Page 51 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

She nods, offering a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It probably was, to some extent. The bite worked some miracles, but this…this isn’t something that can heal completely. The damage was too severe.”

I nod slowly, but I don’t really hear her anymore. My thoughts are stuck, looping between what she’s said and the implications of it. I try to latch onto the logic, the science of it—scar tissue, damage, healing factors.

It’s easier than acknowledging the ache settling deep in my chest, the quiet grief for something I didn’t even know I wanted.

Peaches steps closer, her hand landing gently on my shoulder. Her touch is warm, grounding, and her voice softens. “I’m sorry, Tilda. Really.”

I try to smile, but it feels stiff, forced, like my face doesn’t quite know how to cooperate. “It’s fine. Really.” I shrug, as if I can shake off the heaviness pressing down on me. “I’m almost forty—it’s not like this was in the cards anyway.”

Neither of them looks convinced, but Suyin gives me space, stepping back and crossing her arms. “Well,” she says after a pause, her tone lightening, “you’re all set. And for the record, if you and Reyes decide to…you know—” her voice dips just slightly, “—I’d still recommend Plan B. Just in case.”

Peaches snorts, the sound sharp and unexpected, breaking the lingering tension in the room. “Tilda, if you need advice on seducing a priest, I’m happy to help,” she says, her grin wide and teasing.

“Peaches,” I hiss, glaring at her, but there’s no real heat in it. The corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching into a reluctant smirk.

“What?” She holds her hands up in mock innocence, though her grin only grows. “I think it’s romantic. Forbidden love and all that. Plus, I don’t think anyone around here really cares about Reyes’s vows.”

“Peaches,” I warn, but my tone is weaker now, and I know she can hear the smile creeping into my voice.

She leans in conspiratorially. “Just…maybe let us know how it goes?”

I roll my eyes, but her laughter is infectious. Somehow, her teasing pulls me out of the fog, just a little. “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep you posted,” I say, deadpan, and that earns me a full, delighted laugh from her.

Suyin watches the exchange with a faint smile, her usual quiet demeanor softening into something kind. “You know where to find me if you need anything else,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring.

I nod, the heaviness still lingering in my chest, but the edges softened by the warmth of their company. “Thanks,” I murmur, meaning it more than I can say.

For a moment, the three of us just stand there, the gravity of the moment balanced by the undercurrent of camaraderie. It doesn’t fix everything—not even close—but it feels less overwhelming.

Like maybe I’m not entirely alone in this.

As we step out into the corridor, Peaches loops an arm around my shoulder. “Well,” she says, her voice light, “at least we’ve got the logistics sorted. Now all you have to do is convince Reyes to break his vows.”

I laugh, a little hollow. “If I evenwanthim to.”

“Oh, you want him to,” Peaches laughs. “It’s so obvious.”

I glance away, letting her words settle uncomfortably in my chest. Do I? The thought claws at me, tangled with too many emotions I can’t quite name. Wanting him means opening myself up to something I don’t think I’m ready for, and I’m not sure if I can risk it.

Peaches squeezes my shoulder, her smile softening. “Think about it,” she says simply.

As if I’ve been thinking about anything else since I got here.

As if I’ll ever want someone other than him.

17

REYES

I’m not one to avoid my problems, but I sure as hell avoid Tilda.

I throw myself into the garden plot, working from dawn until my muscles ache and the sun dips below the horizon. The rhythm of it—the digging, the planting, the watering—keeps my mind steady. Or at least, it tries to.

But I don’t speak to her. Not directly. Not if I can help it.

Tilda is always there, always in my periphery, her presence pulling at me like the tide. She’s quick to help, a constant blur of motion as she drags the heavy tarp across the field or kneels in the dirt to pull weeds. She’s good at this—better than I expected. But I can’t let myself look at her for too long, can’t let my thoughts linger.

So I don’t.

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