Page 83 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

Tilda glances around, her eyes scanning the trees like she’s cataloging every detail. Her horse snorts, breaking the quiet, and she reaches down to pat its neck. “It’s beautiful out here,” she murmurs, her voice barely louder than the rustling leaves.

“It is,” I agree. “Hard to believe it used to be so barren.”

She nods, her gaze lingering on a patch of wildflowers growing in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. “It’s…hopeful,” she says softly. “Like the world’s trying to fix itself.”

I glance over at her, struck by the vulnerability in her tone. For all her sharp edges, Tilda has moments like this—moments where the weight she carries slips away, just for a second, and I get a glimpse of something softer. Something I want to protect.

The path narrows, and I guide my horse ahead, taking the lead as the forest thickens around us. The air is cooler here, the scent of damp earth and pine sharp in my nose. I hear Tilda’s horse fall into step behind mine, its hooves crunching softly against the forest floor.

“We should be there by nightfall,” I say, glancing back at her.

She nods, her expression calm but determined. “Good,” she says. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Her words are clipped, but I can sense the layers beneath them—the worry for her sister, the uncertainty about what’s waiting for us in Homestead, the way she’s trying to steel herself for whatever comes next.

“So, what should I prepare for?” I ask, keeping my tone light even though the question feels heavy.

“With Homestead?” Tilda asks, glancing over at me. She hesitates, chewing on her lip like she’s trying to find the right words. “Hm…typical country folk, I guess. Friendly enough if they think you’re the right kind of people, hostile if they decide you’re not.”

“Am I the wrong kind of people?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She winces slightly, her gaze dropping. “Well…you’re a lycanthrope,” she says carefully. “And you’re…I don’t mean this the wrong way, but there’s not exactly a lot of diversity out in the boonies. That hasn’t really changed, even after the Convergence. Homestead’s…kind of stuck in its ways.”

“So they’re racist,” I say flatly.

Tilda flinches. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, trying not to let the bitterness seep into my voice. “I can’t say I expected anything else. And contrary to popular belief, cities weren’t exactly multicultural utopias before the Convergence. Unfortunately, I know how to handle this kind of thing.”

Her exhale is heavy, her brows furrowed. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“It’s not fun,” I admit, giving her a wry smile. “But I’ve learned to lead with something that throws people off. Usually, I start with the fact that my family has been in Texas since before it was a state.”

Tilda’s eyes widen theatrically, and she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like I’ve said something scandalous. “There was a time before Texas was a state? Heresy.”

I laugh, the tension in my chest loosening a little. “Right. Texas has always been here, of course—eternal and everlasting.”

She chuckles softly, her shoulders relaxing. “You know, I think you’ll get along with the people of Homestead just fine.”

“I can’t say I agree,” I say, my smile fading slightly. “But I know how to pretend.”

Her expression sobers, and she looks at me like she’s trying to say something without words. “It’s not fair,” she murmurs. “That you have to pretend.”

“It’s not about fair,” I say quietly. “It’s about survival. And survival…that’s something I’ve got plenty of experience with.”

Tilda doesn’t respond right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’ll do what I can to make it easier.”

“Thanks,” I say, my voice soft. “But you’ve done plenty already, Tilda. Just having you here makes it easier.”

She looks away, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

I chuckle, letting the lighter mood settle back in. “I’ll save it for Homestead. Maybe it’ll win them over.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she mutters, shaking her head. “They’re about as easy to win over as a pack of feral dogs.”

“Feral dogs, huh? Guess I’m in good company, then.”

Her laughter echoes through the forest, warm and genuine, and for a moment, the looming challenge of Homestead doesn’t feel quite so daunting.

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