Page 14 of Alpha Unchained
My mind tangles itself in a snarl of doubt and dread, every sense heightened, every muscle tense with the need to do something, anything. Every instinct screams at me to bolt the doors, to drag Luke back inside, to demand answers, to snarl and bare my teeth at the world. Instead, I stay frozen, my wolf pacing just beneath the surface, restless and angry, forced to stand guard alone.
I watch, unblinking, as Luke takes something from the car. A white envelope; a message or a warning. Every sense I have is on edge, my wolf’s ears flattening, breath held as if I could change what happens next by sheer will alone. He turns, scanning the street with a predator’s vigilance, shoulders tense, his whole body wound tight with suspicion. Then his gaze finds mine through the glass—a collision, not just a glance. For a single, suspended heartbeat, the world narrows to a pinpoint, every memory, every want, every regret sparking between us.
I feel the ache of all our unfinished business, the loss and longing and stubborn need. There’s so much raw history and hurt in that instant that I can barely breathe, my wolf and I both caught, bracing for whatever comes next.
Then he looks away. Just like that, the moment breaks, and he stalks off, vanishing around the corner as the sedan purrs away.
I close my eyes, willing the tension to slip from my shoulders, but it’s a losing battle. My heart still pounds, a restless beat that echoes every argument, every touch, every hurtful word. Even the air in here feels thick with him—his scent lingering in the old floorboards and battered shelves—or is it a memory that refuses to let go?
I try to inhale, to find some corner of myself untouched by him, but every breath I take still tastes like Luke—wood smoke, wild grass, something stormy and masculine that makes my human and wolf sides ache. I wish I could forget. I wish I could move forward and not look back, but every time I start to feel steady, he barrels right back into my world and tears up the ground beneath me, leaving chaos in his wake and longing knotted deep inside me.
My thoughts spiral, yanking me back to that night—the night everything changed, the night he claimed me and turned me, the night I lost my old self and became something wild, something his. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, his mouth hot and demanding, the low rumble of his voice as he called me by name.
It started with a storm. The world outside had gone dark and electric, thunder shaking the glass. I was upstairs, already restless, reading by candlelight when the first knock landed—soft, but insistent. By the time I opened the door, he’s pushing past me and is then inside, wet and wild, eyes burning with the kind of hunger that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but fate.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. Luke crossed the space between us in three strides, his hands finding my waist, his mouth crashing down on mine. Every defense I’d built melted away. My fingers threaded through his hair, nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed me back against the door, his body a promise and a threat all at once.
Clothes vanished—shirts torn open, denim yanked away in the hurried, hungry scramble from stairs to bed. I barely remember the sequence, only the heat of his breath at my ear, the teasing graze of his hands pushing up beneath my sweater, the sound of my laughter turning ragged as his mouth traced along my collarbone. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, a thudding ache of fear and longing tangled together. He tastedme everywhere—palms splayed across my hips, mouth seeking every soft place, teeth scraping lightly as if to test what I’d surrender.
The ache of wanting him made me dizzy, my legs unsteady, my need spilling out in breathless pleas I barely recognized as my own. Luke’s hands and mouth explored every inch of me, slow and rough, possessive, memorizing the arch of my back, the swell of my breasts, the shudder of my breath as he bit lightly at the spot just below my ear. He handled me like a secret he’d waited too long to uncover, like he wanted to burn me into his memory—brand me from the inside out.
He made me wild—no; he made me real. The world shrank to the hot press of his body, the burn of skin against skin, the rough scrape of his stubble against my neck, the deep, dark pull of his eyes locking onto mine. There was no hesitation, no doubt—only heat, hunger, and the slow, relentless surrender of every boundary I’d ever built. I wanted him to own me, to wreck me, and I let him—greedy for every touch, every demand, every desperate, breathless second between us.
When his teeth found my throat, I shattered. My body bowed into him, breath caught between agony and surrender. His bite was fire—burning away everything I thought I was. The ache was almost too much—his mouth hot and possessive, his hands bracing my hips, holding me open as if I was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
The bite itself was sharp and sudden, a flash of pain that made me gasp, but I was already tumbling over the edge, pleasure cresting and breaking as his fangs broke my skin. The pain fused with the pleasure so intensely that for a second I couldn't tell one from the other.
