Page 33 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

Her words bring Reyes to mind instantly—his scent of incense and red wine, even now mingling with the musk of sweat as he works on trimming the last bit of tall grass. I shake the thought away.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to how much you people talk about smells,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I’ve heard more about my ‘scent’ in the last three days than I have in my entire life.”

“You get used to that too,” Charlotte says with a grin. “Honestly, it’s not that different from being human. We’re just less shy about saying when we’re happy, when something smells nice, or, yeah, when we’re horny.” She blushes, then adds quickly, “And, of course, Elijah helped me figure it all out.”

She’s clearly smitten, and it’s contagious. I can’t help thinking about how my sister Enid blushes when she talks about boys.

God, I miss her.

I nudge Charlotte’s arm. “Alright, go on. Tell me about him. Who’s Elijah?”

Her face lights up. “It’s hard to explain,” she says, her cheeks flushing deeper. “I kinda hated him at first, but the more we talked, the more I realized how good he was. By the time I figured out what I was, I was already in too deep to walk away. There was no way I was giving him up.”

I glance at Reyes, catching the way the sun glints off his tan, shirtless back as he concentrates on trimming the grass. Something about the sight feels heavier than it should.

I turn back to Charlotte. “Did your uncle tell you to talk to me?”

“No,” she says earnestly. “I just thought you should know you’re not alone. Everyone comes here under different circumstances, and sometimes they’re complicated.”

I duck my head, feeling a little ashamed for even asking. “You know what I am, right?”

“A crusader? Yeah, I know,” she says, her voice softer now. “And my mate was one too.”

I blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Really.” She sighs, taking another sip of water. “Elijah was part of the Dallas Pack–participated in a lot of bad stuff. His pack is still under Angel command, but he ran away from it all. People weren’t happy when we first showed up, but they gave us a chance. And now? Now we have a home.”

“You don’t live in the den?” I ask.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve got a little cabin between here and the city so I can visit my grandparents. But I’m telling you this because…I don’t know. We’re used to seeing things in shades of gray here.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Was that a joke about dogs being colorblind?”

Charlotte nearly spits out her water, covering her mouth as she bursts into laughter. It’s loud enough to draw attention from the others, but she waves them off with a grin.

“Tilda!” she says, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t recommend repeating that, but it was pretty funny.”

“I’m not exactly known for my humor, so I’ll take it,” I say, smiling.

“I can see why Reyes likes you,” she says, her tone light but sincere.

That catches me off guard.

Reyes likes me?

Since when?

11

TILDA

Four long, grueling days pass in a blur of sweat, dirt, and aching muscles.

The work never seems to stop. Each morning starts before the sun fully rises, the pack emerging from the den like shadows in the pale light. By mid-morning, we’re already drenched in sweat, hands blistered from tilling the rocky soil and pulling out stubborn roots. The cleared field needs constant attention—every night we lay down tarps to keep the grass from reclaiming its territory, and every day we churn the soil, rock by rock, clod by clod, until it feels like we’re fighting the earth itself.

Charlotte’s mate, Elijah, shows up periodically with supplies. He’s tall, quiet, and efficient, always hauling sacks of fertilizer or tools without much fanfare. I can’t help wondering where he’s sourcing everything—fertilizer isn’t exactly easy to come by these days—but I don’t ask. The less I know, the better, probably.

Still, when I see the fertilizer bags stacked neatly by the edge of the field, relief washes over me. Whatever strings Elijah’s pulling, they’re worth it.

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