Page 9

A lina

For the last hour of my shift, I watch Rowan like a hawk from behind the bar.

Zahra, propped on a stool with a mug of overly-sugared coffee, watches me watch him.

“I mean, I’m not offended you didn’t mention who Noah’s father is,” she remarks at one point. “But you could have at least had the decency to tell me your Mate is sexy as hell. You won the lottery.”

“He’s not my Mate anymore,” I grumble. “And I’ve won nothing.”

Zahra instantly sobers. “Right. I’m sorry.”

She knows now that Rowan rejected the Mating bond, but I haven’t yet been able to explain the prophecy.

Wise women like Kseniya aren’t common in most modern packs.

The only reason she and her predecessors have any power at all among the Greenbriars is because the Prophet has been a formal role among the Celtic shifter bloodlines for centuries.

And there’s nothing a Greenbriar loves more than tradition.

Even though she’s my best friend, I’m relieved when Zahra gets a call that one of the elders needs help from a healer. It leaves me to brood in solitude as I mix drinks and serve beers .

Noah seems to be enjoying himself, though. That should make me happy. Of course I want him to get along with his father.

It’s just…he’s been all mine for a decade now. I’ve been his only parent. And I was so young when I had him—barely eighteen years old. I’ve lived my entire adult life being his mother, his sole provider.

I hate that I might be feeling something like jealousy at the ease with which Noah and his father are conversing.

It pains me to know that they can connect with each other on a level that I can never offer to my son.

Noah and Rowan are both born to royal bloodlines.

Thus, they are both destined to lead the pack.

They are Alphas, blessed by the so-called magic of the Greenbriar ancestry.

I’m nobody. I’m just the rejected Luna-that-never-was.

I refuse to let Rowan take him from me. I’ll fight until my dying breath to keep him from returning to the Greenbriars. Not without me. And since I have no intention of going back…

It’s an effort to push all those thoughts aside as I finish up my shift.

It’s obvious that the customers can tell that my mind is elsewhere.

Old Betty and Old Joe are being particularly nice to me, and one of Henry’s Betas twists his normally stoic face into a smile for me when I slide his double whisky across the bar to him.

Everyone feels bad for me, I’m sure. Poor, rejected Alina and her big, scary baby daddy. Poor Alina, who will never be wanted by the people who matter most.

It makes me want to kick things.

Instead, when my shift ends, I tug off my apron and head over to the booth where Noah and Rowan are deep in conversation about, of all things, the Captain America movies.

“Winter Soldier is definitely the best one,” Noah is saying.

“That one is fantastic,” I hear Rowan agree. “But I do have a soft spot for the first one.”

Noah giggles. “Mom thinks that one is boring.”

“It’s not boring,” I cut in. Both of them jolt upright at the same time, turning in sync to stare at me in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed me coming closer.

“You fell asleep the last time I convinced you to watch it with me,” Noah argues .

“I was tired. It had nothing to do with the movie.”

Noah turns back to Rowan. “Mom doesn’t like movies.”

Rowan smiles at him, then glances up at me. “Any movies? At all?”

“I don’t like sitting still,” I answer simply.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

Noah giggles quietly.

It’s an effort not to bristle. There’s a nasty, selfish part of me that wishes this had gone badly. That wishes Noah ended up hating his father, if only so that I could have an excuse to make Rowan leave once and for all.

Except, even as I think about it, my stomach swoops with nausea.

As much as I hate to admit it, Rowan’s presence these past couple of days has shifted something inside me.

I feel different, and yet this sensation is unbearably familiar.

The Mating bond that now lies in tatters inside me is tingling again, just like it did ten years ago.

The wolf inside me wants to be repaired. She wants me to want him.

The sudden wooziness is so strong that it makes me unsteady on my own feet. I waver slightly to one side, reaching to grip the edge of the table for support.

In an instant, Rowan is on his feet. His arm curls around my waist, holding me stable until the worst of the dizziness fades and my knees stop trembling. A sharp gasp whispers out of my lips as I gaze up at him. Even though the fabric of my shirt, I can feel the blazing heat of his touch.

This bond will always endeavor to be healed.

It will draw us together over and over at every single possibility.

In spite of my resistance, my heart is hammering, and I can feel warmth rising to my cheeks.

One glance into his eyes reveals blown pupils and a preternatural stillness that suggests I’m not the only one affected by such a fleeting touch.

It’s infuriating. I want to hate Rowan, but it’s impossible. He seems to be good with Noah. Soft and gentle, like most Alphas can’t afford to be. He’s kind, and the way he looks at our son confirms that he’d do anything to keep him safe. We have that in common.

Also, at the end of the day, Rowan is sickeningly handsome. He’s exactly my type, with his brawn and boldness and unwavering confidence.

He’ll make a good Alpha. He just won’t be my Alpha.

