Page 13 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, sweetheart. No. You came intomy house.Just because you lost doesn’t mean you get to walk away scot-free.”

The term of endearment grates on me, making me clench my fists. If anyone back at Homestead called me that…well, everyone there knows what would happen. But here, I don’t have a lot of leverage.

“So I’m your prisoner?” I ask, my voice rising.

“For now,” he says, with a maddening calm. “Youdidshow up with a rifle and a knife. I can’t exactly let you walk out of here.”

“Do you sleep with all your prisoners, or am I just special?”

That gets him. He stiffens, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stands taller, his shadow stretching across the room.

I might be intimidated if I wasn’t tall myself, but I just puff out my chest instead.

I’ve never let a man scare me. I’m not gonna start now.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice dropping.

I freeze. He doesn’t know who I am–doesn’t know that I’m the captain of the guard back in Homestead, that my absence means they’re not as well-defended. That gives me an edge. I should lie. IknowI should lie.

“What. Is. Your. Name?” he says again, each word a command. I don’t know exactly what happens, but his tone makes me straighten my spine, look into his eyes–

And I blurt out the truth.

“Tilda,” I say. “Matilda Bingham, from Homestead.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smirk. I don’t know what just happened; I was going to play the undercover agent, but here I am, telling him whatever he wants to know. If he’s at all familiar with Homestead, he’s now fully aware that I’m the captain of the guard, that they’re probably not nearly as well defended now that I’m gone.

“Matilda Bingham,” he says, rolling my name over his tongue. “Why did you come here last night?”

My mouth opens, but I have no idea what to say. I clearly came here with a hit squad. How do I spin that?

“I…” My voice falters, and I scramble for a distraction. “I’m thirsty,” I say, playing up the helpless act. “Can I have some water?”

Reyes tilts his head, studying me. His expression softens, and I file that reaction away for later. Vulnerability works on him. Interesting.

He turns to grab a silver pitcher from the table, and as he pours, I scan the room for anything I can use as a weapon. My eyes land on the oil lamp. It’s risky, but it’s my best shot.

I’m just about to lunge when a low growl rumbles through the air, freezing me in place. Reyes doesn’t even turn around. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, calm as ever. “I’m the only thing keeping the others from ripping you apart.”

That stops me cold. “The others?”

He nods, putting the pitcher down. “My pack,” he says. “You’re a crusader, aren’t you? They want you dead.”

“And why don’t you?” I ask, genuinely confused. “Why save me at all?”

His gaze flicks to me, sharp and unreadable. “Because I’m a man of God,” he says simply.

I stare at him. “You’rewhat?”

“A priest,” he says, like that explains everything. “And I try to stick to my vows—celibacy included—so you don’t have to worry about me sleeping with you.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You…” I pause. “But you killed my men.”

“One of them,” he says. “The other two were killed by my lieutenants.”

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