Page 35 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

He moves to leave, but on impulse, I reach out and snag the leg of his jeans. “Hey,” I say, glancing up at him. “You can stick around if you want. I don’t mind the company.”

He hesitates, frowning. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

Reyes steps off the edge of the porch and settles beside me, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

“I figure you can’t be all that bad if you’ve been willing to help out all week,” I add, “even though you’re supposed to be this big, important alpha.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “I see you’re learning the lingo…but I hate it when people call me that.”

“What?” I ask. “Alpha Prime?”

The words feel heavy in my throat. Saying them out loud makes me hyper-aware of his size, his presence, the power he carries so effortlessly.

This is why I don’t talk to him. Even when he’s not trying, he works that damn wolf magic on me.

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip of moonshine and screwing the lid shut with a hiss. A few drops cling to the salt-and-pepper scruff on his jaw, and I catch myself licking my lips as my eyes linger there. “Makes me feel like an expensive cut of steak.”

I bark out a laugh. “Like…prime rib?”

He smirks, amber eyes gleaming. “Exactly. Just missing the garnish.”

“Careful,” I quip. “If you keep this up, someone’s gonna carve you up and serve you on a platter.”

“Let’s hope they bring good wine,” he says, his smirk widening as he leans back. “Seriously though…before all this, I was just a guy,” Reyes says. “Nothing particularly special. Just out of seminary, running the earliest service for five people.”

“Surprised there were even five,” I quip. “I thought Catholicism was out of vogue by then.”

He snorts. “You really know how to twist the knife, don’t you?”

“Sorry,” I shrug. “It’s just…who I am.”

He hums, thoughtful. “I can respect that.”

We fall into a companionable silence, passing the jar back and forth, the sharp edge of the alcohol softening into a pleasant haze that seeps into my skin. It isn’t safe—I know it isn’t—but I let myself lean into it anyway. Mateo joins us, guitar in hand, and he and Charlotte start playing a slow, sultry waltz. The music floats on the humid air, wrapping around us like a shared memory of better times.

“I forgot what the sky looked like,” I say suddenly, my eyes fixed on the horizon.

Reyes shifts beside me, not closer but somehow more open. “There’s something divine about it, isn’t there? Like a direct window to God.”

“For years, I’ve been in a red haze,” I murmur, thinking about the Celestial Curtain and the blue skies of my childhood. “And here...”

I trail off, unsure how to articulate the pull that brought me here—the sense that I was always meant to find this place, to findhim.

“How do you reconcile it all?” I ask finally, still not looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“The Angels. The Rapture. Heaven and hell going to war on Earth. How do you reconcile all of that with your belief in the big guy upstairs?”

Reyes opens the mason jar, takes a long swig, and exhales slowly. “I have to believe it’s all part of God’s plan. And…I think there’s something divine about what we’ve become. That He would show us exactly who we’re meant to be with, rather than leave us wandering the earth, searching…the things they called Blessings were in fact blessings in disguise. God gave us grace when we needed it most..”

I want to ask if there’s a Mrs. Garza, if there ever was. But I don’t.

Instead, I say, “I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

“Must be something in the air,” he says, nodding toward Charlotte and Elijah.

---