I clear my throat and purposefully extricate myself from Rowan’s grip. He hesitates for a heartbeat, as if fighting the urge to hold on with all his might, but then he lets me step away from him.

I pat Noah lightly on the shoulder. “Time to go, kid. Dinner, homework, shower, bedtime. Let’s go.”

Noah pouts. “Can’t we stay for a little bit longer?”

Without missing a step, he bends down and pats Noah’s hand, saying, “It’s okay, bud. Your mother is right. It’s getting late. Dinner and homework and all that are important things.”

“But I already finished my homework,” Noah grumbles. “It was easy.”

Rowan smiles at him fondly. My heart aches at the sight.

“Come on, honey,” I murmur to Noah.

Rowan tilts his head at me. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me say no to that even if I wanted to,” I murmur, then immediately regret it. Noah really shouldn’t have to listen to me talk to his father this way. I try to force a smile and make it seem like a joke, but I know it’s a weak attempt.

Noah grabs his backpack and slinks out of the booth.

I follow after him, purse slung over my shoulder.

Rowan takes up the rear, a large and commanding presence that dares everyone to look at us the wrong way.

I hate that it’s so easy to settle into that protectiveness.

I hate that it feels so right for him to guard me like this.

This time, we don’t need to escape out the back of the restaurant. Instead, we walk out the front door and loop around to the parking lot. The sky is darkening overhead. Noah hums to himself, perfectly content as he skips ahead.

He hops into the back of my Jeep, exclaiming, “Bye, Dad!”

Rowan is hovering close enough at my back that I can hear the sharp intake of breath.

“Bye, Noah,” he says, his voice thick.

Noah grins and pulls the door shut. I hesitate, turning to face Rowan. He clears his throat loudly. I watch the way he tries to fight the swell of emotions that the word dad has clearly brought to the surface.

I don’t know what to say.

Rowan does, though. He cuts right to the chase. “We should to discuss the conflict that the Whiteroses have brewing on their border.”

“What is there to discuss?”

“It’s serious, Alina.”

“I’ve never been interested in pack politics before. I don’t need to know the details.”

It’s a lie, though. When I was younger, I wanted to be just like my parents. I wanted to be an elder. I wanted to help lead my community.

So much has changed since I lost them.

He steps closer to me, keeping his voice low. “Well, at the very least, we need to talk about protection.”

A bubble of delirious laughter escapes me. I gesture vaguely in Noah’s direction. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”

He catches the double-meaning of his words, then quirks an eyebrow at me as if to say, seriously?

“I mean that, as long as you insist on living here in Whiterose territory, I need to know that our son will be safe.”

“He is safe.”

“The Blackburns are causing trouble again, Alina.”

Against my best efforts, I flinch at those words. Zahra had mentioned something about it earlier, and I learned about the friction it caused recently with the Greenbriars from Old Joe. That’s what prompted Rowan’s visit to see Henry Whiterose yesterday.

But that isn’t why my entire body cringes in rejection of Rowan’s words. The Blackburns aren’t just a potential nuisance or an unrealized threat. Samson Blackburn is the reason my parents are dead. I know better than to underestimate the devious Alpha of that violent, bloodthirsty pack.

“We’ll be careful,” is all I say.

“Careful isn’t always enough.”

Your parents were careful, he doesn’t need to add.

“I’m not moving back to Greenbriar land just because you say— ”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” he interrupts, holding up his hands like he’s trying to placate a cornered animal.

“I only mean that, as long as Samson lives, I can’t leave you unprotected here.

Now that I know you’re within his striking distance.

Now that…now that word is most certainly going to spread about what you are to me. ”

I scoff. “I’m not anything to you.”

Something strange flickers in his gaze. I don’t have a name for it, but it almost looks like pain. Or guilt. Regret, perhaps?

Probably none of the above.

“At the very least, you’re the mother of the next Greenbriar heir.”

“Thanks for reducing me to the function my womb has performed for your almighty pack.”

Rowan sighs. “Our pack.”

“I’m not—”

“The point is,” he continues, blasting through my protest. “You can’t get rid of me, so don’t bother trying. I have to head back home for a day or so, but I’ll be back. I promise you that. In the meantime, be on your guard. Not just for Noah’s sake, but because…”

When he trails off, I wonder what could have possibly been the intended end of that sentence.

Because he doesn’t want me to get hurt? Because he cares about me?

I can’t bring myself to believe it. The only reason he’d want to keep me safe is because it would cause him physical pain if I died.

The Mating bond would sever once and for all, and he’d spend the rest of his life feeling incomplete.

He’s protecting himself by protecting me. That’s all.

“Fine,” I tell him, wrenching open the driver’s side door. “Don’t worry about it, Rowan. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

Without waiting for his response, I slam the door shut.