Page 6 of Unexpected Alpha's Claim

The wide smile on my face is far from forced. My one concern was that it might be too wolfish. I set Monica back onto her feet, letting my fingers linger at her waist, reluctant to break contact.

“I’m Raul.” I introduced myself, tipping my head down. “Raul Crawford. It’s good to meet you.”

“Wait a minute,” Monica muttered, her gaze sliding down to my neck. Leaning forward, her eyes widened in disbelief. Before I knew it, she had gripped the collar of my t-shirt. “This…” She whispered. “It can’t be. I mean, last night, you had two puncture wounds more than an inch in diameter. Today, they’re almost gone.”

“More than an inch?” I scoffed. “No, Dr. Greenwell. I’m afraid you got it all wrong. You see, it wasn’t some animal that did that to me. It was a friend’s German Sheppard. They’ve got big teeth, but they’re notthatbig.”

“Maybe, but still…” She breathed in and looked back up at me. “You’ve healedextremelyfast. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

“Come on, Mon. You heard the man,” Stacy interjected, taking her friend by the hand. “Take care, Mr. Crawford. And stay away from any vicious dogs. We all saw what they can do to you.”

“Wait…”

“Bye!” Stacy chirped, waving back at me as she dragged Monica away. I still had some questions for both of them. For instance, how in the world had they ended up in the forest? What had prompted them to climb trees, instead of walking around in Dawson? Nevertheless, while they disappeared into the wilderness, I decided not to push my luck, or theirs for that matter. They were leaving. They were moving away from the clutches of death, unaware of how close they had come to being torn to pieces. That was a far better development than satisfying my curiosity, for now.

5

MONICA

Oh, Stacy…

My brain and my tongue had somehow become stuck in a groove. Whether in a sigh or a mere scolding glance, I had used or thought those words far too many times that afternoon.

I loved Stacy. We had been best friends and super close for almost twelve years. Our arguments could be counted on the fingers of one hand and even those arguments were minor. Simple misunderstandings that had been resolved extremely fast. On this particular day, however, she continued to remind me how much she loved to interfere with my business. It would have been welcome in a trivial matter, but Raul’s physical condition wasfarfrom trivial.

It doesn’t help that I didn’t believe a word of the story he fed me, for many obvious reasons.

First of all, my flashlight confirmed what I saw and the lights in my living room were on when we brought him inside to further verify. Those puncture wounds were too wide to have beeninflicted by any normal dog. They were deeper and bled more heavily. A dog’s canines are nowhere near as long and wide as the teeth that caused those wounds.

And if that wasn’t surprising enough, his lightning-fast healing was more than astounding. Skin regeneration is a long process. Depending on the nature of the wound, it can take weeks for a man’s skin to heal at all, much less to achieve the level of healing that he displayed. Raul’s injuries were severe yet, for some reason unknown to me, those puncture marks were almost gone. The two circles at the base of his throat had been reduced to specks, no wider than small moles. All that in what? Eighteen hours, give or take? Just thinking about it boggled my mind. There was no record in history of a man being able to recover from such severe injuries in less than a day. I was sure that if I brought this up to any of my colleagues’ they would laugh and demand proof. I would have taken pictures, had it not been for Stacy’s interference. This marvel—because that’s what it was—would make for a remarkably interesting discussion topic.

The rest of the weekend blew by. Stacy and I unpacked and cleaned up, before enjoying some drinks by the fireplace. Unsurprisingly Raul’s name came up. My friend was nothing if not adamant and persistent to a fault. Amid plenty of glasses of gin and tonic, she advised me to “go after the enormous guy with the strange name.” She had a point there. He was huge and his Spanish first name was a little exotic, especially for this area. Despite her arguments, my views on the matter of dating had not changed. I appreciated her input and he most certainly was a fine-looking man, but I still needed time. However I had to admit that if I ran into him in a month or two, I wouldn’t say “no” to a date with him.

On Sunday afternoon, I escorted Stacy out to her green Chevy, wishing she could spend another day with me here on the mountain. She was a familiar face, and I was about to be alone, living on the edge of a town full of strangers. It broke my heart to hug her goodbye, especially knowing that I wouldn’t see her again for at least two weeks.

Courage, Monica. Remember: You chose this.

That thought came to my mind when I clicked the door shut behind me after I had watched her taillights disappear down the road. It was a painful reminder of reality I had selected for myself. Friends and family were three hours away, in a buzzing metropolis that had left me deeply hurt.

I hadn’t reached the fireplace, when the sound of my doorbell interrupted my gloomy thoughts. It had to be Stacy since I know no one else. Most likely, she had forgotten something and had come back. Swinging my door open, every hope of seeing her cheerful expression vaporized when I saw that she wasn’t the one who had rang my doorbell.

On the beige doormat, stood a male figure I had been struggling to forget for the past several months. At six one with short, blond hair, hazel eyes, and a scruffy beard stood Jack Donahue, my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

“Evening, babe,” he smiled down at me. He didn’t wait for me to invite him in before he brushed past, raising his glance to the ceiling. “Nice place you’ve got here. It looks cozy. I like the fireplace, too.”

“What in thehellare you doing here?” I ask in an almost growl as I try to suppress my rage. I don’t move an inch from myspot, holding the door open and vainly hoping he’d sense my frustration and leave.

“Oh, that’s not the way to welcome someone,” he protested, turning around. “Especially if that someone happens to be your husband.”

“Youweremy husband,” I corrected him, speaking emphatically.

“I’mstillyour husband!” He raised his voice, his expression stiffening.

“I’ve got news for you, Jack,” I told him, unaffected by his attempt to intimidate me. “Just because we’re still married on paper, that doesn’t make you, my husband. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” His voice lost most of its volume, his posture relaxing. “Can I try again?”

I gave a derisive snort and looked outside. “I can’t believe your nerve.”

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