Page 67 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

“I marked him,” I repeat, forcing myself to meet her gaze even though it feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. “It wasn’t…” I trail off. I can’t tell them it was an accident. “He didn’t mark me, though. He wants to give it time.”

Dad leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processes my words. “Magnolia,” he says slowly, his tone measured but tense. “Do you even know what that means? What you’ve done?”

“I know exactly what it means,” I snap, my voice rising. “It means that he’s mine. That we’re connected. It’s not something I can just undo, and I don’t want to.”

Mom presses a hand to her forehead, shaking her head slowly. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. You’ve tied yourself to a man we know nothing about. A drifter. Someone who could leave tomorrow and never come back.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” I say firmly. “He’s staying.”

Mom’s eyes narrow, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studies me. “He’s staying?” she echoes, her voice dripping with skepticism. “And you’re just taking his word for it? Maggie, men say a lot of things when they want something.”

My jaw tightens, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not just words, Mom,” I snap, the heat in my voice surprising even me. “I don’t just believe him because he said it. I know he’s staying. I can feel it.”

Her expression hardens, her brow furrowing. “Feel it?” she asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep going. “I mean…I can feel him,” I say. “His emotions. He’s worried about me, even right now. I can feel it.”

Mom’s hands drop to her sides, her expression shifting to…I don’t know. Shock, maybe. Or fear. “You can feel him,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I say firmly, though my voice wavers slightly. “That’s what the mark does. It connects us. I didn’t realize it would be this intense, but…I can feel him. I know what he’s feeling.”

Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he studies me. “And he can feel you?” he asks, his voice calm but probing.

I hesitate, the weight of Dad’s question pressing down on me. “I don’t know,” I admit. “He hasn’t…he hasn’t marked me. So I’m not sure if it’s the same for him.” My fingers twist together in my lap as the words hang heavy in the air, and I can’t help but feel exposed, like I’ve given them too much.

“But you want him to,” Mom says suddenly. Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you?”

My stomach twists, and heat rises to my cheeks. “That’s not what I said,” I snap, my tone defensive. But the truth of it is there, unspoken. I do want him to. I want him to feel the same pull, the same connection that’s been consuming me since last night. But there’s no way I’m admitting that. Not to them. Not now.

Mom steps closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “Magnolia, you’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, her voice low and trembling with emotion. “This isn’t some fleeting crush. This is?—”

“I know what this is,” I cut her off, my frustration boiling over. “You think I don’t understand, but I do. I know what the mark means, I know what it does. And I’m not taking this lightly. Colt isn’t just some guy to me, Mom. He’s—” I stop myself before the words can spill out, clamping my mouth shut. He’s mine, but I can’t say that. Not again.

Dad leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression calmer than Mom’s but no less intense. “And where does this leave you now, Maggie?” he asks quietly. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to see him,” I say firmly, meeting Dad’s gaze head-on. “I need to talk to him, and I need to figure this out. With him.”

Mom’s hands fly up in frustration. “So that’s it?” she snaps. “You’re just going to run back to him, like nothing we’ve said matters? Like you haven’t tied yourself to a man we don’t even know?”

“I’m not running,” I say, my voice rising to match hers. “And I’m not asking for your permission, either. I’m telling you what I’m doing.”

Her eyes flash, and I can see the anger and fear warring in her expression. “You think you’re so grown up, don’t you?” she spits, her voice shaking. “You think you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I never said that,” I fire back. “But I’m not a kid, Mom. I’m twenty-four. I can make my own decisions.”

“And bad ones, apparently,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you think?—”

“Enough,” Dad interrupts. His voice is firm, a note of finality in it that makes both of us pause. “Maggie, you’re right. You’re an adult. You can make your own choices. But don’t expect us not to worry. Because we will. We always will.”

I nod, my throat tight as I swallow down the lump forming there. “I know,” I say. “But I need to do this. I need to see him.”

Mom shakes her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “I guess you had to have a rebellious streak someday,” she mutters, turning back to the counter. Her hands press into the dough with renewed force, like she’s channeling all her frustration into it. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

I flinch at her words but force myself to stand my ground. “It’s not going to fall apart,” I say firmly, though the knot in my chest tightens at the thought. “But even if it does…it’s my decision to make.”

She doesn’t respond, her movements mechanical as she kneads the dough, her back turned to me. Dad stands, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, Maggie,” he says. “That’s all we ask.”

“I will,” I promise. I step toward the door, glancing back at them one last time. “Goodnight.”

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