Page 23 of Bully Alpha's Pregnant Mate

“Wow, confident much?” I say, but there’s a spark in my tone, something that almost sounds like flirting. And from the way he grins, he definitely notices.

“Just stating facts, Isadora. I can always find something other than trash television to keep you entertained.”

He shifts, leaning in just a little, and I realize my heart’s racing. I can smell his cologne, that faint, woodsy scent that’s become too familiar, and for one wild moment, I think he might actually kiss me.

But then he laughs and leans back. The moment dissolves, leaving me both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Over the following weeks, it’s like he has this sixth sense for getting under my skin. He finds excuses to be close, brushing past me in the hallway or leaning just a little too close when he’s showing me something on his phone. And the way he looks at me—like he actually sees me—is unnerving. I keep telling myself it’s all an act, that he’s just trying to make things right. But the more time we spend together, the harder it is to ignore the pull between us.

One night, I’m standing in the kitchen, attempting to bake something just to prove I can. The recipe is complicated, and I’m wrestling with a stubborn bit of dough when Alec walks in, laughing when he sees the mess I’ve made.

“You need some help?” he asks, moving to stand beside me.

“I’ve got it,” I insist, but he’s already reached out, his hands covering mine, guiding the dough in slow, steady motions. The warmth of his hands, the weight of his touch—it’s so simple, yet somehow, it feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared so far. My pulse quickens, and I’m hyper-aware of every inch of him, of the way his fingers brush mine, of the way his breath ghosts over my shoulder.

“See?” he murmurs, his voice low and close. “Nothing to it. The more you work it, the more it’ll fall in line.”

I swallow, trying to keep my tone steady. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one elbow-deep in flour.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against my ear. “Guess you’re right. But I like seeing you like this, all domesticated and such.”

I look up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much. There’s something there—something I’m not ready to face. He’s so close—close enough to kiss. For a moment, I actually consider it. But then he releases my hands and steps back with a smirk, and the spell is broken.

“Good luck with that,” he says, nodding to the dough before rinsing his hands and heading out of the kitchen, leaving me breathless and more frustrated than ever.

As the days go by, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the tension building between us. Every touch, every look—it’s like we’re dancing around something we both feel, but neither of us will admit. And even though I tell myself he’s just being kind, just making up for the past, there’s a part of me that can’t help but wonder. Wonder if maybe, just maybe, he sees me as something more.

Late one night, after a long shift at the bookstore, I come home to find him waiting for me in the living room, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks up as I enter, a slow smile spreading across his face.

He studies me for a moment, his gaze lingering, and there’s this look in his eyes of something vulnerable, something real. It makes my heart race, my pulse skip. And as he stands up, moving to stand in front of me, I realize I’m holding my breath.

“Isadora,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. “We don’t have to keep pretending, you know.”

My heart thuds painfully in my chest, and I peer up at him through my lashes. “I don’t know what you mean,” I say, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

He steps closer with his eyes locked on mine, and I feel that familiar pull, the undeniable attraction that’s beensimmering between us for weeks. “Don’t you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I swallow, my heart racing. For a moment, I almost close the distance between us. But then I remember who he is, who we were, and I take a step back, breaking the spell.

“Goodnight, Alec,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

He watches me for another long moment before he nods. “Goodnight, Isadora.”

As I turn and walk away, I can feel his eyes on me, and I know, without a doubt, that whatever this is between us? It’s a lot more complicated than I anticipated.

Chapter 11 - Alec

The council room reeks of stale coffee and frustration.

Damien leans back, one leg crossed over the other as he studies a rough map of Glory Town, the region that encompasses East Hills, Starfire Hollow, and Red Arrow packs, laid out on the table between us. He looks far too relaxed for someone who’s meant to be helping me locate a demon portal.

Gray, on the other hand, stands stiff as a rod with his arms crossed like he’s barely tolerating the whole thing. I swear the man hasn’t cracked a smile since I first met him.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, “we’ve combed every damn inch of our respective territories, sent scouts day and night, and we still have nothing?”

Gray, Red Arrow’s alpha, sighs, shifting his weight, arms still crossed like he’s trying to hold himself together through sheer posture. “Pretty much sums it up, Alec. If there’s a portal somewhere, it’s hidden damn well. Or maybe the demons are simply biding their time and haven’t even opened it yet.”

Damien smirks, tossing his pen onto the table. “Or maybe they’re on vacation. Don’t demons deserve a break, too?” His joking tone grates against the situation, but I know that’s his way of trying to keep things from boiling over. Jade has had this look in her eyes lately, a wild certainty that the portal is still out there, and the fact that we’re coming up empty on every search is enough to have my own nerves frayed.

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