Page 41 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

He cocks his head. “Mind me asking why?”

I shrug. “Once the Heavenly Host arrived, I guess it just seemed like there was no point in trying to talk to God. We had a direct line, after all.”

Reyes frowns like he’s going to argue, his mouth opening slightly. His hand moves in his pocket, his homily crinkling in his fingers.

But he doesn’t argue with me; instead, he schools his expression and meets my eyes. “Would you like to come to the meeting this morning?”

My voice comes out in a little croak as I wonder how I’m supposed to respond, then I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“No pressure,” he says. “Just… if you wanted to. Might be refreshing, and the chapel is beautiful this time of year.”

“It’s not that,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. The words feel clumsy on my tongue, and I can’t quite meet his gaze. “I just, um… I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

Reyes tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s weighing my words. “You know a few people here now,” he says. “Suyin, Charlotte, Elijah, Grant… They’d welcome you.”

“They’d be more than justified in telling me to stay out,” I say quietly, my arms crossing as if I can shield myself from the thought. I can feel my cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from a twinge of guilt. After all, I came here to harm these people—not to share coffee and morning pleasantries with them.

“But they won’t,” Reyes says, his voice firm, almost daring me to argue. His tone softens as he continues, “And, well, I want you to come, and I’m running the whole thing.”

“Why?”

He hesitates. For a moment, his confidence falters, and I catch a glimpse of something more vulnerable in his face. “Because you’re going to be here for a couple more weeks at least, and I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Even though I am.”

Reyes sighs, his shoulders sinking just a fraction, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing under his beard as he looks down at me. “Look, Tilda, you don’t have to do anything, but…”

“Sorry,” I blurt out, cutting him off. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, and I wince as soon as the word is out. “I’m… kind of a jerk. My sister tells me that all the time.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his posture eases. “And I’m sure you miss her,” he says, his tone gentle.

“Yeah, I do.” I take a deep breath, shrugging my shoulders as if I can shake off the weight of the admission. “I’m just going to change, and then I’ll go to your meeting or service or… whatever it is. I presume I shouldn’t show up in PJs?”

The smile spreads into something warmer, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Maybe, but Grant will probably do worse.”

I laugh, caught off guard by his response. “I don’t know what that could possibly mean, but I’m not sure if I want to find out.”

“You’ll see,” Reyes says, his voice carrying a note of amusement. He steps back slightly, giving me space to move past him. For a moment, the two of us just stand there, the air between us charged but not uncomfortable. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that lingers even after he looks away.

“Well–I’m gonna go change,” I say.

He smiles. “I’ll save you a seat.”

I nod, turning back toward Peaches’ room to get dressed. As I close the door behind me, I let out a long breath, my chest tight for reasons I can’t quite explain. She’s still sleeping, and I want to ask her everything, tell her everything…but I can’t.

Because I don’t even know what I’m feeling–and telling her would make it real.

14

REYES

We don’t typically keep to the same patterns as a normal service would. There’s no organ music or call to worship, no structured ritual. Instead, the pack filters out of the den into the late morning light, their voices buzzing softly, breaking into laughter or greetings as they take their seats on makeshift pews: mismatched old chairs, log benches, and even some upturned crates. The chatter mingles with the sound of children playing, a baby’s sharp cry cutting through the hum.

Magnolia, the preschool teacher, kneels a few feet away with a cluster of toddlers, dark curls pulled up at the crown of her head. She waves a stick in front of them, drawing their attention to the dirt as she traces wobbly shapes. “That’s a circle,” she says patiently, her face lighting up as one of the little ones claps their chubby hands. “Good job, Mia!”

A lanky boy sitting on one of the benches nearby turns around to tease them, sticking out his tongue. Magnolia glances up and snaps her fingers. “Tommy, don’t make me come over there!”

Tommy grins but straightens up, while Magnolia shakes her head, muttering under her breath about wolves acting like pups.

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