Page 33 of Impregnated By the Alpha

Ella watched the exchange with curious eyes. “Are you here to stake your claim for alpha?”

Jonah tensed, his muscles pulling taut. She squeezed her arm down against his hand, trying to give him some of the reassurance he’d given her.

“I am,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind.

“You are not the only one.” Ella pointed at a man half-hidden in shadow.

He leaned forward, bringing his face into the firelight. Moira’s mouth parted in surprise. Evans. The man she’d danced with at the club the other night before spotting Jonah in the crowd.

“And unlike you, I’ve been here trying to keep everything together.” Evans’ words were charged with hostility and disdain. He didn’t even look at Moira.

Rather than reply to Evans, who seemed hungry for a fight, Jonah turned back to Ella. “Two contenders, then.”

“Fated mates, and the pack’s future tied to them,” Ella said, thoughtfully. “We will need to see a strong bond between the two of you, proof that the pack’s future is not doomed. A good lpha is a good mate. Evans has the advantage of choosing this pack, working for it. You have the rather questionable advantage of being the previous alpha’s son.”

The pack muttered at that. There was no love lost for the old alpha. Ella went on.

“But he was kind and good before your mother’s death. Out of respect for that, we offer you the chance. One chance, Jonah. Prove yourself to the pack or be ousted, exiled forever from this land.”

And if he was exiled, his mate would be as well. The bakery was on Silversand land. If he failed and they were exiled from it, she’d lose the bakery forever. What had she gotten herself into?

Chapter 11 - Jonah

“Can you slide that paint over here?” Jonah called down from the top of the ladder, stretching to reach the top of the wall.

Moira, hair tied up with a bandana, paint-spattered all over her overalls, set the can down beside the ladder’s base. She looked at him, and he smiled at the freckles of paint across her cheeks.

“I think we’re going to need a second coat,” she said, eyeing the walls critically.

They’d thrown open all the working windows in the lighthouse to air it out as they worked on repairing the years of neglect. It had taken a full day to clear out the broken glass and furniture and another to hang a new front door. Moira painted it a bright, cherry red.

“Or three,” Jonah agreed. Even after scrubbing and patching, the walls still needed a lot of help.

The lighthouse was the manifestation of Jonah’s shame. It embodied everything his father had done wrong during his time as alpha, and Jonah had been torn between wanting to tear it down and wanting to fix it up. Moira had insisted on the latter.

After days of work, the kitchen was usable, cabinets painted, and countertops replaced. While a far cry from the modern kitchen he’d gotten accustomed to at the White Winter’s, it was no longer a health hazard.

“You know, this place really gave me the creeps before,” Moira said, grabbing a roller. “It just looks like the kind of place that would be haunted.”

Jonah thought of his mother’s death and his father’s decline afterward. He could imagine her ghost clinging to this place she had loved in life. His memories of her were fuzzy, wrapped in a warm, golden glow, more the impression of how he’d felt in her presence than distinct recollections.

“In a way, it is,” Jonah said. “Or it was for my father anyway. He couldn’t come back here after my mother died. Couldn’t face it. It’s no excuse, but I think he saw her here long after she was gone.”

Moira set the roller down. “Is it hard for you to be here?”

He considered a moment before answering, then shook his head. “Not as hard as I thought it would be, but I couldn’t face it for a long time.”

“Time away can heal many things,” Moira murmured, softly.

Jonah had the feeling she wasn’t thinking about the lighthouse anymore. Her eyes were faraway.

“And the company helps,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

He thought he knew exactly what wounds she remembered, which required years to heal. The ones he had inflicted on her back in high school. No amount of apologizing on his part could undo the damage he’d caused back then.

“You’re just sucking up, so I’ll do the trim again for you.” Moira narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is it working?” Jonah asked, flashing his smile at her, knowing it would get him an eye roll.

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