Page 8 of The Alpha's Bounty
Her eyes flicker.She looks down at the forest floor.“Why would you do that for me?”
Because you’re mine.Because an Alpha’s duty and loyalty are to the one whose heartbeat is tethered to his.
“Because it’s right, and because I can,” I say instead.“And because you’re my fated mate.”
We walk.The forest opens before us.Dusky ferns, their branches like black lace against the pale sky, the faint musk of an old deer trail.Mina’s hand is small in mine, but it’s not fragile.Her palm is callused, speaking of hard work and the weight of carrying her own safety for too long.
Mina clears her throat.“You said… fated mates.”
“Yes.”
She chews the inside of her lip.“That wasn’t… a metaphor?”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
I think about all the ways I could answer.Biology.Magic.Soul-stitching.“It’s a bond.Older than time or Earth.When it hits, it’s absolute.”I glance at her.“It doesn’t ask permission.But it does demand care.”
She lifts her chin.“And what if I don’t… want it?”
My bear stiffens.
Easy,I warn him.
“Then I follow,” I answer.“I don’t push.I’ll protect you from as far away as you need.I’ll be an idiot about it, probably, but I won’t force you to do anything.”
Her shoulders loosen by degrees, like a knot unraveling.“And you said you’re taking me home.”She swallows.“To your pack.”
“To my land,” I correct gently.“The pack is… family.Community.You don’t owe them a thing.You don’t owe me either.”
A pause.Then, quietly: “I don’t have a family.”
Something tilts inside me.
You do now, my bear says.He’s not good at waiting.I keep my mouth shut because big promises should be backed up with big actions.
We clear the rise, and my cabin comes into view through the trees.Timber and stone.The chimney rising against the sky.A deep porch with two chairs that I never sit in because I’m always moving.Bringing her here does something strange to the underpinnings of my life, like furniture rearranged in a room I thought was settled.
Mina stops at the edge of the clearing, eyes flicking over the roofline, the stack of split wood by the steps, and the heavy door.I see what she sees: a place with space for quiet and solidity for safety.
“This is…yours?”
Ours,my bear grunts.
“Yes,” I confirm.
She nods, drawing in a breath like she’s about to duck underwater.I squeeze her hand before releasing it to climb the porch steps and open the door.The scent of cedar, coffee, and a faint hint of lemon oil greets me.Home smells like the things you touch without thinking.
I stand back so she can enter.She hesitates on the threshold as if she might trip an alarm before stepping inside.
The living room is large and open-plan: a stone fireplace, a worn sofa, books lining one wall, a table scarred by a thousand meals, and the boots I forget to put away when my knees ache.The kitchen is open, the counters neat because I learned from my mother that clutter multiplies like rabbits if you let it.Light spills through the tall windows, burnishing everything with a warm glow.
Mina turns in a slow circle, the strap of her backpack squeaking as she shifts it.“It’s… nice.”
“Thanks.”I set my keys in the bowl by the door, toe off my boots, and gesture to the rack.“You can leave yours there.I have slippers if you want.Or socks if you prefer.The bathroom is down the hall to the left.Kitchen’s fair game.If you’re hungry?—”
“I am.”She says it like a confession.
