Page 12 of The Butcher

Watching him like this… It tears me up.

Bram carries the entire fucking town of Obsidian Falls on his shoulders, and I carry what happened to our beta.

Rex wasn’t too far off when he said we were one hell of a match.

A match made in hell.

Shifting my stare, I finally get to cleaning my glasses and manage to shove them back on my face as we walk through the packaging room toward the cooler. My eyes refocus in time to see the sharp edge of a cleaver lift through the air, the light glinting off the razor edge quickly before it comes down with a loud, metallic crack.

Bramley doesn’t notice us as we stop a couple of feet from his table.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, lines forming between his brows while those dark eyes stay locked in on the task at hand.

Meticulous.

Careful.

Every movement executed with practiced ease.

The metal slices through flesh and bone as if it were warm butter, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each tiny movement.

He’s beautiful like this.

A true man of his craft, Bram’s attention doesn’t stray or wander. He keeps butchering his latest kill as if he’s in a completely separate plane of existence, lifting the knife again and bringing it down with athwackthat’s followed by a sharp scrape and thud before repeating the action.

Most importantly, he’s calm.

BramleyButchAmbrose, the alpha of our tiny little oddball pack, is fucking calm, and he’s clear headed for the first time since Zeke said he had a new lead.

The tension has eased from his entire body, I can physically see it, and as he throws another hunk of meat on the table, I finally see why.

“Three?” I blurt as I look around the cooler. “You got three this time?”

“Mhm,” he grunts, finally acknowledging the two of us gawking at him. “Three big ones.”

I nod blankly as my stare moves from one carcass to the next, three new ones already hanging on hooks, not quite frozen but definitely stiff as they dangle with the cuts of beef and racks of lamb.

“You can say that again,” Clay says, his smile audible. “Does this mean we’re going to get laid tonight?”

My head snaps toward our beta, who is now cracking up at himself, then quickly swings in Bram’s direction.

I would absolutely love to get laid tonight, for the three of us to reconnect after almost three weeks of being at each other’s throats—mostly me and Bram—but I’m wound so tight I might pop and last I knew, our alpha was so fucking angry he couldn’tpop a boner to save his life so I doubt that kind of comment is going to go over well right now.

Except… It actually does.

One dark brow arches as he sets the cleaver to the side, our alpha staring at us with a long dormant hunger even as he reaches into the basket for the next cut to be butchered, then the most beautiful thing happens.

A smile forms behind his mask, the lower half of a skull lifting on his cheeks before a deep, though brief, chuckle rumbles from Bramley’s chest.

“You know what?” He asks as he tosses the leg on his table. “You just might. Hell, I’ll even take you two to dinner first.”

My jaw drops a little while our beta nudges me with his elbow. “Wine, dine, double sixty-nine. See, Nashy. I told you this was gonna be a different hunt.”

My mouth snaps shut, and I immediately frown as I watch Bram cut through another ankle and slide the toeless foot into the bucket on the floor.

He did.

Clayton definitely said this hunt wasn’t going to be like the last few, and he was right.

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