“Fuck,” he clips loudly, and this makes me change my mind and scamper off his lap, ready to run, to get away from the violence that’s coming.

He catches me and lifts me up into his arms and sits on the couch, me in a ball on his lap.

I’m breathless, gasping, and my pulse is racing. I don’t know what to do. He’s not hurting me, but his eyes are so, so angry. I don’t know whether to squirm to get away or stay perfectly still. I just don’t know what to do.

“No, Stacy,” he states, grabbing the back of my head and pulling it under his chin. He begins purring again. Loud. I’m so confused.

A lengthy silence stretches between us, and I know he’s trying to calm himself. I can feel the tension – feel something in my chest, where he’s trying to settle the pace his blood flows through his veins, the speed of his heartbeat, his breathing. His purring is calming my body, but my mind is another story right now.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he finally says, stroking my hair, rocking me, and then purring some more. After a minute of it, he says, “Sorry, babe.”

We’re like this for a long moment together. Him purring, comforting me despite the fact that I was the one who did wrong.

“I… I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Greyson,” I manage. “I’m v-very sorry.”

He sighs. “I don’t like the idea of you with someone else. You’re mine, Blossom.”

“I was thinking out loud. I won’t do it again.”

He sighs again. “I don’t want you to be afraid to say things to me, okay? You have a past. A past I know nothing about. I just… I really fuckin’ hate the idea of anyone else touching you. It sets off anger, possessiveness. Alphas get possessive about their mates. Heard it all my life, saw it, too. But never felt it until now. This is all new to me, too.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I was just… astounded with how good you are at… that . I wasn’t thinking, just… I’m sorry I upset you when I was trying to compliment you.”

“You don’t have to keep saying sorry. I’m sorry, wife. I don’t need you to show me your neck. Even if you do something wrong, you don’t have to do that with me. Don’t be afraid of your husband. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, probably too quickly, because he sighs again, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

I’m not being very convincing. And he’s still angry.

I don’t know what to do with myself right now. I’m on his lap and he’s visibly angry.He doesn’t want me to give him space with his anger, obviously, since he lifted me up and put me here on top of himself.

He’s holding me in a gentle hold. I don’t feel like I’m in physical danger, but I don’t know what to do about his anger. I’ve said I’m sorry, and I know that’s usually not good enough for an alpha. It certainly never is for Wyatt even though he expects to hear it over and over. Wyatt also wants actions that demonstrate remorse. He wants you to do something to make up for whatever you did to disappoint him.

What can I do to make this up to Greyson?

I have nothing to give him. I could clean the house, but I already told him I was going to do that, that I’d find it fun, so that’s not going to show I’m sorry. I could bake for him, and I will, but we’ve just eaten and the ingredients here all belong to him or got gifted when Carrie and Bailey dropped all that food off, so that wouldn’t be an adequate gift from me.

I can feel the ball of frustration in my chest in that little section that I know is Greyson’s new place. I want to nurture that little spot. Take care of it. Take care of him .

I do the only thing I can think to do. The thing I do for the girls at home when they’re upset. That I would do for the sick who were close to dying. For the babies when they used to cry inconsolably.

I bury my face into his throat, put my arms around him, and hum the intro, then sing the first song that comes to mind. My go-to – the first song I taught myself.

I Dreamed A Dream from Les Misérables .

I’ve never seen the play, though I have seen the movie with Anne Hathaway. I found an old suitcase record player while I was playing in the junkyard when I was a child. A record from 10 was still in it. I dragged it inside after Malachi swiped some black electrical tape from Father’s workshop and taped the cord for me. It worked! I played it over and over, singing that song until I could hit all the notes the voice on the record hit.

Greyson’s grip on me tightens as I sing, and after a few lines, he pulls back enough that I know he doesn’t want my face buried in his throat, so I stop singing.

This was stupid. A song? What would this strong, powerful alpha want with a silly song?

“Keep singing,” he requests softly, all the anger gone from his face, softness there instead.

And now I’m beyond self-conscious, because he’s watching me sing. But I manage to keep going, seeing that in fact… this has helped. He’s watching me with a different look on his face now, with a much nicer feeling in my chest in Greyson’s place.

When I get to the section where my voice has to climb multiple times, he does a slow blink and his lips part in what looks like surprise.

I stop abruptly before the last few lines of the song. “I don’t sing that last bit," I whisper. "Because I don’t like sad endings.” I moisten my lips and shrug.

“Blossom,” he rasps, “That was fuckin’ beautiful. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

I feel bashful, but manage to find my voice again. “I found a record player with the soundtrack to that musical when I was a kid. Played it over and over. Didn't have any other records." I shrug. "There were some scratches, but none during that song. I sing it when babies cry with colic or hunger, or when old people are sick. It seemed to comfort them, so…” I shrug.

“A sad fucking song like that won’t help anyone feel better, sweetheart. It’s your angelic voice. It’s the effort you put in to comfort them that helps.”

“Did I help you? Because I thought maybe this was silly but also… you don’t seem angry anymore, so…”

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his. When he releases it, it’s only to say, “I need to knot you again.”

“Oh,” I whisper, knowing I won’t make the mistake of talking about any past sexual experiences again. In fact, I’ll be extra careful not to upset him at all if I can help it.

He lifts me up into his arms and carries me upstairs, straight into the bathroom. He sets me on the long countertop between the sinks and I clap my hands as he starts up the shower. Amusement hits his eyes.

“Are you applauding me, wife?” he asks.

“Shower time,” I say and swing my feet. “Are you gonna do what you did last time, um… in there?” I point.

Wow, does he ever have a beautiful smile. I could stare at it all day, for the rest of my days.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, eyes playful. “You want my mouth between your legs?”

I’m embarrassed. I hide my face behind my hands. I peek between my fingers seeing him throwing his head back and laughing. He then gently pulls my hands away from my face. “My wife’s wish is also my command.”

As if I could command an alpha. But I guess I have, because he’s going to do that thing with his tongue again.

I’m so happy to have gotten him laughing after how angry he was that I feel something I don’t generally feel – giddiness. And that must be why I’m being so bold.

I hop off the counter, unbutton the shirt and set it on the counter beside myself as he drops his jogging pants and steps out of them. I lift them, fold them, and then set them beside the shirt I was just wearing before pulling the socks off and walking into the steam where I’m excited about having his mouth between my legs again, where I hope he’ll wash me again, and this time, maybe I’ll try returning the favor, washing him, too.

I lift the sponge from the shelf while I’m still feeling a little bold. “Can I wash you this time, too?”

He gives me a look that’s so hot, we could be in cold water right now and I probably wouldn’t even feel it.