Page 14

14

COLT

T he early morning air is crisp and heavy with the scent of dew as I roll my bike out of the workshop, the soft rumble of the engine breaking the quiet. It’s a perfect morning for a ride—clear skies, empty roads—but I can’t shake the feeling that this trip might complicate things more than I’m ready for.

Because I'm having some pretty tempting fantasies…maybe just taking Magnolia away from here. Never coming back.

Claiming her and rutting her until she's so drunk on my cock that she can't see straight.

It was on my mind all night–the possibilities of this trip. I found myself waking up hard more often than usual, my hand wrapped around my cock, chasing relief. Thinking of her, picturing her…she makes me crazy.

And now we're taking a ride.

Alone.

I round the last corner toward the gate, my bike humming beneath me, and there she is.

Magnolia.

She’s standing by the gate with her arms wrapped around herself, shifting on her feet like she’s trying to keep still but failing. She's got that good girl thing going–wearing jeans that look like they were tailor made for her, white sneakers, a white T-shirt and cardigan. She's even got her curly hair tied back with a yellow scarf, like she's going on a date.

Her gaze darts down the road, then back toward the den, like she’s expecting someone to catch her. The sight of her sets something off in me—a sick satisfaction, like I’ve gotten away with something just by convincing her to come.

She spots me, her shoulders stiffening before she raises a hand in greeting. I pull up beside her, letting the engine idle as I kick down the stand and swing a leg off.

“You’re up early,” I say, though I already know the answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

I lean against the bike, crossing my arms as I study her. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

She hesitates, biting her lip before shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I left a note for my parents,” she says quietly, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Didn’t want them to worry, but…you know how my mom is.”

I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, the way she keeps glancing toward the gate like she’s half-expecting her mom to come storming out.

“She give you a hard time about this kind of thing?” I ask.

Magnolia exhales, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Hard time? No. Not exactly. She just…worries. A lot. About me, about everyone. It’s kind of her thing.”

“Sounds exhausting,” I say, and her lips quirk up in a faint smile, like she can’t help but agree.

“It is,” she admits. “But she means well. Most of the time.” She pauses, glancing at me briefly before looking away again. “I just don’t want her to think I’m sneaking off to do something reckless.”

My lips twitch into a faint smirk. “And yet, here you are. Sneaking off to do something reckless.”

That earns me a soft laugh, and the sound hits me harder than it should. She shakes her head, her curls brushing against her neck as she looks up at me. “I wouldn’t call this reckless.”

“No?” I arch a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Hopping on a bike with me, heading out into the middle of nowhere? Sounds a little reckless to me.”

Her smile widens, her cheeks flushing just enough to make me want to keep pushing, to keep pulling at those threads of vulnerability and boldness that seem to twist together in her. “Maybe a little,” she says, meeting my gaze for just a second longer than she needs to.

“Don’t worry,” I say, my voice dipping lower. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Her blush deepens, and she ducks her head, but not before I catch the faint curve of her lips. “I’m not worried,” she murmurs.

Good. Because I am. But I’ll be damned if I let her see it.

I push off the bike, taking a step closer, and tilt my head toward her. “You nervous?”

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, wide and startled. “What? No.”

I raise an eyebrow, letting my gaze flick to the bike. “About the ride, I mean. You ever been on one before?”

She hesitates again, her cheeks flushing. “No,” she admits.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s not the bike,” she says quickly, crossing her arms defensively. “I mean, maybe a little. But I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” I say. I sling my leg over the seat, then I pat the spot behind me. “Hop on.”

She eyes the bike warily, then looks at me like she’s reconsidering everything. “What do I…?”

“You sit,” I say, smirking. “Hold on to me. That’s it.”

Her blush deepens, but she steps closer, reaching out hesitantly. I catch her hand, guiding her onto the seat behind me. She’s stiff, awkward, her hands hovering like she’s not sure where to put them.

“You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that,” I murmur.

Her hands rest lightly on my sides, and I can feel her warmth even through my shirt. “Like this?”

“Closer,” I say, enjoying the way her breath hitches.

She shifts forward, her arms wrapping around my waist, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. The feel of her against me, her chest pressing lightly into my back, her hands resting just above my belt—it’s too much and not enough all at once. My wolf stirs, restless, the instinct to keep her close roaring louder than the bike beneath us.

“You good?” I rasp, wondering if I’m the one who needs checking in on.

“Yeah,” she breathes. There’s something about the way she says it, something that makes me grip the handlebars a little tighter.

“Hold on,” I warn, kicking the bike into gear.

The engine roars to life, the vibrations running through both of us as the bike surges forward. Magnolia’s arms tighten around me instinctively, her hands pressing harder against my stomach, and I can’t stop the smirk that tugs at my lips. She’s nervous, but she’s holding on to me like I’m the only thing keeping her steady.

We roll toward the gate, the sun just beginning to rise, casting the world in soft shades of gold and pink. The den is still quiet, the early hour keeping most people in their beds. But as we approach the wooden barricade, the silhouette of a familiar figure comes into view.

