Page 54 of Impregnated By the Alpha

He stepped inside, picking his way carefully through the rubble. She followed, pushing aside the remains of a ladder and a tipped-over bucket of paint. It had been splashed all over the walls and then thrown across the floor, leaving a trail of cherry red that looked more like blood.

“Maybe I should be more like that,” Jonah said flatly. He stood in the center of the room and spun slowly around, absorbing the damage.

She joined him there and caught both of his hands in her own, drawing him close. When he slumped and rested his head on hers, she wrapped her arms around him, kneading the muscles in his back. They were ramrod straight, every inch of him filled with tension. She felt helpless in the face of it. What comfort could she give? They were business partners. Fake mates.

Her heart twisted as the words passed through her mind, rejecting them. This was not fake. When they held each other, she felt the world right itself. Jonah never asked for her to be more than she was. Never looked down on her or pressured her, never laughed at her dreams. He supported and respected and listened. In his arms, she was herself. And he made her feel like that’s all she wanted to be.

“I think you should stay exactly as you are,” she told him, earnestly. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

His voice was muffled by her hair. “Not a thing?”

“Not one.”

***

They did not find Evans that day, nor the next. Two weeks later, the packs began to relax again, and Jonah stopped looking over his shoulder or jumping each time there was a sudden noise. With his help, Moira purchased the bakery from the bank, and they split their time between redecorating the shop and repairing the lighthouse.

He insisted that she take frequent breaks, always making sure there was a chair nearby for her to rest in and a tray filled with drinks and snacks. There had never been a more well-fed baby. Jonah seemed to relish feeding her. He’d make whatever she craved, whipping it up in the tiny kitchen in his apartment while she watched from the couch.

“I barely recognized the place,” Vera called as she entered the bakery. “I walked right by the first time and had to turn around when I hit the cafe.”

Moira poured her sister a cup of coffee and went out to meet her. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Vera took the mug gratefully, her fingers pink from the cold. Begrudgingly, she agreed. “It’s a big improvement. And look what ran today.”

She tossed the Rosewood newspaper down onto a table, and opened to the half-page ad Moira had taken out for the bakery proclaiming its new ownership and focus on special occasion cakes, along with a color picture of the new look. It still barely seemed real to Moira. She ran her fingers over the page.

“Business has been picking up,” Moira said, giddy. The words spilled out, her happiness bubbling out in verbal form. “I got two calls from brides who loved the cake I did for that last wedding. I think this is really going to work.”

To her surprise, Vera smiled. “I think it might, too.”

Moira barely had a second to recover from that shock, the first time her sister had ever expressed confidence in her, before Vera went on.

“We got the autopsy results back from Mrs. Alden,” she said, pulling a sheet from her bag. “It was a heart attack. Not violent causes, thankfully, though they suspect it was the fright of being kidnapped, that set it off.”

Moira squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the woman’s kindly old face. She’d deserved better than to be used as a pawn by Evans. The fact that she’d danced with him once, had his body pressed against hers, still made her want to claw her skin off at times. She’d taken a hundred hot showers to scald it off instead.

“I feel kind of guilty profiting off of her tragedy,” Moira admitted, voice low.

Vera looked around the bakery. “You’re honoring her with this place. Keeping it going. Loving it like you do. I didn’t want you getting trapped in this town, Moira. I still don’t know what will happen to this place, but I can see that you care about it, and I can see that you’re determined to make this place succeed.”

Her sister paused, chewing her words. “And?” Moira prompted.

“And I’m proud of you. A little bit,” she said at last, then pinched her lips shut like she was afraid something else complimentary might slip out alongside it.

Moira’s face split in a grin. “Leopards do change their spots.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, slipping back into the sardonic tone that Moira was used to. “I think your boyfriend is proof of that. Guess I was wrong about him, too.”

“I guess so,” Moira said. She’d been wrong as well. Wonderfully wrong. She played with the tag at the end of her teabag, not meeting Vera’s eyes. “I have something to tell you.”

“Well, I know it can’t be that you’re pregnant since you already dropped that bomb on me,” Vera said, crossing her arms and leaning back against her chair. “What is it?”

Moira plowed on before she could lose her nerve. “I’m going to go back to the Silversands pack.”

Emotions flickered over Vera’s face, fast and unreadable. “I like it at the Rosewoods.”

“I know you do,” Moira said quickly, “and I don’t expect you to leave them too. It’s okay for us to do some things separately, Vera. The packs are friends, and we’ll still be so close to each other.”

---