Page 45 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

16

COLT

The ride is unbearable.

Magnolia’s thighs press tightly against my hips, her arms locked around my waist as we speed down the road. Every bump and turn makes her hold on tighter, and every time she shifts against me, my wolf howls, clawing at the edges of my control. The vibration of the bike does nothing to help; it amplifies everything—the heat of her body, the rhythmic press of her legs, the scent of her skin.

I’ve had pretty girls on this bike before, of course. I’ve gotten my fill of beautiful women.

But Magnolia…? She’s something else.

She’s close. Too close.

It’s a dangerous kind of torment, gnawing at the edges of my resolve and making it impossible to focus on anything but her. The road blurs beneath the tires, the hum of the engine blending with the wild beating of my heart. I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, but it’s impossible not to. Every part of me is aware of her—Magnolia Jones, clinging to me like she belongs here, and God help me, it feels like she does.

When we finally reach the observatory, I’m half convinced my self-control has frayed to the breaking point. The crumbling main building looms ahead of us, its dome tarnished with rust, patches of metal glinting dully under the afternoon sun. Cracks snake along the walls, like the place has fought battles with time and weather and barely made it through. Windows, or what’s left of them, gape like empty eyes, shattered glass replaced by the jagged edges of neglect.

The surrounding grounds sprawl out in every direction, a mixture of wild beauty and decay. Winding paths, once neatly paved, are now fractured and uneven, overrun with weeds and dotted with bursts of wildflowers—reds, yellows, and purples breaking through the cracks like nature reclaiming what was once hers. The scent of damp earth and sun-warmed grass fills the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of rust from the old equipment scattered along the trails.

Further down the paths, smaller domes and telescopes sit like forgotten sentinels, their once-pristine surfaces dulled by grime and lichen. Some are tilted at odd angles, their mechanisms long since frozen in place. Others look intact, their steel frames weathered but sturdy, the telescopes themselves pointing toward the heavens as if waiting patiently for someone to use them again.

The whole place has an eerie, haunting beauty to it—a reminder of what was lost, but also what still remains. It’s quiet here, save for the faint whisper of the wind through the overgrown grass and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees that dot the perimeter.

Magnolia climbs off the bike first, her hair wild from the ride and her cheeks tinted that glorious rose gold that’s occupied my dreams for too many nights. She stretches, arching her back slightly, and I force myself to look away, pretending to check the saddlebags for supplies.

“This place is incredible,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she takes in the weathered structure. “I can’t believe it’s still here.”

“It’s seen better days,” I say, grabbing the small toolkit from the bike and slinging it over my shoulder. The strap bites into my shoulder slightly, but I ignore it. “But it should hold up long enough for us to take a look around.”

Magnolia glances back at me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, a stark contrast to the decay surrounding us. “Do you think the telescopes still work?”

“Only one way to find out,” I reply, motioning for her to follow me. She doesn’t hesitate, her boots crunching against the gravel as she falls into step beside me.

As we approach the main building, she pulls her Polaroid camera from her bag and flips it open. The movement is smooth, practiced, and there’s a look of quiet anticipation on her face as she inspects the device. “Do you think we’ll find anything else in there?” she asks, glancing at me briefly before focusing on loading a fresh roll of film.

“Depends,” I say, pausing to glance at the observatory’s entrance. The heavy metal doors are streaked with rust, one slightly ajar, and the faint scent of mildew wafts from within. “Could be a lot of junk. Or nothing at all. Maybe some old logs, equipment, who knows?”

She carefully threads the roll of film into place, the metallic clicks of the camera oddly comforting against the quiet hum of the surrounding meadow. “I hope we find something,” she murmurs, snapping the back of the camera shut with a satisfying click. “Even if it’s just a piece of the past. Something to prove people were here, that they cared about all this…before.”

“The past doesn’t always mean much,” I say, my tone unintentionally gruff. “But if there’s anything useful, I’ll find it.”

Magnolia looks up at me then, her expression soft but intent. “It’s not just about finding something useful,” she says quietly. “It’s about…connection. To the people who built this, to the stars they were studying. Doesn’t that matter too?”

Her question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Instead, I nod toward the building. “Let’s find out what’s left inside first,” I say. “Then we can talk about meaning.”

She gives me a small smile, one that feels like a quiet victory, and tucks the camera strap over her shoulder. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s see what we can find.”

The inside of the observatory is eerily quiet, the faint sound of the wind whistling through broken windows and cracks in the walls. Dust coats every surface, and the air smells faintly of rust and decay, but there’s a certain beauty to it—a sense of history lingering in the shadows.

Magnolia’s steps are reverent, as she explores the space. Her fingers trail over an old control panel, brushing away layers of grime to reveal faded buttons and switches. “It feels like stepping back in time,” she says, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.

“Careful,” I warn, watching her from a distance. “This place might look solid, but it’s been abandoned for a long time.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promises, her gaze fixed on the massive telescope in the center of the room. It looms overhead like a sleeping giant, its once-polished surface tarnished and dull. “Do you think we could get it working?”

I glance at the telescope, then back at her. “It’s a long shot. We’d need to clean the lens, check the alignment, and hope the mechanics aren’t completely shot.”

Magnolia turns to me, her eyes wide with excitement. “Can we try?”

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