Page 38 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

For a moment, I consider saying no. Not because of him—he’s proven himself loyal—but because giving my blessing feels like a concession. Like admitting the world has changed so much that I don’t even recognize the role I’m supposed to play in it anymore.

But then I think of Charlotte. The way she lights up when he’s around, her laugh unguarded and free. My brother would’ve wanted this for her.

“Of course,” I say. “She’s your mate. But more than that, I can see how much you care for her. My brother would’ve wanted the man his daughter marries to worship the ground she walks on.”

“That I do,” Elijah says, his half-smile softening into something earnest. “On that note... Charlotte would really like it if you walked her down the aisle. We’re doing the whole thing: processional, vows, the works. Just like in the romance books she loves.”

“You don’t want me to perform the ceremony?”

“Peaches is doing it. Non-religious. Hope that’s okay.”

I swallow the ache that rises at the thought of the life Charlotte never got to have—with her parents, in a world untouched by the Convergence. “Of course,” I say. “And when’s this happening?”

“Next week. She’s ready to tie the knot, and honestly, I’m not inclined to wait either.”

I nod. “You’re a good man, Elijah. I’m glad she found someone who wants to do right by her.”

We lapse into silence, awkward but not uncomfortable. Elijah shifts, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Alright,” he says. “Guess I’ll go.”

“Wait,” I say. “Did you get her a ring?”

He winces. “Forgive the profanity, Father, but…where the fuck am I supposed to get a ring around here?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Give me a second.”

I cross to the cabinet by the wall, my fingers hesitating on the latch before I open it. The old wooden doors creak, revealing a cluttered collection of notebooks, boxes, and neatly hung clothes—organized, but barely. My hand moves instinctively to the top shelf, brushing aside a battered copy ofThe Book of Psalmsand a stack of frayed papers.

There it is.

A small cardboard box, its edges softened by time, tucked in the far corner like a forgotten relic. I pull it down and place it carefully on the desk. My chest tightens as I lift the lid, the faint scent of cedar rising from the worn interior. Inside, nestled among a few yellowed photos and an old pocket watch, lies the ring.

It’s a plain gold band, unadorned and weathered, the kind of thing you’d barely notice unless it meant something. I pick it up, rolling the cool metal between my fingers, my thumb tracing the subtle imperfections—scratches and nicks that tell their own story of the man who wore it.

For a moment, I hesitate.

This was Manuel’s. My brother’s. The last tangible piece of him I have left, a reminder of the life he never got to finish. He wore it every day after he got married, never took it off.

I’ve carried it all these years, unsure if I’d ever find a use for it—or if I’d just keep it as a memento, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt me.

But now, it has a purpose.

I turn back to Elijah, holding the ring out in my palm. “You can give her this.”

He stares at it, his expression softening into something I haven’t seen often from him—pure reverence. His fingers brush over the worn metal, careful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid to take it.

“She’ll have to wear it on a chain,” I say, my voice quieter now. “It was her father’s. I’ve kept it all these years, not knowing what to do with it.”

Elijah swallows hard, his gaze fixed on the ring. “You’re sure?”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. “It’s where it belongs.”

His thumb grazes the band, and for a moment, I see something unguarded in his eyes—gratitude mixed with the weight of understanding. “Thank you,” he says softly.

I look away, focusing on the cluttered cabinet, pretending I need to put something back in order. It’s easier than meeting his gaze, easier than confronting the ache in my chest.

“It’s what Manuel would’ve wanted,” I say finally, closing the cabinet with a firm push.

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