Page 11 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

"I wouldn't know," she managed to say, aiming for nonchalance. "I make it a point not to sample the merchandise."

He chuckled, a rich sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. "Fair enough. In that case, I'll trust your recommendation. One house special, please."

Wren nodded, turning to head back to the bar. "Coming right up. Let me know if you need anything else," she said over her shoulder.

"I'm sure I will," he replied, and she could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. The weight of his gaze sent a tingle down her spine, and she had to resist the urge to look back.

At the bar, she took a moment to collect herself as she prepared his drink. Her hands were steady, but inside, she was a mess of conflicting emotions. Attraction, wariness, curiosity... it was the first time anyone had affected her like this.

When she returned with his drink, he was still alone at the table. His eyes lit up as she approached, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. Get it together, Wren, she scolded herself. He's just another customer.

"Here you go," she said, setting down the glass. "Careful, it's stronger than it looks."

He picked up the glass, his fingers brushing hers for just a moment. Even that brief contact sent a spark through her. "I like things with hidden depths," he said, his voice low. "They're always the most interesting."

Was he talking about the drink, or...? She pushed the thought away, but she couldn't quite suppress the warmth blooming in her chest.

He took a sip, his eyes widening slightly. "You weren't kidding about the kick," he said, sounding impressed. "I think I'm going to enjoy my time here."

The way he said it, looking directly at her, made it clear he wasn't just talking about the bar. She should walk away. She had other customers to serve and other tables to clear. But something kept her rooted to the spot.

"So," he said, setting down his glass. "Do you have a name to go with that expert drink recommendation?"

She hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no harm in telling him. "Wren," she said.

"Wren," he repeated, as if savoring the sound. "It suits you. Delicate, but I bet you're tougher than you look."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "You'd be surprised," she said, a hint of challenge in her voice.

He grinned, clearly enjoying their banter. "I hope so. I like surprises."

Wren felt a smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts to remain professional. There was something about him that drew her in and made her want to keep talking. It had been so long since she'd felt this kind of connection with anyone.

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding. "So, Wren," he said, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur that sent a shiver through her. "What's a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Her first instinct was to laugh, but she didn’t. It was such a cliche line, but coming from him, it didn't sound cheesy. "It seems you're not from around here," she said, deflecting the compliment.

He grinned, not at all put off. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

She nodded. "You look a little... out of your depth," she admitted. “Like a fish out of water.”

He chuckled, a rich sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "I suppose I am," he said. "I've never seen so many rogues in one place before. It's quite dangerous, isn't it? I worry for you, working in a place like this. Especially after what I just saw with that drunk fellow."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

Wren felt her smile fade, replaced by a familiar bitterness. Of course. He was one of those pack wolves. The ones who thought they knew everything about rogues without ever having met one.

"Why do you think rogues are so dangerous?" she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

He looked surprised by her sudden change in tone.

"Well," he said, hesitating for a moment, "they're kicked out of packs for a reason, aren't they? They commit crimes, become unstable. I've heard stories of rogues losing their minds, becoming little more than monsters."

Each word was like a knife in her gut. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "And have you ever met a rogue?" she asked. "Talked to one? Or are you just repeating what you've been told?"

He blinked, taken aback by her vehemence. "I... well, no," he admitted. "But everyone knows—"

"Everyone knows nothing," she snapped. "Did it ever occur to you that rogues can have children? That those children are born rogues through no fault of their own?"

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