Page 26 of Alpha's Touch
“We have a conversation.” The words came out deceptively calm, but Vaughn would understand exactly what kind of conversation Zeppelin meant.
After ending the call, Zeppelin found Preston in the kitchen, hunched over a massive bowl of fruit. His mate was methodically working his way through strawberries, blueberries, and chunks of peach, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.
“Are you planning to eat all of that?” Zeppelin asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Preston swallowed hastily, a drop of juice clinging to his bottom lip. “I don’t want it to go bad.” He gestured at the overflowing bowl with his fork. “You bought enough fruit to feed a small army, and I’m just one person.” His hair fell across his forehead as he looked down, jabbing another piece of peach. “My mom always said wasting food was a sin.”
The sunlight filtering through the kitchen window caught on Preston’s hair, turning it to spun gold. Even with puffy eyes from crying earlier, he looked beautiful, sitting there surrounded by the colorful bounty.
“I could take some back to the pack,” Zeppelin offered, moving into the kitchen. “They’ll demolish it in minutes.”
Preston looked up, curiosity brightening his eyes. “Do you all live together?”
Zeppelin nodded, stealing a blueberry from the bowl. “A pack who stays together builds their bond, makes them stronger.” He popped the berry into his mouth. “Plus, it’s easier to keep an eye on everyone.”
“So, it’s like a frat house, but with more fur and fewer keg stands?” Preston’s mouth quirked up at the corner.
“Something like that,” Zeppelin laughed. “Though I wouldn’t put it past some of them to try keg stands on a full moon.”
Preston’s smile widened, and Zeppelin found himself drawn to it like a moth to flame. He picked up a strawberry and held it to Preston’s lips.
“Open,” he commanded softly.
Preston’s eyes darkened as he parted his lips. Zeppelin traced the fruit along his bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth, his fingertips grazing Preston’s warm skin.
“Good?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
Preston nodded, cheeks flushing pink. “Very.”
Zeppelin selected a piece of peach next, its sweet scent filling the space between them. He held it up, watching as Preston leaned forward to take it from his fingers. This time, Preston’s tongue darted out, catching the juice that threatened to drip down Zeppelin hand.
The intimate gesture sent heat racing through Zeppelin body. His wolf rumbled with satisfaction at feeding his mate, at providing for him in this simple, primal way.
As if on cue, Preston’s stomach growled loudly, cutting through the charged moment.
“Sorry,” Preston muttered, looking embarrassed. “Apparently fruit isn’t cutting it.”
Zeppelin thought of the sad, freezer-burned TV dinner from earlier. His mate deserved better than that pathetic excuse for a meal.
“I’m taking you home for a real dinner,” he decided. “Something that doesn’t come in a plastic tray or need to be microwaved.”
Preston’s eyes lit up. “Actual food? That someone cooks? With, like, seasoning and everything?”
“Vaughn makes a mean steak,” Zeppelin said, already pulling out his phone to text his beta. “And Liam bakes bread that would make you weep.”
“You had me at actual food,” Preston said, hopping off the stool. “Let me grab a jacket.”
After carefully selecting which fruits to bring along—Preston insisted on taking at least half—they headed out. This time, instead of the motorcycle, Zeppelin led Preston to a black SUV parked around the corner.
“Less dramatic than the bike,” he explained at Preston’s questioning look, “but better for transporting humans and fruit without bruising either.” Zeppelin would protect every damn bruiseable part of his mate. Heart included.
The drive took them out of town, winding through dense forest before they turned onto a private road. Pine trees lined the way, their branches creating a natural canopy that dappled the sunlight across the hood of the car.
When they rounded the final curve, Preston gasped.
The pack house stood proud against the backdrop of mountains, three stories of stone and timber that seemed to rise organically from the landscape. Wide windows reflected the late afternoon sun, and a sprawling porch wrapped around the entire first floor. Smoke curled lazily from one of three massive stone chimneys.
“Holy shit,” Preston breathed, pressing his face closer to the window. “That’s not a house, that’s a freaking resort.”
