Page 23 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

I meet her gaze, steady but pleading. “I know what’s happened is strange, but I’m just a man, Tilda,” I say, my voice soft. “And before all this happened, I was a priest. I’m still a priest. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I’ll show them that God put you here for a reason.”

“But you aren’t just a man,” she snaps, cutting me off. “You bit me. You left a mark on me, and now you can find me wherever I go. Don’t tell me that’s normal.”

Her words knock the air out of my lungs. I take an unconscious step back, the weight of her accusation pinning me in place. I don’t want to crowd her, to make her feel like I’m forcing myself into her space.

And yet…my wolf is screaming at me to close the distance, to pull her into my arms and never let go.

And she’s right.

If I touch her now, it won’t mean anything. If I tell her anything—hell, if I ask her to do something, even by accident—it won’t mean anything. Not the way it’s supposed to.

“The Alpha Prime’s power,” she continues, her voice shaking, “means that any connection between us is artificial.”

“I should have told you,” I murmur, the words barely audible. I glance at the floor, my throat tight. “Sometimes…I forget I’m not human anymore.”

It’s the closest I’ve come to admitting how much I hate what I am now. But it’s the truth. No matter how loudly my wolf rages, no matter how badly I want to claim her, I can’t give in. I can’t let myself be that man.

I have to be fallible. Human.

Tilda crosses her arms and bites her lip, clearly trying to calm herself down now that we’ve hashed out the immediate issues. The fury in her eyes has dimmed a little, but I can tell she’s still seething under the surface.

She’s still here. Still my prisoner.

The thought makes my stomach churn. Keeping her locked up isn’t fair—it’s not who I want to be—but she knows too much. She’s been in the den, seen our struggles, seen our kids. She knows exactly where we’re vulnerable. I’ve backed myself into a corner, and now there’s no way out of this that doesn’t feel wrong.

I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to make myself smaller. The effort seems to work; her stance relaxes just a little. She takes a slow, deep breath, her mouth a tight, grim line.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice low but steady. “You saved my life. I don’t… That doesn’t mean I’m grateful.”

“Understood,” I say, though my wolf is practically clawing at me, roaring its frustration at her rejection.

“I’d like it if you let me go,” she says, “but I know that’s not happening anytime soon. And as much as I hate this, I don’t want those kids to get sick because you can’t take care of them.”

A laugh escapes me, bitter and hoarse. I lean back against the wall, pulling at my beard in frustration. The full moon’s pull has just faded, but the scent of blackberries and leather still lingers in the air, teasing me. She’s close—too close—and she won’t stop pushing my buttons.

But I need to stay in control. I have to prove to her—and to myself—that I’m not the monster she thinks I am.

“So,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm, “you’ll help us establish a garden. And in return, I’ll help you get the medicine your sister needs. Since, you know, you can’t provide for her yourself.”

The words come out sharper than I intend, a petty jab I should’ve swallowed. Tilda’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I expect her to launch into another tirade.

She doesn’t.

“Our deal still stands,” she says, her tone clipped. “I help you grow your crops, you help me get insulin for Enid. After that…” She hesitates, squaring her shoulders and looking me dead in the eye. “After that, you decide what you’re going to do with me. I don’t care what happens to me as long as she gets what she needs.”

Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray her fear. She’s tough, but not invincible. Not indifferent. I stand, letting her see just how much bigger I am than her, a not-so-subtle reminder of who’s in charge here.

But even as I tower over her, she doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t back down.

Instead, she steps closer, her chin lifted defiantly, her green eyes blazing with challenge. The air between us crackles with tension, and I know she feels it too—the pull, the primal urge that neither of us can fully ignore. My fists clench at my sides as I fight to keep my composure.

“You don’t scare me,” she says quietly, her voice low but fierce.

“Good,” I growl, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. “Then maybe you should stay in someone else’s room.”

Her mouth curves into a humorless smile. “Perfect. I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

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