Page 5 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

His grip shifts. I feel the change, subtle as it is. His arms tighten, not to hurt but to contain. To control.

“I don’t want to do this,” he murmurs.

Our eyes meet—storm-gray, intense. Something lingers beneath the surface. Regret? Resignation? “Sorry,” he whispers.

And then his hand moves toward my neck, quick as a viper. I try to duck, to roll, to shield myself.

Too slow.

Pressure on the side of my neck.

Precise.

Clinical.

The world doesn’t so much go black as dissolve, colors bleeding into shadows, sounds fading into silence. My limbs turn to water. My mind screams as my body betrays me.

The last thing I feel is his grip tightening—strong but somehow not cruel—as I collapse against him.

And the unbearable shame of not getting away in time.

I’ve failed. Again.

I’ll find you, Dad. I promise.

2

LOGAN

The woman slumps against me, her body going limp, yet an ember of defiance flickers in her, even in unconsciousness.

Snowflakes cling to her lashes like fragile jewels, and I can see the way her chest heaves—shallow, desperate breaths that scream of exhaustion and cold.

Beneath that exterior, I sense a terror that runs deeper than the frigid air.

I don’t know her name. I don’t need to.

One thing is clear: trouble follows her. Trouble is the last thing Iron Hollow can afford right now.

I've seen her kind before, back in my Navy SEAL days. People who move like prey, darting as if they’re being hunted.

Their eyes scan exits, not faces, as if they’re aware they can’t afford to let their guard down.

They fight first, never asking questions, because such distractions get you killed.

I lift her carefully, cradling her against my chest. She's lighter than she should be; I feel her fragile bones pressing against my forearms through the thin fabric of her clothes.

She’s not dressed for a Montana winter—her jacket is worn and inadequate, city boots that are no match for the icy ground.

This isn’t a lost traveler—not with the careful way she moved before I caught her.

She’s calculating, guarded. She was afraid of me.

But more than that, she was afraid of someone else.

Carrying her doesn’t invoke regret; it’s a decision made on rationale.

She needs help. That much is clear.