Page 7 of Jaded Alpha

The thing was, there was no logic and common sense in anything that was mating. Not the instant attraction. Not the knowing somewhere deep that the person was your mate. Not the tingling.

Hell, there was no sense in the fact that, at will, I could turn into a damned wolf.

Those two parts of me, the wanting-a-mate part, and the sensical one, were currently at war.

Neither was winning.

After a few hours of eating junk food and wailing out the lyrics of eighties tunes, I finally made the turn, the last turn that would lead me to the inn. No fancy signs out front. The Bearclaw Inn was beautiful, right out of some magazine with highlights of stunning homes that were too good to be real.

Except this place was real. Right in front of me.

I sat there in my running Jeep for a while. Hard to admit, but I was scared. Nervous, sure, but down deep I was scared. Scared that the alpha would take one look at me and go the other way. There was no reason for me to feel that way.

Feelings didn’t have to have solid reasoning behind them, I supposed.

My stomach dropped as I cut the engine and the front door to the house opened.

This was it.

I got out and grabbed my bag.

The sun was already bidding good night in the sky, throwing out shades of rust and lavenders on her way out.

“Hello!” the man called.

“Hello. I’m Jamie. Is this the Bearclaw Inn?”

Chapter Seven

Van

The first time I boarded the plane leased by the band and settled into the living-room-style seating, I swore I’d never take a commercial flight again. Everything about private planes spoke to my soul, from the comfortable seats to the bathroom used only by the few passengers and crew to the food prepared to our preferences. Not to mention the fact that we used, whenever possible, private airstrips to avoid crowds—a procedure preferred by the airport personnel as well. They liked things to run smoothly.

Not that we avoided TSA procedures, but they were vastly different for celebrities, both less intrusive and more private. Basically, no big deal. And we rode airport vehicles or, in some of the very small facilities, the cars we traveled in, right up to the jet. It was nice, but it was easy to get used to things and appreciate them much less.

Having shut the operation down for a year or longer, we of course did not have the plane on standby, nor would I have used it for my weekend travel anyway. This was not a business expense.

For about five minutes, I considered renting a jet personally for the trip, but why do anything that might out me and interfere with my privacy? Also, it was darned expensive. Why not just take a regular flight and be a person for once. I did book business class…

And that’s where everything began to fall apart.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we oversold business class on your flight.”

Standing at the ticket desk where I hoped to correct what the kiosk claimed, I fidgeted from foot to foot and did not say,Do you know who I am?

Economy class sucks. To everyone who has to travel that way each time, especially to those who suffered this misery to come and see a Galaxis show, I extend my sympathies.And gratitude. I waited for my row to be called then made my way past business class where all those lucky ducks sat stretched out and looking smug, through a narrow opening and into the bowels of the beast. I’d had to drive a few hours just to get to the airport, so by this point, I was tired, cranky, and positive the private jet would have been worth every penny they charged.

Business class wasn’t even that much better, but at least it was only two seats together and nobody got stuffed into the middle of a row.

As I did. Apparently when you got downgraded, through no fault of your own, you got whatever was left, and in my case that was a middle seat halfway back. I was lean, but tall, and I had a feeling I’d need to leave my legs in the overhead compartment because there was absolutely no room for them.

It was bad.

And then…as I was considering disembarking and canceling the whole weekend, a flight attendant paused next to our row, checking seat belts, and saw my predicament. “Oh, that’s not good at all.” She shook her head and managed to suppress the smirk twitching the corners of her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Maybe she was going to offer me a drink or something because my expression must have appeared desperate, but no. After a couple of minutes, she returned. “Any reason you can’t sit in an exit row?”

“What?” I had no idea what that even was. But it sounded like a reprieve… “No, I should be fine.”

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