Page 5 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

He's tall—most Alphas are—but it's not just his height that commands attention. Dark hair swept back from a face that belongs on a men's sports magazine, though the silver at his temples softens what might otherwise be intimidating perfection. His eyes remind me of forest green with hints of blue, crinkled at the corners with concern. A full-sleeve tattoo of the brewing process winds down one arm, visible beneath a rolled-up Henley, and cargo pants do nothing to hide all those muscles. I'm smitten.

Breathe, Ruby. Breathe.

"So is my cousin, but the health department hasn't shut him down yet." The words slip out before my brain's filter kicks in, and I immediately tense, waiting for the reaction. Alphas don't like Omegas who talk back. I learned that lesson young, usually with a hand around my throat.

He laughs, deep and genuine, setting me carefully back on solid ground.

"Fair point. Though I'd take questionable wiring over questionable relatives any day." He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Want a hand? I'm kind of an expert at untangling disasters."

Warning bells shriek louder. He seems... safe. Which makes him more dangerous than any openly aggressive Alpha. Trust is a luxury I can't afford, not with Marcus breathing down my neck.

"I've got it," I say quickly, putting the chair between us. "But thanks..."

"Garrett." He gestures to the booth across from mine. The sign readsMountain Gate Brewing Co. in hand-painted letters. No fancy banner, no corporate logo. Just passion and—my heart skips—a coffee stout on his draft list.

Focus, Ruby.

I've seen the brand around town and even tried some of their offerings, which are always exceptional, but I never knew who owned the brewery… until now.

"You're Eve's niece," he says suddenly. "The one who inherited Winterscape Bar."

My shoulders tense. Every muscle in my body prepares for the usual lecture about how Omegas can't possibly run a business alone, how we need Alpha guidance, how we should focus on finding mates instead of trying to compete in a world that wasn't built for us. Lily faces the same issues, but because she runs her bakery with her sister, it seems more acceptable somehow.

"Ruby," I answer shortly. "And yes, I run the bar. Successfully. Without help."

"I know." His grin catches me off guard. "Your German Imperial Stout won best in show last spring. And your version of Eve's Winter Ale? Adding cardamom was genius. Gives it depth."

I blink. "You know my Aunt Eve's original recipe?"

"Used to help bottle it during my summers in high school. Eve let me study her techniques when everyone else said Alphas didn't have the patience for craft brewing and should be left to Betas." His smile turns wry. "She had strong opinions about people'sproper placesin society."

I laugh. "That's her."

Something in his voice resonates with old pain, but before I can respond, a shadow falls over me, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. A familiar cologne cuts through the festival buzz, expensive and calculated, designed to mask an Alpha's natural scent. Only one person in town would bother.

My blood curdles.

"Well." Marcus appears like a nightmare in a tailored wool coat that probably costs more than my monthly rent. Everything about him screams old money, old power—from his perfectly styled dark hair to his Italian leather shoes. He's handsome in that cold, cruel way that makes prey animals freeze in their tracks. "Networking already, little Ruby? How... progressive."

My hands clench on the lights, the plastic digging into my palms. Garrett's gaze narrows sharply on my cousin, but I step forward before he can speak. The last Alpha who tried to defend me ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw. Marcus made sure everyone knew it was askiing accident.

"Shouldn't you be at your country club?" I keep my voice neutral, careful. Show no fear. Show no weakness.

Marcus moves closer, using his height to loom over me. "Twenty days, little one." His voice drops to a whisper that scrapes down my spine like ice. "Though we could speed that up if you keep... disappointing the family. What would your father say, seeing his only daughter spreading her legs for any Alpha with a brewery?"

The crude words hit like a slap. I taste blood where I've bitten my cheek, trying not to show how much he's rattled me. But my hands shake as I attempt to untangle another section of lights, and I know he sees it. He always sees the cracks in my armor.

He knows that bringing up my father unravels me. My mom always took his side against me, despite the way he treated her, and since she passed, he's never once reached out.

"I hear the health inspector's making rounds today," Marcus continues, still too soft for others to hear. "Be a shame if something was... amiss. These old buildings, so many potential violations. One bad report and the bank might reconsider that loan extension."

"Is there a problem here?" Garrett's voice could freeze hell.

Marcus straightens, still not as tall as Garrett, but his public mask slides back into place as he squares his shoulders.

"Just a family discussion. Though I'm surprised you'd waste time on this one." He grins mockingly at my expense, his chin pointing in my direction. "Ruby has quite the reputation for... instability. But perhaps that appeals to your sort."

"My sort?" Garrett's question carries a growl.

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