Page 10 of Alpha's Promise

The windows, old and sturdy, reflected back the darkness of the world, yet she searched for a vulnerability within their panes. In the rear, where the light of the streetlamps didn't quite reach, she found a stairwell leading down to a basement door. Testing the windows with a delicate touch, she feigned casualness, though her heart pounded with the threat of exposure.

She found the window pane closest to the lock and tapped at it just hard enough to break the one piece of glass. The sound of breaking glass was softer than she anticipated, quickly swallowed by the night's embrace. She reached through the fractured opening, fingers searching until they found the lock and turned it with a quiet click.

Once inside, the musty scent of forgotten spaces greeted her—the basement was a catacomb of discarded items and dust-covered shelves. Prowling the area, her eyes adjusted to the dimness, picking out shapes and forms that could be repurposed for her needs. She found planks of wood leaning against a mildewed wall, remnants of some past repair, and dragged them to cover the broken window. Working methodically, her hands deft and sure despite the tremor of adrenaline, she patched up the pane, mimicking the look of a temporary fix until proper repairs could be made.

It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. The basement seemed abandoned, a place lost to time where the echoes of footsteps rarely ventured. She settled into this forgotten corner, allowing herself to breathe, to listen to the stillness that promised safety, if only for the night. Shadows danced at the edge of her vision, each one holding a tale of what might lurk just beyond sight, tales that Dakota knew all too well.

In the quiet solitude of the library's underbelly, Dakota allowed herself a sliver of hope. Perhaps here, in the refugeof books and knowledge, she could find the strength to face tomorrow and whatever it might bring.

Dakota had always loved libraries and after it seemed the town had shut down for the night, she ventured upstairs to the main floor. The moonlight streamed in through tall, arched windows, casting silvery patterns on the walls and illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The Victorian architecture loomed around her—a testament to the building's grand past, now silent and still as if holding its breath.

She passed by rows of bookshelves, their spines a kaleidoscope of faded colors and forgotten stories. Each room she entered was a shelter of solitude, the cozy reading nooks untouched and awaiting the warmth of daybreak readers. Multi-levels revealed themselves in creaky floorboards and winding staircases that seemed to sigh beneath her weight, telling tales of countless footsteps that had traveled them before.

Her senses were alight with the scent of old paper and polished wood, the mustiness of time lingering in the air like a ghost of bygone eras. She imagined the echoes of hushed voices and rustling pages that once filled these spaces, now replaced by the quiet thrumming of her own pulse.

Eventually, Dakota found a washroom, tucked away like a secret at the end of a narrow hallway. The porcelain sink was cold to the touch, the mirror above it speckled with age. She washed herself with a care born from necessity, the water sluicing away the grime of the outside world. Her clothes, few as they were, she rinsed and wrung out, the fabric heavy in her hands.

Afterwards, she retreated back to the basement, her makeshift shelter. She hung her clothes to dry on a line she fashioned from an old piece of rope she found amongst the relics of the past. They hung there, limp and dripping, like the flags of a weary traveler claiming temporary respite. Tomorrowshe would figure out how to fetch her satchel from where she’d stashed it on the Savage ranch before Landon had found her.

In the far corner of the basement, hidden under a shroud of darkness and cobwebs, Dakota discovered an old sofa. Its upholstery was frayed, the cushions worn, but to her, it was a luxury she hadn't felt in too long. She settled onto it, her body sinking into the soft folds, and pulled an aged, patchwork quilt she'd found over herself. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender and mothballs—a comforting scent that whispered of home.

As she lay there, her thoughts drifted unbidden to Landon Savage. His image rose in her mind, vivid as the moon outside—tall, intriguing, with eyes that seemed to pierce through the veils of her carefully guarded heart. Could there be something between them, something real and enduring amidst the chaos of her life?

Probably not, she mused, pushing away the tendrils of hope that sought to take root in her chest. But in the silence of the library, surrounded by the ghosts of stories untold, Dakota allowed herself the indulgence of dreaming. For tonight, within these walls, she was safe. And in sleep, at least, she could imagine a different ending—one where the girl with no place in this world found solace in the arms of a cowboy who walked with shadows. As she closed her eyes, she heard the mournful howl of a wolf from somewhere outside of town. Perhaps she and the wolf would both find their solace in the night.

