Page 12 of Wild Alpha (Cold-Blooded Alpha #12)

W hoever filled the refrigerator went way overboard, and my brain can’t handle it.

If my mom hadn’t died when I was ten, she’d have yelled at me at least five times to shut the door before I spoiled the food. But my mom isn’t alive anymore, and this is Colorado, not rural Oklahoma.

“You okay over there?” Fisher asks from the kitchen sink.

He decided on baked potatoes and asked me to choose a meat to have with them.

Gripping the door to hold it open, I twist to face him. “Yeah.”

Earlier, I was overwhelmed with the new changes in my circumstances: alive after revealing the existence of shifters to a local, and blessed to have a cabin to call home for the next little while, a perfectly cozy space safe from being rained or snowed on.

I’ve gone from deciding whether to hunt a rabbit or something larger for my dinner to choosing between steak, salmon, chicken, venison, or lamb, and the choice is beyond anything I’ve had to make in years.

He stops washing potatoes and peers into my face. “You look overwhelmed.”

How do I tell him that I’m used to hunting for my food or going to bed hungry sometimes because staying safe takes precedence over eating?

I’m not used to having a refrigerator full of food to go along with the duffel bag full of clothes from people I expected to kill me the second they learned I was close to their territory.

“Averie?”

Life was easier as a wolf in some ways. I had no worries about saying the wrong thing. If I didn’t want to talk to someone, I hid. If something scared me, I clawed it. If it hurt me, I killed it.

Easy .

Talking to Fisher is… not easy. I could say something that makes him regret being here with me. “Um...”

He eyes me for a beat, a tiny line forming between his brows. He flicks off the faucet and dries his wet hands on a kitchen cloth he picks up from the butcher’s block counter. “You can tell me. Whatever it is you think I might freak out about, I won’t.”

“What makes you think I’m hiding something from you?”

He snorts. “You’ve had your face in the refrigerator for fifteen minutes, and you keep looking from me to the door like you’re deciding whether to run.”

Oh.

Closing the refrigerator door, I turn to face him. “Life was easier in some ways before. Harder in others, but it was just me and I didn’t have to worry about… well, anything else.” I frown. “That makes me sound selfish.”

He grins at me. “Not selfish.”

I eye him for a beat longer, and tentatively ask a question I’ve been too afraid to. “Are you sure you don’t mind that I’m a shifter?”

He walks over to me, and I hold my breath, watching his face closely, hoping that asking him isn’t something I come to regret.

He bends his head, closing the distance between us. “If the first thing you’d done was try to eat my face, I’d be a little more hesitant, but no. I do not mind that you can change into a wolf.”

My lips twitch. “Eat your face?”

His eyes sparkle with mirth. “Or chew on my leg like a drumstick.”

I’m torn between laughing and avoiding his gaze. “I would never chew on your leg like a drumstick.”

He kisses my forehead. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, and no reason for you to run out of this kitchen and for me to hope that I’m fast enough to chase down a wolf.” He tilts his head, stroking his chin. “Because I’m not. I’d still try, but— uh ”

He grunts when I hug him far harder than I should. “Sorry.”

I move to release him, but he tightens his hold on me. “Not so fast; this hug has barely started.”

I relax against him, winding my arms around his waist and loving the way he smells. “You’re taking this really well.”

“I try to see the best in people. They rarely disappoint me, and I’ve found I’m happier when I do.”

I hope no one destroys his outlook on life, and I wish I had half his optimism.

He squeezes me. “You ready to eat?”

I nod, letting him go. "How about steak? My family used to make steak with twice-baked potatoes and cheesy broccoli.”

His stomach grumbles, and I grin up at him.

I pull two steaks from the refrigerator, though I could happily eat five or even six and still go back for more. We barely know each other, yet we move around the kitchen like this isn’t the first time we’ve cooked together.

He returns to the sink to wash the potatoes, while I pull out cheese, cream, and chives from the refrigerator for the filling.

The potatoes will bake for a while in the oven, but I always like to have everything mixed and ready to go in the refrigerator.

It’s a habit I learned from my mom, who hated a sink full of dishes and would rather wash as she went.

It’s been an eternity since I've had a kitchen to work out of. The last time was years ago. Before my world ended and I lost everyone I loved.

We used to season our steaks for the pack BBQ, an occasion to celebrate almost every milestone. It was a gathering with food at its center because a shifter is always hungry, and any celebration usually involves meat.