The mating bond—although I didn't know it then—snapped into place, hot and wild and undeniable, tying me to him with a force that rocked me to my core. My vision went white. Mywhole body shuddered, every muscle tightening around him as he claimed me—not just my body, but something deeper, older, more feral.
His bite was a promise, a mark and a challenge, and I answered it with my whole body, meeting his hunger with my own, giving him every secret, every shudder, every raw and hungry part of myself I’d ever tried to hide.
The memory is fever-hot and raw—fire and pain, hunger and surrender twined so tight I can barely tell them apart. I can still hear the sound I made—half growl, half sob—when he finally thrust into me, the way our bodies collided, desperate, wild, almost violent. Nothing existed but the bed, the darkness, the two of us breaking and remaking each other with every breathless motion, every plea and promise burning between us.
When it ended, he clung to me, trembling, eyes bright with tears neither of us dared speak of. I felt him shudder inside me, his whole body pressed to mine, like he could keep the world at bay just by holding me tight enough. His mouth found my ear, whispering my name over and over—sometimes fierce, sometimes so soft I wondered if he was begging forgiveness or asking for more time. Each repetition sank deeper than any vow until for a moment I believed this was more than a single night.
When I woke, the bed was cold, the imprint of his body already fading from the sheets. For a long, breathless moment, I lay there, searching for his warmth, his scent, anything that might convince me the night before hadn’t just been a fever dream. But there was only emptiness—him gone, my body aching, the mark of his bite throbbing at my throat.
It felt like waking in the middle of wreckage—every nerve raw, the air thick with what we’d done, what we’d changed. The silence rang in my ears, hollow and sharp, leaving me more exposed than I’d ever been. My hand drifted to my belly,warmth blooming beneath my palm, some part of me aching with the sense that nothing would ever be the same. I couldn’t have known—not then—what I was carrying, only that his mark lingered in my flesh and in something deeper, a pull that went bone deep and left me changed forever.
A shrill ring yanks me back to the present. I blink, drag a hand over my eyes, and answer the shop phone, half-expecting it to be Kate or another wrong number looking for the post office. Instead, it’s Mrs. Wallace, her voice crisp and full of mischief.
"Elena, darling, is my 'mystery package' in yet? I swear if my husband finds it before I do, I'll have to explain why I need to read three Delta James novels in a week."
I can’t help but smile. "It's here, Mrs. Wallace. Tucked behind the counter, just where you like it. No judgment from me."
She laughs, low and delighted. "Bless you, dear. You’re a treasure. You know, you ought to shelve them under 'Self-Improvement.' Some of us ladies could use the inspiration."
"Maybe I’ll create a whole new section just for you," I tease back, ignoring the ache in my voice. "Your order will be here whenever you’re ready to pick it up."
She thanks me, promises to swing by soon, and hangs up, no more questions asked.
Suddenly, I can’t stand being here another minute. The Moss & Ink feels too tight, every surface packed with memories and loaded with questions I can’t answer. I glance around—at the battered tables, the stacks of new arrivals, the cozy reading chair by the window where I once imagined myself safe. Now it all feels claustrophobic, haunted by ghosts I can’t fight and reminders of a life that’s slipped out of my control.
My hands move on their own: I grab my bag, pull a scrap of paper from the register, and scribble a quick note—Back soon, call if you need me. I tape it to the front door, making sure itwon’t flutter loose in the mountain breeze. My heart pounds as I step back, eyes scanning the quiet street for any sign of trouble or Luke’s return.
I hesitate, just for a second, hand on the light switch, and then force myself out, locking the door behind me. The keys tremble in my grip as I step into the morning, lungs filling with crisp mountain air. I keep my head high and walk straight for the diner at the end of Main, telling myself it’s just for lunch, just for a break, but knowing it’s really because I need to breathe somewhere that doesn’t smell like him.
The Rusty Fork hums with the same rhythm it always has—floors worn glossy, windows streaked with fingerprints, the air thick with potatoes, bacon, and strong coffee. I step inside and try to breathe like I belong.
