Page 12 of Alpha's Touch
“Lead the way,” Zeppelin said, gesturing toward the building.
Before they reached the entrance, Zeppelin paused, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He paused, scanning the shadows surrounding the building. The parking lot was mostly empty except for a few cars, but something felt off.
The sensation of being watched prickled across his skin like static electricity.
Zeppelin’s wolf stirred, alert and wary.
“Everything okay?” his mate asked, key already in the building’s front door.
“Yeah,” Zeppelin replied, positioning himself between Preston and the darkness. “Just thought I heard something.”
While he’d been waiting on Preston to help close up, Zeppelin had gotten a text about a vampire attacking Chase. As much as he wanted to go check on him, he also wanted to keep his mate safe.
Preston led him up a flight of stairs to the second floor. The hallway was dimly lit, the carpet worn in the center from years of foot traffic.
At the end of the hall, Preston stopped in front of apartment 2F, fumbling with his keys. They slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a metallic jingle.
His mate bent to retrieve them, muttering under his breath. He tried again, dropped them once more, and let out a frustrated sigh.
Zeppelin waited, sensing that offering help would only embarrass his mate further.
“Sorry,” Preston mumbled, finally managing to get the key in the lock. “I’m not usually this... uncoordinated.”
Zeppelin watched as his mate’s hands shook slightly, whether from nerves or the lingering excitement of the motorcycle ride he couldn’t tell. The lock finally gave way with a click, and Preston pushed the door open.
Chapter Four
What in the hell are you doing? Preston hit the light switch then hurried toward the kitchen, calling himself every kind of dumbass. He didn’t know Zeppelin. For fuck’s sake, he’d just met the guy.
On the bright side, he got to ride on the back of Zeppelin’s motorcycle. You really are a moron.
This was not how Preston pictured his first night at work. Short-circuiting in front of the gorgeous leader, having a panic attack, followed by taking a ride from a stranger, and now coffee.
Hopefully his night didn’t end with getting hacked into tiny pieces. It seemed he was never going to learn his lesson about handsome faces. Like he was doomed to be an idiot for the rest of his life.
Which would be short-lived if Antonio finally caught up to him.
After removing Zeppelin’s leather jacket, Preston nervously fumbled with the coffee filter, his hands shaking as he tried to load one into the machine. When he popped the lid on the coffee canister, the grounds scattered across the counter like tiny black ants.
“Shit,” he muttered, brushing the mess with his palm into a small pile. More grounds tumbled to the floor. Great. Another mess to clean up. His life was just an ongoing series of messes lately.
After finally getting the machine going with a wheeze and gurgle that made him wince, the comforting scent of percolating coffee filled the quiet apartment.
Preston peeked around the corner into his small living room. Zeppelin moved through the space with casual confidence, his broad shoulders making the modest apartment seem even smaller than it was.
The apartment was modest at best. A small living room connected to an even smaller kitchen, with a bedroom and bathroom down a short hallway.
The walls were painted a bland beige that had faded to something closer to dirty cream. The furniture wasn’t his—a sagging beige couch, a coffee table with water rings, and a bookshelf with three lonely paperbacks he’d picked up at a gas station.
The landlord had advertised it as “furnished,” which had been Preston’s saving grace since his bank account was on life support.
A single floor lamp cast a soft glow across the room, highlighting the water stain in one corner of the ceiling. The place smelled faintly of pine cleaner and someone else’s life.
Zeppelin looked strangely out of place against the apartment’s mediocrity, like a movie star who’d accidentally wandered onto the wrong set.
Preston’s breath caught when he noticed Zeppelin studying the only framed photo in the room, perched on the bookshelf. The picture showed him and his mom at the lake near their old house, both of them laughing, her arm around his shoulders. They’d spent the whole day there when he was fifteen, just the two of them. She’d packed a ridiculous amount of food, and they’d sat on a faded blanket eating sandwiches and talking about everything and nothing. When the conversation had turned to his sexuality, she’d simply nodded and said, “I know, honey. I’ve always known.” Then she’d handed him another sandwich and asked if he thought Brad Pitt was overrated. It was the first time he’d felt fully seen and completely accepted.
Zeppelin turned suddenly, catching Preston mid-stare from the doorway.