CHAPTER 6

LANDON

The sun had already begun to dip low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of purple and orange, casting a soft yet melancholic glow on the small town of Redstone as Landon pulled his truck up to the curb. He killed the engine; the air was thick with the heady scent of impending nightfall—hints of wild sage carried on the gentle breeze and the promise of a starlit sky.

He stepped out, his boots kicking up little clouds of dust as he made his way toward the diner, the neon sign buzzing like an eager heartbeat. The bell above the door jingled in familiar greeting as he entered, and he took a seat at the counter, the vinyl of the stool cool beneath his hands.

His gaze lifted, catching sight of her immediately. Dakota moved behind the window between the kitchen and dining area with an effortless grace and speed that belied the weight of the plates she was putting up there. She was a vision amidst the clatter of pots and pans and the hum of conversation—a beacon of calm in controlled chaos, her dark hair swept up in a high ponytail and swaying in rhythm with her steps.

Landon's hat found its way onto the counter next to him, a silent gesture of respect as he watched her. Her presence therewas both unexpected and entirely fascinating. How had this puzzling woman come to be here, he wondered, cooking comfort food for weary travelers and locals alike?

"New in town?" he asked the waitress, nodding toward Dakota as the waitress poured him a cup of coffee, rich and bitter.

"Best thing that's happened to this place," she replied with a knowing smile, her eyes following Dakota's movements. "Cooks, bakes—she's got talent. And the customers? They just love her."

As the waitress placed his order in front of him—an indulgent slice of the lemon cream pie—he couldn't help but keep his attention fixed on Dakota. She conversed briefly with one of the waitresses, a quick exchange punctuated by a shared laugh, and Landon found himself drawn to the ease with which she interacted with those around her.

There was something about the way she moved, the precision of her gestures, that spoke of a deeper story—one he was beginning to feel compelled to uncover. Each time she moved past the window, the subtle scent of cinnamon and sugar seemed to linger, weaving through the savory notes drifting from the kitchen and wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

Landon took a bite of the pie, the flavors bursting across his tongue, sweet and tart and buttery all at once. He savored it, but not half as much as he savored watching Dakota in her element. She was a conundrum in an apron, her vibrant eyes occasionally flickering in his direction with a hint of curiosity—or was it challenge?

"Seems like you've settled in nicely," he commented when their gazes finally met in the pass through, the words hanging between them heavy with questions.

"Seems like it," she responded, her voice smooth and even, but there was a shadow there, fleeting and elusive, that hinted at secrets untold.

He felt dismissed as he finished his pie, but felt the undercurrents swirling—attraction, intrigue, the allure of the unknown. She might want him to think she wasn’t interested, but Landon was sure that she was. Dakota was more than she appeared; of that, he was certain. And as the last forkful of pie disappeared, he knew that unraveling this particular riddle might prove to be as tantalizing as the dessert he'd just enjoyed.

Landon paid his bill and stepped out into the cool twilight, the last rays of the sun casting a burnished glow over Redstone's sleepy streets. He paused outside the diner, his gaze lingering on the flickering neon sign that buzzed a soft serenade to the approaching night. A sense of satisfaction settled within him as he thought of Dakota, still a presence in this small town, a constant amidst the transience.

She was a drifter, that much was clear. No one just wandered into a place like Redstone and decided to stay without reason—or without secrets. The notion piqued Landon's curiosity, stirring a primal instinct he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, or the spark of defiance he'd seen in her eyes, but something about Dakota called to the wolf within him, urging him to delve deeper into the paradox she presented.

Landon walked away from the diner, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk as he made his way to where he'd parked his truck. He got in, pulled out and headed down the street as if he was going to the ranch. Instead, he circled around and made his way a short distance beyond the diner to a loading area hidden behind the shell of a deserted building. The evening breeze picked up, whispering its secrets to mingle with the distant sounds of life winding down for the day.

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