Page 82 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

“It is,” I say, brushing my knuckles gently across her cheek. “You’re fierce, Tilda. Strong. And you make me feel like I can take on anything.”

Her eyes search mine for a moment, and I think I see something flicker there—something unguarded and vulnerable. But she doesn’t linger in it. Instead, she sits up, stretching her arms above her head, her hair falling in soft waves down her back.

“So,” she says, clearing her throat. “We should get going, right?”

“Probably,” I reply, though I don’t make a move to get up just yet. “But you know…I wouldn’t complain if we stayed here a little longer.”

She laughs, low and warm, shaking her head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Her eyes sparkle as she hooks her leg over my hip, already wet between her thighs. “So…one more for the road?”

I groan and nestle my face in the crook of her neck, grinding myself against her. It takes almost nothing to get hard for her—the scent of my mate alone is enough to drive me crazy, and her teasing words just tip me over the edge. I slide inside her with the ease of practiced lovers, and we make love one more time before we go.

And I believe it won’t be the last.

God wouldn’t have put us together only to tear us apart.

* * *

We leavethe den as the sun rises, heading straight to the barn to saddle up the horses. Tilda takes her mare, Annie, and I pull out the stallion. None of the horses seem disturbed by my scent, to my relief, and they’re fully outfitted with gear as the man who shot Tilda left it all behind.

“I figured they would be more afraid of me—animals can normally scent lycan blood,” I say. “They’re trained for it?”

“Yeah,” Tilda murmurs, stroking Annie’s neck with clear affection. “All of our horses are desensitized to battle, lycanthropes, gunshots…otherwise, they would be useless to us. Especially when there are Heavenly Host ships flying overhead, the horses have to be calm by necessity. If they spook, it could literally mean life or death in a fight.”

“The horses were better trained than the man who shot you,” I say, a snarl creeping into my voice despite myself.

“David?” Tilda nods. “Yeah…he was only there as backup. I bet he was in a whole lot of trouble when he went back to Homestead sans four soldiers and four horses.”

I go quiet. “I never asked…did you know the men I killed?”

She frowns. “Not really. They were bounty hunters—came into town with an opportunity and they wanted supplies. I joined up for Enid’s sake. David, too. He has a thing for my sister.”

“And the horses belonged to them?”

“Yeah,” she says. “But we have more back at Homestead–cows, chickens, and goats too.”

I snort. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She chuckles. “Nope.”

Once the horses are ready to go, we lead them out onto the prairie and toward the perimeter wall. There’s only one gate in the nine-foot fence, effective enough at keeping out any intruders, so we ride that way. Grant is standing outside it, a stubborn smirk on his lips.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he shouts, waving his hand. “You sure you don’t want company?”

I shake my head. “It’s only a few hours ride—we should be back by nightfall, hopefully with good news.”

“And if you aren’t back…?”

“Then Will is in charge, like I told you,” I say. “You’ll defer to Will or Suyin for any major decisions. I trust his judgment, but that shouldn’t be necessary.”

Doubt clouds Grant’s face, but I don’t let it scare me—and I hope it doesn’t scare Tilda. She doesn’t say a word as he opens the gate, and then we take the horses out onto the old, crumbling asphalt road trailing through the prairie.

For the first hour, we ride in silence. The rhythmic thud of the horses’ hooves echoes against the cracked road before softening as we transition to the forest floor. The world feels vast and quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and forces you to listen. Cicadas drone in the distance, their hum rising and falling in waves. Birds call to one another from the canopy above, their melodies weaving through the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

The forest feels alive in a way I hadn’t realized I missed. When the Celestial Curtain blanketed the world, it muted everything—not just the light, but the sounds, the scents, the heartbeat of nature itself. Back then, it was like the earth held its breath, waiting. Now, with the Curtain pushed back in patches, life is creeping back in. Slowly, cautiously, but undeniably.

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