Page 2 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
I didn't come here to be someone's rescue project. I came here to disappear, to give myself time to heal before making any decisions about what I wanted my life to look like.
Three hours. I'd been in Hollow Haven for three hours, and I'd already managed to attract the attention of exactly the kind of alpha Sterling wouldn’t have approved of. Professional, competent, probably came from good pack lines, but lacking the money he held above everything else. The thought made my stomach twist with old familiar nausea.
The suppressants were supposed to make encounters like this manageable. Supposed to keep me from responding to everyalpha I met like my body was shopping for a replacement alpha. Clearly, Dr. Walsh’s dosage calculations needed work.
I aggressively unpacked my clothes, slamming dresser drawers with more force than necessary. The camera equipment could stay in the car. I wasn't ready for that conversation with myself yet. Wasn't ready to acknowledge the part of me that Sterling had tried so hard to suppress. The part that saw beauty in unguarded moments instead of carefully curated perfection.
The scent of cedar lingering on my clothes triggered a memory I didn't want to visit.
"You're not omega enough for what I'm building," Sterling had said, not bothering to look up from his laptop. His corner office had floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city skyline. A view he'd paid extra for because it "projected success." Everything in Sterling's life projected something.
"I never agreed to Harrison," I'd said quietly. "You said it would be just us."
"Plans change. Real omegas adapt." His fingers never stopped typing. "You want security? You want the lifestyle this pack can provide? Then you learn to be what we need. Harrison brings connections I can't afford to lose."
"And if I won't?"
Finally, he'd looked at me. Gray eyes, cold as his glass desk. "Then you're not the omega I thought you were."
I shook my head hard, forcing the memory back where it belonged. Sterling was three states away, probably already interviewing replacement omegas who'd be grateful for his attention and wouldn't ask inconvenient questions about pack hierarchy.
By the time I'd set up a basic living space, functional but deliberately impersonal, the sun was setting. I made myself a simple dinner and found myself drawn to the kitchen window.From here, I could see up and down Magnolia Crescent, and what I saw made something twist in my chest.
Warm lights glowed in houses up and down the street. Families were visible through uncovered windows. They were natural, unguarded moments of people living their lives without performing for an audience. A woman stirring something on the stove while a child did homework at the kitchen table. An older couple sharing a newspaper and what looked like an evening glass of wine. Simple domesticity that felt foreign after months of Sterling's carefully orchestrated life.
In Sterling's neighborhood, every window had been covered by the time the sun set. Privacy was paramount, not that you could see any of their windows from the street. Couldn't have anyone seeing behind the carefully curated image. Here, people left their lives visible to anyone who cared to look. Like they had nothing to hide. Like they felt safe enough to be seen.
I pulled my own blinds closed and spent the rest of the evening setting up the kind of security routine that had become second nature. Multiple alarms set on my phone. Doors and windows checked and double-checked. Car keys within easy reach of the bed, just in case.
The camera bag sat in the trunk of my car like an accusation I wasn't ready to face. Tomorrow I'd need to find work. Something quiet that didn't require explanations or small talk or dealing with customers who might notice things I didn't want noticed. Hollow Haven was small enough that I could blend in if I was careful, big enough that I could avoid the kind of attention that led to questions about my past or my plans or why I flinched when alphas got too close.
It was perfect, really. As long as I could keep everyone at exactly the right distance.
I lay awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the house settling around me, hyperaware of every creak and whisper ofwind through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the soft hoot of an owl, a sound that would have sent Sterling into a lecture about property values and the importance of urban planning. Here, it just sounded like home.
If I'd ever known what home was supposed to sound like.
Tomorrow I'd start over. Again. Build a life that was mine this time, not shaped by someone else's vision of what I should be. All I had to do was keep my head down, my scent suppressed, and my heart safely locked away from alphas with cedar-smoke scents and voices that made promises I wasn't ready to believe.
How hard could it be?
Chapter 2
Willa
The next morning, I forced myself out of the rental house and into downtown Hollow Haven to hunt for work. Not a career, not a calling, just something that would pay rent and keep me occupied until I figured out my next move. The practical problem was that this was a small town where everyone knew everyone, and I was nobody. No local references, no community connections, no reason for anyone to trust me with their business.
But I had to try. The alternative was dipping into my meager savings until they ran out, and then what? Employment was the first step toward whatever passed for normal these days.
The morning air bit through my jacket as I walked down Main Street, checking out the handful of businesses that might need part-time help. Most of the shops felt like they'd require too much small talk, too many questions about where I came from and why I was here. The hardware store wanted someonewith local references. The clothing boutique seemed to cater to tourists who'd want chatty service.
But Pine & Pages caught my attention immediately.
The bookstore café sat at the heart of Main Street like it had grown there naturally, all warm wood and inviting windows. The sign in the window was handwritten in elegant script, "Part-time help wanted. Bookstore experience preferred but not required. Inquire within." A bookstore felt like the kind of place where comfortable silence might be valued over forced cheerfulness.
I approached the counter where a man was scanning books into the register system. An alpha, but nothing like the ones I'd been conditioned to expect. No aggressive posturing, no immediate assessment of my usefulness. Just calm presence and curious, kind eyes. Long blond hair pulled back, freckled skin, wearing a soft cardigan that looked like it had been chosen for comfort rather than image.
"Can I help you?" he asked, looking up with a genuine smile.
