Page 64 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

But my relief is short-lived.

A faint vibration hums through the device, a subtle but unmistakable sign of an incoming message. My heart sinks as I pull the beacon free, my fingers tightening around it as I flip it over to reveal the small display screen.

A new message blinks up at me, stark against the dark background. My stomach churns as I press the button to open it. It’s a message from Ephraim, more threatening than I’d like.

We’re done waiting. If you don’t make contact soon, we’ll handle it ourselves. You know what that means.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, my stomach twisting into knots as I reread the message. The blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen feels like a countdown, a constant reminder that my time is running out.

Ephraim doesn’t bluff. He doesn’t make idle threats. When he says he’ll handle it, he means it—and the Gulf Pack’s idea of handling things doesn’t leave much room for negotiation.

They’ll send more hunters…real ones this time, not just looking for intel, but looking to steal women.

Magnolia. Peaches. Anyone they thought had value.

My hands tighten around the beacon, the edges biting into my palms. My wolf snarls, pacing in the back of my mind, its agitation feeding my own. They can’t touch her. I won’t let them. But the thought of what it might take to protect her—what I’d have to sacrifice—makes my chest tighten.

If I tell the pack what I know…then they’ll all know I came here under false pretenses.

They could kick me out, or worse. I might never see Magnolia again.

I stare at the screen, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking me, and for a moment, I’m tempted to smash the damn thing. To rip it apart and end the connection once and for all. But I know better. Ephraim would just send someone else. Someone worse. And they wouldn’t stop until they’d torn this place apart.

I shove the beacon back into its hiding spot, covering it with the junk I’d piled on top. My heart pounds as I stand, my mind racing through possibilities, none of them good.

I lean back against the wall, closing my eyes and letting out a long, slow breath. My wolf is still pacing, restless and agitated, growling for action. It’s always been this way when I’m backed into a corner—fight or flight. But this time, neither option feels right. Not yet.

I could go to Reyes. Tell him everything. Spill my guts about why I came here, what the Gulf Pack wants, what they’ll do if I don’t deliver. It’s the logical move. The one that would save me from having to handle this alone. But the thought of seeing Magnolia’s face when she finds out—the hurt, the betrayal—it’s enough to make me sick.

And if I don’t tell anyone? If I keep this to myself, play it cool, try to buy time? It’s a gamble. A dangerous one. But it’s the only way I can think of to keep Magnolia safe without risking the fragile connection we’ve built.

For now.

I push off the wall and start pacing the small room, my boots scuffing against the concrete floor. My wolf growls low in my chest, a deep, guttural sound that echoes my own frustration. I feel like a ticking bomb, every second bringing me closer to the moment I have to make a choice.

But not tonight. Not yet.

I glance at the beacon’s hiding spot one last time, making sure everything is in place, before stepping out of the office and back into the workshop. The mess Frankie left behind is still scattered across the room, and for a moment, I let myself focus on the small, mundane task of cleaning up. Tools in their places. Papers stacked neatly. Drawers closed.

It’s a delay tactic, and I know it. But it’s all I’ve got right now.

I pull open a drawer and grab a rag, wiping down the workbench as my mind races. The Gulf Pack isn’t going to wait forever. Ephraim’s patience has always been thin, and his threats aren’t empty. If I don’t make contact soon, they’ll send someone else. Someone who won’t hesitate to do what I’ve been avoiding.

My grip tightens on the rag, the fabric twisting in my hands. I can see Magnolia’s face in my mind, her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks about the stars, the way she looks at me like I’m someone worth believing in.

I don’t deserve that look. Not when I’ve lied to her. Not when I’ve kept things from her. But the thought of losing it—of losing her—it’s unbearable.

I toss the rag onto the workbench and lean forward, bracing my hands on the edge. My head hangs low, and for a moment, I just let myself breathe. In and out. Steady. Controlled.

I don’t have a plan. Not yet. But I’ll figure it out. I always do.

For now, I’ll wait. I’ll think. I’ll sleep on it and see if the morning brings any clarity.

It’s a thin thread to hold onto, but it’s all I’ve got. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s how to survive on less.

As I head for the cot in the corner, my wolf finally starts to settle, its growl fading into a low, simmering hum. The workshop is quiet again, the hum of the den outside barely audible through the thick walls.

I lie down, the weight of the day pressing heavy on my chest, and close my eyes.

---