Page 49 of Knotted By my Pack

We take a corner table, and Beckett orders two whiskeys. He talks while we wait, outlining his plans for the foundation, the beachfront pool, the high-end suites that’ll overlook the water.

He’s got vision, and I give him credit for that, but my eyes wander.

Then the door swings open.

And everything stops.

The air shifts. My grip on the glass tightens before I even register why. She walks in, hips swaying like temptation wrapped in linen.

Her short dress is ivory-colored, cinched at the waist and cut high on the thigh. Her legs go on for miles, and her skin glows like she bathed in moonlight.

Her curls are down tonight, wild and thick, catching the light as she walks.

Beside her is a man I don’t recognize. Tall. Polished. Beta.

They slide onto stools at the bar, her laugh cutting through the background hum like something sharper. She hasn’t seen me yet.

I don’t breathe. I just watch as she tosses her hair back, tilts her head when he leans in close, his elbow resting near her thigh like he belongs there.

A fucking Beta.

Two days ago, she was pressed up against me, scenting the truck like she was seconds from begging. Now she’s here. With him. Laughing. Touching his arm. Wearing that damn dress that barely covers her.

Beckett keeps talking. Something about soil reports and zoning permits. I nod, maybe grunt once, but I don’t hear a word.

My eyes are locked on her. On them. On the way that Beta lets his fingers trail along her bare leg like he earned that right.

I bite down on my tongue.

He makes her laugh again, and her cheeks go pink. She swats at his shoulder, playful and easy, like she’s done this before. Like this isn’t their first date.

Her scent drifts toward me, vanilla laced with something sharper. Something that makes my skin itch.

Alpha.

Elias.

Of course.

The realization hits hard, but it doesn’t burn the way it should. If it’s Elias, fine. He’s an Alpha. I hate the man but I know he’ll treat her right, even if he’s a cocky bastard.

But this Beta? This pretty, polished, boring nothing of a man? That’s what she wants? That’s who she thinks deserves her?

When he stands and excuses himself, muttering something about the bathroom, I move.

No hesitation.

Not caring that I leave Beckett mid-sentence.

I cross the room, every step deliberate, my eyes fixed on her. She notices me just as I reach her, her back going straight, those green eyes widening like she’s been caught.

“Julian,” she says, her voice low and wary.

“Ditch the fucking Beta.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get rid of him.”