Page 22 of Impregnated By the Alpha

He cracked a smile and tried to shake off the melancholy that clung to him like cobwebs. “Everything’s fine. Can I get another coffee?”

Holding tight to his cardboard cup, a double shot strong enough to wake the dead inside, Jonah made his way down the street toward the beach. Toward the lighthouse and the ghosts that clung to it.

Chapter 8 - Moira

Moira’s blood pulsed in time with the music. She held her drink in one hand, the red wine sloshing up the sides of the glass as she twisted, eyes closed. Even Vera was dancing, three vodka tonics later. Adria and Spencer, arms locked around each other, moved as if they were the only ones in the room.

All of the Rosewoods were packed into the bar that night. After the week they’d had, with the vandalism and the upheaval at the Silversand pack, they needed to blow off steam. Moira let loose and tried to forget about her troubles, about the bakery and the too-small number in her bank account.

It was easier said than done. Even after the wine and the dancing, thoughts kept bubbling up, breaking into her head even as she danced. It wasn’t just the bakery she thought of. It was Jonah.

Everything he’d said about the soothsayer's prophecy battered around in her mind, clanging like trash can lids the moment she thought of something else. How dare he say that to her? Fate had never been so cruel as when it had tied them together.

“Why are you frowning?” Vera shouted to be heard over the music, dancing up next to Moira.

“Why are you smiling?” Moira shouted back. “Is it because you’re drunk?”

“Like you’re not,” Vera said, grabbing Moira’s hand and spinning her around.

Moira laughed and let herself be spun, letting the wine's heady feeling wash away her worries. “I think I need another glass.”

“Get me another!” Vera called to Moira’s back.

She pushed her way through the bodies and over to the bar, ordering another round for herself and her friends. Her dress clung to her sweat-damp skin. A man leaned over, good-looking, if too young for her.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said, eyeing her up and down, his gaze lingering on her cleavage.

Moira looked him over, considering. It had been a while since her last date, and there was something about the man’s forwardness, the way he looked at her so hungrily, that intrigued her.

“Alright,” she agreed, flashing her smile.

He paid for her drink and her friends’, then helped her carry them out onto the dance floor.

“Here you go,” she said, nudging Vera to get her attention.

“Who’s that?” Vera asked bluntly. She took a big drink from her vodka tonic and narrowed her eyes at the man beside Moira. “I don't recognize you.”

“Evans,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Vera looked at it but didn’t take it. “That’s my sister, Evans. I’ll be watching you.”

Evans drew his hand back and glanced at Moira, thankfully looking more amused than offended.

“Ignore her,” Moira said, shooting daggers at her sister. “I always do.”

She pulled him closer, leaned in as the next song started, and let him loop his arm around her back. It dipped lower with every song they danced. She liked that he didn’t try to talk or pepper her with questions about herself that she’d feel obligated to respond to. He seemed content to feel her in his arms. Moira turned and pressed her back up against him, feeling his hips against hers.

“Come to the bathroom with me.” Suddenly, Vera was there at her shoulder, grabbing Moira’s arm.

The heat she’d felt rising in her was doused out, her sister’s presence a bucket of ice water over her head.

“You’re a big kid; you can go alone,” Moira protested, but she knew it was useless. Her sister never went alone when she was drunk.

“Come on before I pee in my pants,” Vera said, too loud. She was completely drunk and completely unfazed at having said that out loud in front of other people.

“Seriously?” Moira hissed. She caught Vera’s hand and yanked her toward the bathroom, mouthing an apology to Evans over her shoulder.

He smiled, easygoing, and melted back into the crowd.

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