Page 48 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

I glance back at the blankets, at the space I’ve created, and take another deep breath. This is what I want. This is my chance. And I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers.

The sound of his boots on the stairs snaps me out of my thoughts. I look up as he steps into the observatory, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, the last rays of sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face. He glances around, his gaze landing on the nest of blankets before flicking back to me.

His brow lifts, just slightly, and his lips quirk into a faint smirk. “Only one bed?”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I stumble over my words, my carefully laid plans unraveling in an instant. “There, uh…there wasn’t much to work with,” I say quickly, gesturing at the blankets. “This place isn’t exactly well-stocked.”

He tilts his head, his smirk softening into amusement, and I swear he sees right through me. “Fair enough,” he says, his tone easy. “Looks…cozy.”

I force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward as I feel. “It’s something, at least. Better than sleeping on the floor.”

He nods, stepping further into the room. I consider telling him the truth—about what I want, about what I’ve been thinking since we arrived—but the words catch in my throat.

Instead, I turn away, pretending to fuss with the blankets.

“You ready to head up the hill?” Colt asks, breaking the silence. “I figured we could check out some of the other telescopes before it gets too dark.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Just let me grab my camera.”

He waits while I dig out my old Polaroid, and then we head outside, the air cool and crisp as the last light of day fades into twilight. The observatory’s grounds stretch out before us, a maze of winding paths and scattered telescopes, their metal bodies rusted and weathered–but still standing.

We walk in comfortable silence, the crunch of gravel under our boots the only sound. Neither of us needs a flashlight; it’s one of the few perks of lycanthropy, the ability to see in the dark. The higher we climb, the more the horizon opens up, revealing a sea of stars beginning to twinkle against the deepening blue.

“This place is incredible,” I say, my voice barely louder than the wind rustling through the grass. “It feels like stepping into another world.”

Colt glances over at me. “It’s not bad,” he says. “Places like this…they’re rare now. Untouched, quiet. Feels unnatural.”

I nod, following his gaze to the telescope standing sentinel against the twilight. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” I murmur. “What humanity must have been like before the Convergence? Before everything fell apart?”

Colt is quiet for a moment, his gaze steady on the horizon. “I’ve thought about it,” he admits, his voice lower now. “A lot, actually. The way things must’ve been—the way people must’ve lived. I mean, this place?” He gestures toward the observatory, the telescopes, the winding paths that connect them all. “They built this just to look at the stars. To study them. What does that say about us?”

“That we were dreamers,” I say without hesitation, a small smile tugging at my lips. “That we wanted to understand the universe. To explore it.”

“Or that we were arrogant,” Colt counters. “Thinking we had the right to it. To everything.”

I tilt my head, considering his words. “Maybe. But doesn’t that arrogance—if that’s what it is—mean something too? I mean, the Convergence proved we weren’t alone out there. The Angels, the Infernal Legion…they came from somewhere else. But before we knew that, before the world fell apart, we still looked up at the stars and wondered. That has to count for something.”

Colt shrugs. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “It’s hard to imagine, though. A world where people weren’t just surviving.”

I glance at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you think it was like?” I ask gently. “Before the Convergence?”

He shrugs, his gaze distant. “I don’t know. Peaceful, maybe. At least compared to now. People probably took a lot of things for granted—safety, stability, freedom. Hell, even little things like running water or electricity. I bet most of them didn’t even realize how good they had it.”

I nod, my chest tightening at the thought. “My parents talk about it sometimes,” I say. “How life was before. They said there was so much…possibility. So many choices. It was overwhelming, but in the best way. You could be anyone, do anything. The world felt…infinite.”

Colt’s eyes flick back to me. “And now?” he asks. “What does it feel like now?”

“Small,” I admit. “Like everything’s already been decided for us. Like we’re just…living in the ruins of someone else’s dreams.”

Colt doesn’t respond right away, his gaze returning to the telescope. “Maybe that’s why places like this matter,” he finally says. “They remind us of what we’re capable of. What we used to be.”

“And what we could be again,” I add, my heart lifting slightly at the thought.

He looks at me then, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. “You think we’ve got it in us?” he asks, his tone soft but serious. “To rebuild? To dream like that again?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I want to believe we do.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything, the weight of the conversation settling over us. Then Colt chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Magnolia,” he says, his smirk returning. “You see the world like it’s still worth saving.”

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