Page 3 of The Alpha's Protective Mate

I really didn’t want to have to face this particular customer. Body tense, I slide through the gap to get behind the counter. The door opens, and an older man walks in. If it weren’t for the terrible scarring on the left side of his face, he could almost be called handsome. His nose is a little crooked and his eyes a deep, cerulean blue. His dark brown hair is carefully styled, and he’s wearing a gray suit that is covered by a long overcoat, a staple for the chilly autumn weather we’re experiencing. I would put him in his mid- to late thirties.

But it’s not his scar or his age that bothers me. Nor is he a rude person. What bothers me is what he is.

A wolf shifter.

Wolf shifters have always had a barely cordial relationship with vampires. But a couple of years ago, my father and my older brother, Clyde, got caught selling a drug to the shifters that had negative repercussions on the latter. The shifters were in cahoots with two Alphas, and at the end of it all, Clyde paid with his life. Ever since, Beruth Sanguinite, my father and the leader of the Nelo Clan, has not given up on his purpose: to drive out the wolf shifters altogether. Clashes have become more commonplace between shifters and vampires, and I try to stay away from the lot of them.

The scarred man approaching me is an Alpha, a prominent one. Alphas have a harsher energy about them. Vampires don’t have a very keen sense of smell, but we can read energies. This man has a blazing form, and it’s intimidating. Ever since I joined this coffee shop, he’s been coming in daily, and I’ve been avoiding him. He must know of my existence, obviously, since wolf shifters can pick up even the slightest of scents, but he’s never said anything, and he hasn’t stopped coming here.

Nervous, I wait for him to approach me, a small knife in my hand under the counter. I know a knife isn’t a sufficient weapon if he decides to reach over and rip my throat out. I don’t even have the fast reflexes my kind typically has; I’m a defective vampire up against an Alpha.

Anxiety fills me as he gets closer.

“What can I get you, sir?” The words tumble out of me so fast that they’re almost unintelligible.

He blinks at me, and I see him take a discreet sniff of the air.

My heart nearly crawls into my mouth at the sight.

“I—We have—We have a special of the day, th—the Halloween Pumpkin Frappe.”

My hand is gripping the knife so tightly, the blade slices my skin.

The scent of my blood is thick in the air now, and the Alpha studies me, frowning. I’m going to hyperventilate. I know I am.

This is not how I planned on dying. I still have my laundry hanging outside on the balcony. Who’s going to bring it in if I’m dead?

The thought is so utterly ridiculous that I blink, finding some sanity in the chaos building in my mind.

“Perhaps you should tend to your hand first,” the Alpha says slowly.

The knife clatters to the ground, and I stare at the man.

His voice is husky, and it rubs along my skin in a way that has me suppressing a shiver.

“I—” I look down at my hand. The blood is dripping onto the floor from the deep cut in my palm. I don’t have the normal vampire healing ability, and I’m beginning to feel a bit concerned.

“I can wait,” the Alpha says calmly. “You can tend to your injury first.”

I would rather serve him and have him leave, but I have to prioritize.

“Just give me a moment,” I say hastily, crouching to the floor and reaching for the small first aid kit that we usually keep under the counter in case of emergencies. I have to put the box on the counter, and I fumble with the bandage. The Alpha gives me an odd look. I hurriedly wrap the bandage around my palm and slam the box shut before turning back to him.

“Sorry about that. What can I get you?”

I see his eyes linger on my hand, where the blood is spreading through the bandage. I close my fist, ignoring the stinging sensation. I can’t help it; I’ve always been a bleeder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. What would you like to order?”

It’s hard to keep my voice professional. After a few seconds of tense silence, the Alpha looks at the menu board. “I’ll have a black coffee, plain, two chocolate muffins, three chicken sandwiches...”

He keeps going on and on, and I frantically try to keep up. Everything in the bakery case has been freshly prepared just a few hours ago, and the man empties more than half of it. Despite how anxious I am, my curiosity gets the best of me. “Is this all for you?”

The Alpha blinks, and then his lips curve into a smile so charming that I feel a light flutter in my belly, my toes curling. His smile lights up his eyes, and a dimple forms in his right cheek. He’s not ridiculously handsome, but there is a boyish charm to him that makes my heart skip a beat.

“This would be my breakfast, me being a growing boy and all.”

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