Page 52 of Rejected By The Alpha Heir

He wants to talk.

He says he believes in us now.

I let myself savor that knowledge for a fleeting moment.

My pulse is pounding, and I feel like I’m being pulled in too many different directions at once. If Cleo is manifesting her Seer abilities, going home to the pack is really the only safe option.

But living there, with Austin as the Alpha? Having to see him every day? To watch him with Cleo? Knowing that I’ve rejected him? Will I be able to resist the call of my mate bond, or am I destined to fall for him again?

I can’t stand the idea of being hurt again but, at the same time, I don’t know if I can escape it.

I don’t know whether I want to scream or cry.

Moon Goddess, show me the answers. Show me the path I’m supposed to take. Please.I pray, holding onto the moonstone ring I’ve worn since childhood.

I take another deep breath and then I press the button on the elevator again.

I finish my shift in a daze, barely registering the faces and voices of my patients and coworkers. All I can think about is Austin, here, wanting to talk. The encounter plays over and over again in my head.

His pleading eyes, his determined stance, telling me he's not giving up. A small part of me thrills at his persistence even though my practical side remains wary.

We have too much history to simply pick up where we left off all those years ago.

Chapter Twenty

Yelena

“Mama, is dinner almost done? I’m so hungry!” Cleo yells, bouncing up and down on the couch cushions.

I smile at her fondly and stir the chicken soup I’ve made.

“Almost done, sweetie. Be careful on that couch, you don’t want to fall.”

She grins at me and jumps more. There’s a wildness about her that I recognize. Even though she doesn’t have her wolf yet, she’s still the daughter of two shifters. What would be dangerous for a human child is simply a fun activity for her.

The doorbell rings and I look up in surprise.

“Oh! I’ll get it!” Cleo yells, bounding toward the door.

I move the soup to another burner and hurry after her. “Cleo, wait. You don’t answer the door, that’s for grown-ups only,” I call.

But it’s too late.

She’s already climbed onto the sofa table and unlocked the deadbolt, swinging the door open just as I arrive.

"Hi!” she says brightly.

“Hello,” a familiar voice greets her back.

A mixture of anger and surprise roils in my stomach.

“Cleo, go play. Mama’s got the door,” I tell her, stepping around my curious daughter.

Austin stands on my porch. He’s holding a bakery box.

“Do you have cake?” Cleo asks, her sharp little eyes glued to the box. Austin looks at me and then down at my daughter.

“They’re cookies, half pint. But maybe next time I’ll bring cake.”

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