Page 17 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

She nods, her gaze dropping to her plate. “Not great for anyone,” she murmurs, her voice softer this time. Her eyes linger on the colorful crayon drawings again—stick figures holding hands, lopsided suns beaming down on rough sketches of the den.

The room goes quiet for a while, the faint clatter of her fork against the plate filling the silence. She chews thoughtfully, her brows pulling together in a faint furrow. I can feel her hesitation, like she’s weighing her next words, her options.

Finally, she looks up, setting her fork down with deliberate care. “I can help you,” she says, her tone even.

My brow arches, and I lean back in my chair. “Oh, yeah?” I ask, keeping my voice light but cautious. “And what’s that gonna cost me?”

Her eyes harden, and I can tell she’s getting right to business. “I want insulin for my sister. She’s diabetic. If I don’t get her what she needs, she’s not going to make it.”

Her voice wavers just enough to punch a hole in my chest. And damn it…I understand. If Mateo was sick…

I reach for her hand without thinking, the movement automatic, instinctual. The second my fingers graze hers, a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, sharp and undeniable. It’s not just a spark—it’s a surge, a flood of heat that slams into my chest and radiates outward, stealing the air from my lungs.

For a moment, the world feels still, like everything’s holding its breath.

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and startled. Did she feel it too? I can’t tell, but the tension in her frame speaks louder than words. Her lips part, like she’s about to say something…

…but before the moment can stretch any further, she yanks her hand away as if my touch has scalded her.

I drop my hand immediately, curling my fingers into a fist at my side to keep them from reaching for her again. My heart’s pounding in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the bond, the adrenaline, or the fact that I’ve just made this whole situation even more complicated.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Got dizzy for a second.”

“You okay?”

She nods, but her fingers twitch against her stomach—right where I bit her. My wolf growls, and for once, I agree with him. She’s lying. Not about the sister—Enid, was it?—but about why she’s here.

This wasn’t just about insulin; they were too well-armed for that.

Still, her offer has weight.

“When does she need it?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

Tilda hesitates, the tension in her jaw telling me she’s weighing how much to reveal. “A month, maybe,” she finally says. “Tops.”

A month. Not much time, but enough to set something in motion—if I take the risk. I exhale slowly, the weight of the decision pressing down on me like lead. The pack needs food. Desperately. If she can actually help us get something sustainable going, it might be worth the gamble. But there are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a hundred ways this could backfire, leaving us worse off than we started.

And then there’s her. The bond. The spark. The distraction I can’t afford.

I glance at her, trying to gauge her sincerity. Her green eyes meet mine, unwavering, steady. She’s stubborn…and she’s desperate. When it comes to her sister needing help, t’s clear she’s not bluffing. She’ll do whatever it takes.

I know what that feels like.

“Deal,” I say finally, extending my hand. “You help us get a farm running, and I’ll find a way to get you insulin.”

Tilda narrows her eyes, suspicion flickering across her face. “And then you’ll let me go?”

I hesitate, knowing the answer she wants and the one I can give are worlds apart. “We’ll see,” I say carefully. “You’ve already seen too much.”

Her jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as she processes my words. For a moment, I think she’s going to argue, but then she exhales sharply and nods. “Fine,” she says. “As long as my sister gets her insulin…I don’t care. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

She reaches out, her fingers closing around mine. Her grip is firm, steady, and as our hands connect, that spark ignites again, surging through me like wildfire. My wolf stirs, restless and clawing at the edges of my control, and I have to fight to keep my face neutral.

Tilda’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t let go. I can’t tell if she feels the bond or if she’s just too focused on the deal to notice, but it doesn’t matter. The connection is there, undeniable, and it’s making my whole body react.

Her fingers tighten slightly, and I can’t help but wonder—again—if this is the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

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