Page 8 of The Alpha's Forced Rejected Mate
Adrian shrugged his wiry shoulders. “It shouldn’t be. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless she’s not just a witch,” Adrian lowered his voice. “There are theories about hybrids. Witch-shifter bloodlines from before the great purge. Supposedly, they could access both magical and primal energies.”
Dominic’s expression didn’t change, but something cold settled in his gut. “Theories. Not facts.”
“Just theories,” Adrian agreed, but his eyes narrowed. “But this would explain the readings.”
“Send everything to my quarters,” Dominic said, handing back the papers. “I want satellite imagery of her movements from the past month. Known associates. Daily routine.”
“Already compiling.” Adrian turned back to his screens. “Check your server in an hour.”
Dominic left the tech division, his stride purposeful as he headed toward his private quarters. Located in the west wing, away from the barracks housing the regular hunters, his rooms reflected his status as alpha. Spartanly furnished but spacious, with a separate office area for mission planning.
He activated the soundproofing with a button once he stepped in, which not even enhanced werewolf hearing could penetrate. Privacy was a rare commodity in the compound.
Shrugging off his jacket, Dominic sat at his desk and opened the digital tablet, accessing the full dossier Xavier had promised. Seeing the target’s face on the screen, for a moment, Dominic felt a jolt. Dark blue eyes stared back at him from beneath a fringe of brown hair, her expression solemn in the surveillance photo.
Something familiar about her.
He scrolled through her details. Twenty-six years old. Five-foot-six. Worked at the Chicago Public Library’s rare book collection. Lived alone in an apartment in Lincoln Park. No known supernatural associations. No criminal record.
Lily Coleman.
Something about her face tugged at his memory, but the name didn’t register at all. He enlarged the photo, studying her features more closely.
Without warning, his wolf stirred, pushing against his consciousness with urgency, one he hadn’t felt in years. Dominic gripped the edge of the desk as he fought against the wolf with his own will.
No. Stay down.
His wolf had been dormant for so long, resigned to the iron control Dominic exerted over their shared consciousness. For it to suddenly assert itself was both surprising and concerning.
Dominic closed his eyes, focusing on suppressing the agitation of his wolf. When he opened them again, he deliberately avoided looking at the witch’s photo.
The last time he listened to his wolf, everything went to hell.
Memories threatened to surface—memories of a waterfall, of soft skin under his hands, of betrayal and magic that had nearly bound him against his will. Of cruelty he’d been forced to employ to protect them both.
He pushed those thoughts aside. Six years was a long time. Long enough to bury the past. Long enough to become someone—something—else.
Dominic continued reviewing the file, memorizing the witch’s routines, her habits, the layout of her apartment building. But a low-level unease persisted, his wolf restless beneath his skin.
It was nightfall when he finished reviewing the information from Adrian. He stood, stretching his muscles, and crossed to the kitchenette, where he poured himself two fingers of whiskey.
He swallowed it in one gulp and the alcohol burned pleasantly. He rarely drank, but something about this assignment unsettled him. The alcohol would help him sleep, and he needed to be sharp tomorrow.
Dominic stripped off his shirt as he moved to the bedroom area, changed into loose-fitting black sweatpants, and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep, when it came, dragged him under quickly.
He dreamed of silver hair, of laughter by a creek. Of desperate kisses and a power that had threatened to consume them both.
Luna.
She needed to go. It was the only way to keep her safe. From the pack. From him.
Then he found himself chasing her through the woods, desperate to reach her, to explain. But always, she remained just out of reach, her silver hair always too far to catch.
