Page 16 of Impregnated By the Alpha

“What did Spencer have to say to that idea?” Moira asked.

“He said no, of course. He wants to reach out to the Silversands first and see if they know anything about who might be living there. That staking it out without talking to them first would lead to bad blood.” Vera put the last two words in air quotes, rolling her eyes. “Like they didn’t start the bad blood when they carved up our tree.”

Moira put the dough in the fridge to chill and set herself a timer. It’d be the first of many that day, when she normally had her own, finely tuned internal clock to run the kitchen. Today, her insides were in turmoil, and that clock couldn’t be trusted.

“Maybe it was just a stupid teenager,” Moira said, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. “A dare or something.”

Vera shot her a look. “I know you don’t believe that. You think it was Jonah.”

His name hung in the air between them, lingering like the smoke. If only he was as easy to dispel with an open window.

“It just seems too coincidental, doesn’t it? He’s not around; everything is fine. He shows up, and suddenly bad things start to happen.” Moira didn’t understand how everyone else seemed blind to this fact.

Vera poured herself another cup of coffee but snatched the pot back before Moira could do the same. “No, you’ve had enough. I can see you vibrating from here. Between the caffeine and your nerves, you’re about to explode.”

Moira glared. She felt wired, and not in a good way, but she wasn’t going to admit that Vera was right about anything.

“Plus,” Moira went on, heading back to the front of the shop to flip the sign to Open. “He’s a White Winter. You know what they’re like. First, he leaves his pack, then he joins that pack of monsters? No loyalty.”

“You left your birth pack, too,” Vera pointed out.

It hadn’t been an easy decision. Months of bullying, of misery, had driven her to leave the Silversands behind to make a new start with the Rosewoods. She hadn’t gone far, but it had been enough to change her life. There had been times when Moira’s despair had seemed inescapable, a monstrous beast that clung to her, and it was only with the Rosewoods that she’d learned to smile again. To let people in.

“I left it because of him!” Moira slammed a stack of boxes down on the counter and started assembling them, attaching stickers with the shop’s logo. “What was he running away from? He was the bully. I think he just wanted to find a pack where he fit in, a pack as mean as he is.”

With a thoughtful look on her face, Vera changed the subject. “Have you heard anything about the bakery?”

The bakery. It was everything to Moira, and it was all balanced precariously on one old woman’s whim. Without it, Moira would be unmoored.

“Not yet,” she replied tersely. She’d rather talk about Jonah than about the bakery, and that was saying something.

She didn’t miss the relieved look that spread across Vera’s face at her words. Something in her snapped.

“Can’t you just be happy I found something I love?” Moira creased the next box in the wrong spot, her hand shaking. She tossed it into the recycle pile.

“I just think it’s a bad idea, tying yourself to something like this. Are you really going to be a baker your whole life? What about something a little more…” Vera gestured vaguely with her hands, knowing what she wanted to say; Moira was sure, but not how to say it in an inoffensive way.

“Lucrative?” Moira prodded.

“Respectable.” Vera finished. “Something with a degree. A title. When people ask, I have to tell them my sister works at a bakery. It sounds so pathe—“

“Don’t say it,” Moira warned, rounding on Vera. Her face felt hot, and she knew she was flushed, her hair a mess, apron dirty. She knew Vera was taking it all in and mocking her for it. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t care about any of that? That I don’t want to go to school just so people have to call me ‘doctor’? Some people become a vet because they want to help animals, you know, not because they want a title.”

It was a low blow. Moira wished she could snatch it back as soon as she said it, even if Vera had said worse to her. Her sister’s face clouded. Unlike Moira, when Vera grew angry, it was like the curtains were pulled down, and all emotion drained from her face.

“Vera, I’m sorry,” Moira began, reaching for her sister’s arm.

“Thanks for the coffee.” Vera pulled away, blue eyes gone steel grey. She pulled cash from her wallet and slapped it down onto the counter before shrugging into her coat and walking out.

The money sat on the counter, a reminder of what an awful, ungrateful sister she was. Still reeling, Moira shoved it into the till and went in back to splash cold water on her face. Her complexion was splotchy. There wasn’t much she could do about it—unlike Vera, Moira’s emotions were plain on her face. She didn’t have Vera’s ability to turn them off when she wanted to.

She steadied her hands by going through the motions of fixing her hair, twisting it up with a claw clip, and dabbing on some lipgloss.

“Just forget about it for now,” she said to her reflection. “Put it aside. There’s work to do.”

Easier said than done. The ding of her first timer startled her, but she was grateful for it—in the fight with Vera, she’d entirely forgotten the pastry chilling in the fridge. She shaped them and put the tray in the oven, setting a second timer. By the time the first customer came in, the splotches in her cheeks had faded to something that could pass for blush, and her hands weren’t shaking.

She poured coffee and filled boxes, managing not to burn anything else that morning. In the lulls between customers, she pulled out her notebook and finalized three options for the wedding cake order.

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