Page 18 of Alpha's Promise

"Here, let me show you where they like to hide," Landon said, reaching out to gently guide her hand beneath a cluster of overhanging reeds.

The brush of his fingers sent a jolt up her arm, igniting her nerves with an awareness that bordered on painful.

"Look closer, right there—" Landon murmured, bending further, his breath warm against her ear.

And then it happened—a shift, deliberate or accidental, Dakota couldn't tell. Their faces were mere inches apart, eyes locked and suspended outside of time. Landon's gaze held adepth that alluded to canyons and secret places, and Dakota felt herself falling into them, helpless to resist.

His lips brushed hers, a soft pressure that spoke of restraint and desire, a question and a command all at once. Her heart stuttered, pounding a wild rhythm against her ribs as the kiss deepened, more insistent now, coaxing her into a world where caution was forgotten and only sensation remained.

But then reality crashed back, a cold wave drenching her in sudden clarity. Dakota jerked back, breaking the contact, her breath coming fast and uneven. She stared at him, wide-eyed, the taste of him—a mix of coffee and untamed wilderness—still lingering on her lips.

"Sorry, I—" Landon began, but Dakota cut him off with a shaky gesture.

"No, it's... I'm just not..." She couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't articulate the turmoil inside her.

Landon watched her with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable—the silence stretching between them like a chasm.

Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice low and tinged with something that sounded like concern. "Dakota, what brought you here? You're running from something; I can see it in your eyes."

Her throat tightened, the weight of unshared secrets pressing down on her. She looked away, focusing on the distant line of trees, the safety of evasion. "I needed a fresh start," she said, the words brittle and hollow even to her own ears.

"Is that all?" he prodded, unwilling to let the matter drop, his cowboy hat casting shadows over his intense eyes.

Dakota hesitated, torn between the urge to flee and the desperate need to unburden her past. But trust was a luxury she couldn't afford—not yet. "It's complicated," she finally admitted, the truth of it scraping raw against her soul.

"Life's complicated," Landon agreed, his tone softer now, a thread of understanding weaving through it. "But around here, we take care of our own. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here."

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, offering warmth and refuge, allowing her to imagine what it would be like to lean on someone else, to share the load. But the moment passed, leaving behind a whisper of yearning and the echo of a kiss that promised both danger and solace.

She’d had the day off from the diner and the coppery hue of twilight bathed the rugged landscape as Dakota rode beside Landon, the sound of their horses’ hoofbeats silenced by the grass. Shadows stretched long across the terrain, reaching out like dark fingers, hinting at secrets that only the land knew—secrets akin to those curled tight within her own chest.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Landon's voice was soft, reverence lacing his words as he gazed out across the expanse of Copper Canyon.

Dakota nodded, her eyes lingering on the man rather than the view. "It's... overwhelming," she confessed, her voice barely rising above a whisper, the vastness of the horizon mirroring the depths of her untold past.

He looked at her then, his gaze as penetrating as the chill that had begun to seep into the evening air. "Sometimes, sharing the load makes it easier to bear. You don't have to carry it all alone," he said gently, his presence a steadfast pillar amidst the swirling eddies of her turmoil.

Taking in a deep breath, Dakota felt the dam inside her crack, the pressure of months—no, years—of silence too much to withstand any longer. She spoke of her grandfather first,the grizzled old man with love in his eyes and secrets of their lineage veiled behind stoic expressions. He’d been vague and yet emphatic.

“The night my grandfather passed, he told me I should go east to the wolves. I didn’t have a clue as to what he meant—I just figured they were the ramblings of a fading mind, but now I wonder. I wonder if he didn’t leave me with some kind of legacy to unravel.” And with that she began to share her last memory of her grandfather with him.

The room was dim, Dakota sat in an old wooden chair, its creak a gentle protest against her weight as she leaned forward, clasping her grandfather’s frail hand between hers. His skin was paper-thin, veins tracing a map of a life well-lived yet worn down by time. The shallow rise and fall of his chest matched the ticking of the clock on the bedside table—a rhythm that seemed unbearably fragile.

“Granddad,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His eyelids fluttered, the effort to open them monumental. When he finally managed it, his hazy eyes found hers, a flicker of the man she’d always known shining through the shadows of his weariness.

“Dakota,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “You’ve always been a beautiful wild child.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she forced a smile. “And you’ve always been my favorite everything.”

His cracked lips curved in a faint smile, and ever so briefly, she saw the spark of the mischievous man who’d taught her how to ride, how to shoot, and how to laugh even when the world felt heavy.

“You need to listen,” he said, his voice growing more urgent despite its frailty. “Go east.”

“East?” She leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

His hand tightened ever so slightly around hers, surprising her with its strength. “To the wolves.”

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