Page 2 of Alpha's Promise

The meager amount of money she’d managed to salvage was tucked safely into her front pocket. She considered a cab, but the amount to get her to the bus depot would be far too expensive in her current circumstances. But still, a quick and direct route gnawed at the edges of this temptation.

The city bus, on the other hand, would follow a longer and more circuitous route, but would demand far less of her scant reserves. It also offered anonymity among the tired faces of daily commuters, a blend into obscurity that seemed preferable to theother alternatives. She envisioned herself slipping onto a bench seat, the vehicle lurching forward as if reluctant to be part of her getaway. The scent of worn leather and diesel spoke of countless beginnings and endings, none as fraught with peril or promise as hers.

She realized hesitation was a luxury she could no longer indulge. Each second she squandered threatened to paint her into an even smaller corner of her ex-fiancé’s wrath, a wrath that would seek her out with unrelenting fury once her absence was discovered.

"East," whispered the shadows of her memory, "toward the wolves." Her grandfather's voice flickered like a flame in the dark recesses of her mind, urging her onward. She had no idea what he’d meant, but east seemed as good a direction as any.

With resolve tightening her jaw, Dakota silenced the tumultuous debate raging within her. The bus would be her chariot, albeit one shared with strangers, each absorbed in their own sagas, oblivious to the silent war she waged against fate. It was the very act of deciding that lent her the strength to stand, the courage to cast aside the chains of doubt and stride toward emancipation.

Taking a breath that felt like the first true gulp of freedom, Dakota squared her shoulders. Steel woven with vulnerability, she was ready to embark upon the journey that would sever her from the past and beckon forth the untamed spirit yearning for release. There was no turning back now; the die was cast, and her path lay stretched before her—a ribbon of possibilities unfurling into the horizon’s embrace.

Outside, the morning air embraced her with a chill that was both invigorating and foreboding, the sun casting long shadows that seemed to reach for her retreating form. She stood for a heartbeat, the world around her holding its breath, before she moved forward, her gait steady and sure.

In that time and space, Dakota Westwood was a creature of both flame and shadow, stepping into the dawn of her new life with fear and freedom beating as one in the fragile asylum of her heart. The path ahead was shrouded in mystery, each footfall a declaration of her spirit's unquenchable thirst for something more, something fiercely her own. The road east awaited, and with it, perhaps a chance to reclaim some kind of birthright.

And so she walked away, the first rays of sunlight crowning her like a halo, the world beyond unfurling like a map of endless possibilities, each step a silent vow that no matter what lay ahead, it was bound to be better than what she was leaving behind.

CHAPTER 2

LANDON

Landon Savage's muscular arms, honed by years of labor under the unforgiving sun, tensed as he wrestled with the stubborn wire along the far west pasture's fence line. The metallic taste of sweat lingered on his lips while his hands, calloused and sure, worked deftly to mend the weak spots that threatened the safety of the calves grazing nearby. Each twist of wire was a stitch in the fabric of the Copper Canyon Ranch, weaving together its past and future.

His thoughts drifted like tumbleweeds to his brother Colt's recent bonding, an affair that had been both raucous and reverent beneath the vast expanse of starlit sky. The bonfire had crackled, casting shadows that danced upon the faces of those they held dear, its warmth seeping into their bones. That night, the pack had grown stronger, not just through numbers but through the palpable sense of stability and prosperity that seemed to settle over them like a comforting blanket.

A wistful smile curved his lips, hidden from the world behind the veil of his solitude. He found contentment in the quiet communion with the land, his heart beating in time with the natural rhythms of life at the ranch. Living under Colt's rule, where his older brother stood as alpha, never chafed—instead,it felt like freedom, each day unfurling like the wide Texas sky, unpredictable and untamed.

Landon shook his head slightly, releasing a soft chuckle that disappeared into the wind. The very idea of a fated mate, one chosen by destiny's unseen hand, seemed as elusive as the coyote's howl in the dead of night. His brother might have embraced such notions, but Landon? He was skeptical. What need had he for such bonds when his spirit thrived on the sweet intoxication of solitude and freedom?

Amidst the rustling of the grass and the distant echo of cattle, Landon allowed his internal monologue to roam as wild as the mustangs that sometimes appeared like apparitions on the horizon. He savored the unpredictable twists that came with each dawn, relishing the way the earth spoke to him in secrets only he could understand.