“I’m not used to a full refrigerator,” I say, busy with the dry I’m mixing. It’s a combination of salt, black pepper, red chili flakes, garlic, cumin, oregano, smoked paprika, and the special ingredient: brown sugar.

I’m surprised I still recall Pack Rowe’s famous recipe, but some memories are ingrained in me, like the rub we used on our meat. "That’s another thing I was thinking about earlier, but didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“What are you used to?” I feel him watching me as he chops the broccoli.

“Surviving.” Finished mixing the rub, I tear open the steak packet to marinate the steaks. “My family died saving me from a man who would have killed me.”

They sacrificed themselves for me to get away.

Every day since then, I’ve regretted not getting down on my knees the way Xavier wanted. A few moments of humiliation would have been more than worth it to keep my family alive.

“How long have you been alone?”

I don’t want to tell him, but a part of me missed this so much. Just talking with another person is something I didn’t know I would miss so badly when I lost my pack.

“Three years.”

Fisher doesn’t speak for so long that I peek over at him.

The broccoli florets are in a stainless-steel pot, ready to steam on the stove. That won’t happen until the potatoes come out of the oven. We’ve scooped out the insides, refilled them, and they're ready to go back in to become golden and oozy with a whole heap of cheese.

But Fisher is no longer focused on the broccoli, and I don’t think I’ve seen such devastation on a person’s face before.

“You’ve been alone all that time?”

I flash him a false smile, pretending it doesn’t hurt. That it hasn’t always hurt. “Time flies when you’re a wolf.”

He doesn’t smile back. "Are they all gone?”

I refocus on the large T-bone steaks. “Yeah.”

“Did you ever go?—”

“No one is alive,” I cut in, my voice coming out harsher and louder than I meant it to.

My vision blurs. I blink rapidly, swallowing the lump in my throat and willing myself not to cry all over the steak.

I hear him take a step toward me. “But maybe someone survived.”

“No one survived.” I take a breath and let it out.

“My dad..." My voice quivers as I flashback to that night. The fighting. His blood on my cheek. The light fading from his eyes. Clearing my throat, I continue, “I’d be walking into a field of dead bodies. There’s nothing left for me back there. Just death. How do you want the steaks?”

I lift my head to look at him.

He’s about two steps closer than I want him to be.

He briefly meets my gaze, then nods and steps back, as if he understands I need space. “However you like them is fine with me.”

We eat our steaks, twice-baked potatoes, and broccoli at the roughly hewn, must-be-homemade rustic dining table.

“My mom died soon after I started high school,” Fisher says, taking a sip of water from his glass. “I’m all Dad has left in the world, so I stayed working in the grocery store instead of going away to college.” He sets his glass down. “I did community college. The type you do online from home.”

I cut into my steak. It’s medium-rare. A little more medium than I like, but I thought Fisher would like it better this way. “Didn’t you miss being with other people?”

“I did.”

“Because you like to talk to people?”

His lip quirks. “What gave you that impression?”

“You were talking to a wolf recently. I guess you must enjoy chatting if you'd speak with a wolf that can’t talk back.”

I surprise a bark of laughter out of him.

It’s not in my nature to tease. I hide and try never to think of the past. Being with Fisher makes life feel less hopeless.

“It wasn’t that funny.” I look away, embarrassed that he only laughed at my terrible joke to make me feel a little less strange for going three years barely talking to anyone.

“I have to introduce you to my dad. There are jokes, and then there are Dad jokes.” His voice carries a smile that tempts me to look up. He grins at me. “ Nothing beats a dad joke in its badness."

I’m not sure I believe him. But just like his ability to make me smile, I want to.

He slices into his steak, takes a bite, and his eyes widen. They bounce from me to the steak and back again as he chews rapidly and swallows. “This rub…”

I frown, wishing I’d paid more attention when I was mixing the steak rub. “Too much paprika? I was guessing the?—”

His jaw drops. “This is your recipe?”

“Not mine. My family’s. It’s something we used to make.”

“It’s the best damn steak I’ve ever had.”

“You mean that?”

He doesn’t hear me. He’s too busy cutting his steak. My wolf was stupidly proud of herself when we hunted the rabbit and brought it to him. I mocked her for it, yet here I am, preening like a proud parent over a steak rub I didn’t even invent.

“You should bottle it and sell it at the shop,” he says, once he’s cleared half his plate.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shift in my seat, unsure if he’s just being kind because he’s a nice guy. “I don’t know.”