Grant.

He’s perched in the watchtower by the gate, a thermos in one hand and a rifle resting against the wall beside him. His head lifts as he hears us approach, and even from a distance, I can see the knowing grin spreading across his face. By the time we reach him, he’s standing up, one eyebrow raised as he takes us in.

“Well, well,” he drawls, setting the thermos down. “Look who’s sneaking out at the crack of dawn. You two heading off for a romantic getaway, or is this some kind of covert mission?”

“Open the gate, Grant,” I say, keeping my tone even as I try to ignore the way Magnolia stiffens behind me.

Grant’s grin widens. “Oh, I’ll open it. But you’ve got to tell me—who talked who into this? My money’s on Maggie here. Sweet little omega, convincing the big bad alpha to take her on an adventure.”

Magnolia’s arms tighten around me, and I can practically feel the heat of her glare. “It’s not like that,” she says, her voice firm despite the blush I know is blooming on her cheeks.

Grant chuckles, clearly enjoying himself as he reaches for the lever to open the gate. “Sure, sure,” he says, dragging the words out. “Not like that at all. Just a perfectly innocent trip to the middle of nowhere, no ulterior motives whatsoever.”

The gate creaks open, the wooden panels sliding apart to reveal the dirt road stretching beyond. Magnolia shifts slightly behind me, her chin brushing my shoulder as she glances at Grant.

“Are you done?” she asks, her voice clipped but with a hint of exasperated amusement.

“For now,” Grant replies, giving us a mock salute as he leans back against the stool. “You kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I shoot him a look as I rev the engine, and he snickers, waving us off. “Oh, come on, Morgan. Lighten up. You’ve got good company.”

Magnolia lets out a soft huff, but she doesn’t say anything else, her grip on me steady as I guide the bike through the gate. Once we’re clear, I glance over my shoulder, catching her expression. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and despite Grant’s teasing, she looks…excited. Alive.

The gate creaks shut behind us, the sound fading into the hum of the bike as we pick up speed. The open road stretches ahead, the horizon bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Magnolia leans into me, her arms tightening just enough to make my pulse quicken.

Grant’s words echo in my mind, his knowing smirk burned into my memory. He might have been teasing, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. This isn’t just a trip to the observatory.

Not for me, anyway.

* * *

The road stretches out ahead of us, empty and sunlit, winding through the hills like a ribbon. We’re right on the cusp of wildflower season, the scent of flowers about to bloom mingling with Magnolia’s sweetness—clementines and honey, soft and intoxicating. Her arms tighten around me as we pick up speed, and I let myself enjoy it—enjoy her—more than I should.

The wind rushes past us, tugging at my hair and clothes, but all I can focus on is her. The soft press of her body against mine, the warmth of her chest fitting perfectly against my back, her fingers flexing just slightly against my stomach. Every little movement sends a jolt of awareness through me, sparks catching on dry kindling, threatening to ignite into something I can’t control.

My wolf growls low, possessive.

She’s mine.

I grit my teeth, trying to push the thought away. She’s not mine. She can’t be. If anything, she’s a pretty distraction. I’m here for one reason, and one reason only—and Magnolia Jones isn’t it.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like she should be.

The sun climbs higher as we ride, casting long shadows across the road. Magnolia shifts behind me, leaning closer to avoid the wind, and I swear I can feel every inch of her against my back. The pressure of her thighs against mine, the faint brush of her breath near my neck—it’s like she’s everywhere all at once, filling every space I have, and it’s maddening in the best way.

“You okay back there?” I call over my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice breathy. She sounds just as tense as I feel, the thread between us taut and ready to snap.

Her scent is stronger now, warm and sweet, clementines begging to be devoured. It fills the space between us, thick and heady, curling into me and wrapping itself around every rational thought I’m clinging to. Her hands stay steady, but her grip tightens with every bump in the road.

It feels like she was made to curve around me.

The clench of her thighs against my hips.

The way her chest rises and falls, perfect breasts brushing against me with each breath.

It’s a slow kind of torture, the kind that builds and simmers, keeping you on edge without ever letting you fall. My focus should be on the road—it’s literally a matter of life and death—but my thoughts keep circling back to her. To the way she fits against me, like she’s meant to be here, and the way my wolf snarls every time I try to convince myself otherwise.

I glance at her reflection in the bike’s mirror, catching the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips are slightly parted as if caught between exhilaration and terror. Her hair, messy from the wind, frames her face like a halo, and her eyes hold that same spark I saw the other night—curiosity and boldness, a challenge I’m desperate to answer.

The tension between us hums just beneath the surface. Every mile we ride seems to ratchet up the electricity, until the air itself is crackling with unspoken promises. I should say something, should find a way to break the spell before it swallows me whole, but I don’t trust myself to speak without giving away too much.

So instead, I press on, the bike humming beneath us, the road stretching endlessly ahead. I tell myself to focus on the destination, on the job, on anything but her. But it’s a losing battle, and deep down, I already know it.

Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to win.