Page 4 of Alpha Unbound

Figures. Hank’s the disturbance. This guy must’ve called it in.

I remember Kate as a kid—skinny knees, scraped knuckles, always climbing trees she wasn’t supposed to or sneaking into meetings to eavesdrop. A little tomboy with fire in her eyes and a mouth full of mischief. She once stuck a dead fish in the muffler of my dad’s truck and laughed for a week straight when it took the mechanics three days to find it.

She was part of the McKinley's red wolf pack—technically not one of us —born of our blood but bound to their own alpha. They had their own way of doing things, but Wild Hollow cared little for borders back then. I didn’t either.

But the woman standing in front of me now? She’s something else entirely. The kind of stunning that makes yourbreath stop and your blood start to simmer. Wild red hair piled up on top of her head like she forgot she was beautiful, curves that weren’t there before, and a mouth that still looks like it’s always two seconds from trouble. My wolf lunges toward her with recognition, primal and certain.

For a heartbeat, I forget why I came. Forget the badge. Forget the tension chewing through this town. There’s only her—sunlight wrapped in thorns. And I’m already bleeding.

She’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed. That messy knot looks like she did it in a rush, and yet it’s still distracting. Her eyes are amber and sharp. Her mouth curves like she’s already thinking of three ways to annoy me before I speak.

And Hank—the damn goose—is beside her on the counter, glaring at me and hissing like I owe him rent.

“You’re late,” Kate says.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting me.”

“You’re the sheriff now, aren’t you?”

“Reluctantly.”

She shrugs. “Good. I hate enthusiastic cops.”

“What’s the disturbance?”

“That damn duck.” The tourist standing in the corner of the store points at the bird.

“He’s a Canada goose,” Kate rejoins.

“Doesn’t matter. It tried to attack me.”

I look at Hank. I can’t believe Kate still has the damn thing resting comfortably near her. “He attacked someone?”

Kate snorts—that very unladylike sound I remember from childhood. “Technically, he flew at him. Hank doesn’t bite without provocation.”

I stare at her, then at the tourist still cradling his arm like Hank nearly took it clean off. “Glad to know I’m risking frostbite and flat tires to referee barnyard brawls. Next thing you know,I’ll be issuing tickets for chickens loitering too close to the liquor shelf.”

She leans in, voice low and honey-warm. It hits me like a shot of good whiskey—slow burn, no warning. My jaw tightens against the way it makes something inside me lean forward, like I want to chase that sound, wrap my hands in her hair and see if her mouth tastes like it sounds. Bad idea. Every instinct says to back off. But I’ve never been much good at following orders—even my own.

“This is Wild Hollow, Sheriff. If you’re looking for neat little rules and polite folks, turn that badge in now and drive back to wherever the hell you came from.”

I take a step closer—and immediately regret it. She smells like pine, brown sugar, and something wild that hits me straight in the chest. It's too much. Too tempting. Every alpha instinct I've spent years shoving down claws its way to the surface. And just to drive the point home, Hank lets out another hiss, louder this time, like he's daring me to make a move. Getting close to Kate McKinley is a bad idea for more reasons than I care to count. Starting with the way my body reacts and ending with the feathered hellbeast that clearly sees me as a threat.

“I didn’t come here to play games, Kate.”

She tilts her head, grin bright and cutting. “Then why does your jaw twitch every time I smile?”

She’s infuriating. And intoxicating. I remember the time she out-bluffed a table full of grown wolves at a backroom poker game when she was maybe sixteen, walked off with two bottles of whiskey and a fifty-dollar bill she claimed was 'interest.' There’s nothing simple about Kate McKinley. She’s as unpredictable as spring floods and twice as dangerous—and somehow, that just makes her more impossible to ignore.

“I came to clean this place up.”

“You mean like with a broom? Or with a gun?”

“Whichever gets the job done.”

Kate arches a brow. “Big words from a man who's been away a while. It's as if you've had a wild animal caged up too long.”

My blood spikes.

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