"Settle down?" he mused, the words a whisper carried away by the breeze. "Now why would I cage myself when the whole of Copper Canyon is my kingdom?" He knew the allure of a woman's touch, the siren's call that could lead a man to madness or perhaps, he mused, salvation. But here, amidst the endless plains and rolling hills, was a different kind of seduction—one that asked for nothing but offered everything.

As he secured the final piece of barbed wire, Landon stepped back to survey his work, a fortress against the world beyond. There was pride in the simple act of preservation, a nod to the legacy etched into every inch of this land. And in the space of his heartbeats, he was both guardian and sovereign—a lone cowboy whose soul was bound not by fate but by the raw, untamed beauty of Copper Canyon.

The sun had crept to its highest point, a sentinel in the sky, casting down waves of heat that shimmered across the vast expanse of Copper Canyon. Landon wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the dust and grime of themorning's toil etched into the lines of his skin. He straightened his weary back, muscles tight with the honest ache of labor, and allowed himself to relish the unyielding luminescence that bathed him.

His gaze wandered across the land, the relentless pulse of the sun coaxing beads of perspiration along his temples. The breeze was a rare accomplice, whispering through the sky overhead, offering a fleeting caress that teased and retreated like a coy lover. Seeking refuge beneath the broad arms of an ancient oak, Landon settled into the tree's generous shade, the grass beneath him soft as he folded his long legs. Here, where light and shadow danced their ageless waltz, he found respite from the sun's fiery dominion. The air was cooler, scented with the earthy musk of the underbrush and the faint, sweet aroma of wildflowers clinging tenaciously to life on the periphery of the ranch.

From his weathered leather saddlebags, he withdrew the fruits of Etta's culinary endeavors. Etta was their long-time cook and housekeeper and had been looking after Landon and his brothers for longer than Landon could remember. The small cooler held an array of food that spoke of home as much as it did of sustenance: thick slices of roasted beef, still tender; hearty wedges of cornbread glistening with honey butter; and a mason jar layered with fresh greens, tomatoes, and a sharp vinaigrette that promised to bite. There were also slices of apple pie, the crust flaky and golden, and a thermos of sweet tea to wash it all down.

Each item was a testament to the housekeeper's care, her understanding of the appetites forged by hard work and wide-open spaces. As he bit into the savory beef, the rich flavors exploded across his tongue, simple and nourishing. Landon leaned back against the rough bark, eyes half-closed, contentment seeping into his bones like warmth from a well-tended hearth.

"Etta, you've outdone yourself," he murmured, his voice barely above the rustling leaves, as if in reverence to the woman who could make even the simplest meal taste like a feast for kings. He savored each bite, slow and deliberate, allowing the textures and tastes to linger, to saturate his senses with the kind of pleasure that demanded time to appreciate fully.

Suspended between the serenity of nature's embrace and the robustness of a meal earned by sweat and steel, Landon Savage existed within a realm of quietude and abundance—a realm which required no mate to complete, no destiny to fulfill, only the promise of the land and the untamed spirit it nurtured within him.

Landon's fingers had just unfurled a napkin when the shimmering mirage at the edge of his vision solidified into a distinct figure—a lone woman walking their fence line. His brows furrowed, the apple pie forgotten as he peered through the heat waves which seemed to swirl around her, distorting her form like a specter in the midday sun.

She seemed to have materialized from the horizon itself, a wavering paradox in the haze of the day's fevered breath. Her presence was an anomaly here, where the vastness of Copper Canyon claimed dominion over all but the hardiest of souls.

Setting aside his meal with deliberate motions, Landon rose to his feet and wiped his hands on his jeans, his curiosity a live wire sparking within him. His stature cast a long shadow over the grass as he stepped beyond the tree's shadow, squinting against the glare of the sun.

He headed back to his ATV and tugged a piece of red licorice from his pocket. Biting off the end, he chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness. Some guys preferred tobacco, but not Landon. Licorice was his thing—something about the mix of sweet and bitter suited him just fine. His gaze swept over the endless prairie, the landscape familiar and comforting. She wasn’t fromthe ranch. That much he knew. And that made her all the more intriguing—and a little concerning.

What’s she doing out here?

His wolf perked up, ears metaphorically pricking. There was something about her—a pull, subtle but insistent—that made his wolf sit up straighter. Without hesitation, Landon climbed aboard the four-wheeler, starting the engine and making it growl to life beneath him. With a flick of his wrist, he sped toward her, the prairie grass parting under the tires as he raced across the open land.

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