He cuts into more steak and waves his fork around. “Think about it. People would bite off my fingers to get some of this. I could help make labels or source jars.”

Wow, he’s really serious about this.

I look down at my steak. I’m not sure I believe him, but maybe I could. It isn’t like I don’t need some way to support myself. I can hardly live in the forest with the squirrels and the rabbits forever.

Before I realized life was simpler as a wolf, I searched for jobs that would hire a girl without an ID or a Social Security number. I had stolen clothes from a laundry line and then went out looking for work.

It had not turned out well.

I was a waitress in a diner, and I worked as a cleaner, the only jobs I could find that paid cash in hand. The work wasn’t that hard, but I hated being around people and smells I didn’t like. And guys, human and shifter, didn’t like being told no.

I hated it, so I went to live in the forest with the rabbits and squirrels, and I was far happier.

“What do you think, Averie?” Fisher asks, drawing me from my thoughts.

If Dayne and his pack let me stay here for a while, I could make the rub right from this dining table. It’s more space than I need, and if I borrowed a little money to get the ingredients, I’d repay it with the first bit of money I made.

I could have a future .

I take in Fisher’s rapidly emptying plate. He’s clearing it in such a hurry it’s a miracle he hasn’t choked on the steak.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell him.

And I mean it.

We dig into our meals, and he’s the easiest person I’ve ever talked to in my life.

He doesn’t pry, but he’s interested.

He tells me all about the locals in Hardin, little funny stories that make me smile and forget to eat.

Later, after we’ve cleaned up from the meal, we study the bed.

The one bed.

“There’s probably a blanket in the chest,” he says, walking over to open it.

My eyes bounce from him to the flannel blanket he pulls out.

Then he walks over to the couch.

“I can take the couch,” I offer.

“No way,” he says with a smile. “Take the bed. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’m used to being a wolf when I sleep.”

Fisher looks so interested that I wait for him to ask me to shift in front of him. He’s definitely thinking of it.

He shakes his head. “No. The couch is big enough.”

“Not for you.”

He’s not super tall—probably around 5’8 or 5’9—but he’s too large to be sleeping on a couch. I’m 5’4.

“It makes sense for me to take it,” I say, flopping on the couch.

He flops down beside me. “I insist.”

“We can share,” I blurt out.

He freezes.

I clear my throat, looking away. “We can share the bed. I promise not to shift into a wolf and bite you. I mean, if that’s what…”

“No,” he says softly, tempting me to look at him. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

There’s a heat in his gaze that makes me blush. And being a wolf means that even if I’d missed the heat in his gaze, I couldn’t possibly miss the scent of his arousal.

I’m as unlikely to tell him that I know when he’s turned on as I was to say he smelled a little like a dog, so I nod. “Okay, then. We’re sharing the bed.”

I’m not the least bit surprised when he nudges me to use the bathroom first.

Once I’ve brushed my teeth, washed my face, and used the bathroom, I put on one of the PJs that Savannah lent me, then step outside so he can get ready for bed.

Clara restocked the bathroom with fresh towels and pointed out where I could find spare toothbrushes and other supplies. I show Fisher the cupboard so he can help himself to whatever he needs.

He turns out the lights on the way to the bed, and I keep my eyes firmly pointed at the ceiling because he didn’t bring any clothes with him.

He's naked or just wearing boxers. Relaxing is hard enough, so I keep my eyes averted.

Once he’s in bed beside me, I continue to stare up at the ceiling.

“Do you want me to move to the couch?” he asks suddenly.

I jerk my head toward him, barely able to see him in the darkness. “What?”

“If you’re too uncomfortable to sleep, I can move,” he offers, getting up.

“No, that’s not why I can’t sleep.”

“I was lonely,” Fisher says quietly, lying back down.

He folds his arms over the top of the comforter, adding, “I lived in town. I was surrounded by people more often than not, and I was still lonely.” He turns his head to look at me. “Then I woke up beside a wolf and suddenly, I wasn’t lonely anymore.”

My instincts have meant I’ve lived longer than I thought I would. I listen to them now.

I scoot over to Fisher’s side of the bed, and he lifts his arm, wrapping it around me.

With my cheek against his bare chest, I whisper. “I was lonely too. But I don’t feel lonely anymore.”

He kisses the top of my hair. “You won’t be again. I’m not going anywhere, Averie. You’ll always have me.”