Page 44 of The Alpha Wolf's Bullied Bride

It can't be…

Changing course, I follow the direction of the rich scent of meat and spices, my airways enveloped while nostalgia strums my heartstrings.

How is it possible that the kitchen is immersed in the aroma that would only ever surround it while Grandmother was alive? Did the conversation with Grandfather conjure her spirit, allowing her apparition to cook the pot in front of me?

I gasp in shock when I lift the lid to find the richest meat stew within. The walk down memory lane quickly turns into a sprint as I grab a spoon and stuff my mouth with tender meat drenched in peppery gravy.

Like a man starved, I heap spoonfuls in my mouth, not stopping until I end up biting my tongue.

Sucking a breath through my teeth, I'm holding the empty spoon in front of my face when realization dawns on me.

It wasn't my Grandmother who miraculously visited from the other side to cook me my favorite meal.

It only could be the sole other person who lives in the same house as I do.

Lila…

“Alpha Flynn!”Delta Howard's voice calls out urgently through the mind link. “We have a problem!”

“What is it now?”I mentally groan. I'm in no mood for Dorian's antics like the last time my attention was urgently called by the border patrol officers.

“Please…!”his voice rings out like a desperate cry, and I can sense that he's on the move, running, his wolf mentally panting. “You must make haste, Alpha! The rogues are here!”

Dropping everything I was doing or thinking about prior, I rush out of the house and invoke my wolf as quickly as I can. Sprinting forward, I follow the howl in the distance—an emergency call from the south border to warn us of the danger threatening to trespass our boundaries.

Chapter 15 - Lila

I'm jolted from my deep sleep when the howl outside grows louder. More desperate and urgent, as if a werewolf is in trouble.

Immediately sitting up in bed, I bite my lip as trepidation skitters through my being. I'm only slightly aware that dangers lurk beyond our borders, thanks to my brother, who filled me in on the newly formed alliance between Blood Moon and other packs in the region.

It's information I should have been told by the Alpha, my mate. As the Luna, I'm supposed to be a part of what goes on in the pack, yet I have to hear about things from my brother, the Beta, as if I'm nothing more than the worthless Omega of the pack.

Little has changed for me besides my living conditions. I now live in the main house—the biggest house in the quaint town of Zafra—but I'm still the shift-less werewolf who everyone despises.

Everyone including Flynn, I scoff to myself, climbing off the bed and padding across the bedroom to the window. Outside, the howls continue filling the air. There's no point in getting worked up since howls like these usually signal a mating cry or the triumph of a successful hunt.

Still, a shiver courses down my spine, unsettling the pit of my belly. I decide to explore why I feel that way, throwing a gown on and heading downstairs.

Perhaps it’s the anxious feeling that had me climbing into bed in the first place that resurfaces now—a strong sense of trepidation that built when I decided to cook a hearty meal for the Alpha of Blood Moon. I thought I'd serve him dinner whenhe got back home, but I'd been too nervous to wait around for his return, so I left the pot where he'd find it if he was hungry enough to hunt the kitchen and hid under my blanket until I fell asleep.

I gulp at the top of the stairs, mentally preparing myself in case I find him downstairs.

It's a human saying, or so I've read—“the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.” It's a theory I thought I'd test as a way to soften Flynn's iron heart in the hopes that he'd open up to me. I'd only briefly glimpsed the demons he battles when I overheard his conversation with my brother—the anguish in his voice, the pain that lingered in his eyes even after I'd entered.

I can't shake off the feeling that he doesn't want to be the brute he makes himself out to be. Perhaps I'm clinging on to the memory of his compassion as tightly as I'm clutching the railing as I descend the stairs; I can count the number of times I've witnessed a different side of him on one hand.

But a hand is strong enough to hold on to hope that beneath those tough layers lies a man capable of being kinder, at least for the sake of amicability, to live out the rest of our lives without walking on eggshells around one another. This constant tug-of-war between us is tiring, and I'm at my wit's end pretending to be something I'm not.

I've done it for two years, shielding myself with a coat of armor made up of a lack of feeling. I've always been too soft, but it's not something I'm willing to fault myself for anymore.

Perhaps that's my consolation prize for not having a wolf. The ability to feel so deeply, to experience emotions on a deeper level without the suit of furry armor a wolf would provide.

It's that lack of a protective layer, coupled with my determination to not be so tough, that has me tearing up the second I walk into the empty kitchen.

Evidence of Flynn's being there is clear in the open pot and soiled spoon beside it. I slow my steps, ambling forward to what can only be interpreted as Flynn's resistance to any form of kindness.

A soft wind billows from the front door that hangs open, as if he'd fled from the kitchen in haste after discovering how terrible my cooking is. Disappointedly sighing, I hang my head as I proceed to cover the pot of meat stew and drag myself to the front door. Another howl rings out in the distance, lifting my gaze only to see how beautifully the moon casts its brilliance on our small town.

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