Page 27 of Alpha's Touch
Zeppelin smiled at his mate's reaction. “Built it about twenty years ago. Needed enough space for everyone to have their own rooms but still feel connected.”
Preston missed the fact that Zeppelin said he’d built it two decades ago. Since Zeppelin looked in his early to mid-thirties, that should’ve raised questions. But did Preston do the math? Absolutely not. Man was in awe. He was just out there with sparkly anime eyes going “pretty house.”
“How many of you are there?” Preston asked as they pulled into the circular driveway.
“Fifteen, currently,” Zeppelin replied, cutting the engine. “Though we have room for more.”
Room for his mate and his little fruit bowls.
Preston’s fingers tapped nervously against his thigh as they approached the massive front door. Zeppelin laid a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
“We’ll stay to ourselves for now,” he said. “No need to meet everyone at once.”
Relief visibly washed over Preston’s features. “Thanks. Today has just been...”
“A lot,” Zeppelin finished for him. “I know, sunshine.”
Inside, the house opened into a soaring great room with exposed beams and a stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Comfortable leather furniture created intimate seating areas throughout the space, and bookshelves lined another wall from floor to ceiling.
Zeppelin guided Preston through the house, past a professional-grade kitchen, where several pack members were already preparing dinner, and up a wide staircase to the east wing.
“This is all yours?” Preston asked as they entered a spacious suite.
“Alpha privileges,” Zeppelin replied with a small smile. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner's in an hour.”
While Preston explored the suite, Zeppelin slipped back downstairs to check in with Vaughn, who was seasoning steaks at the kitchen island.
“Any word?” he asked quietly.
Vaughn shook his head. “Nothing yet. Chase and Quinn are running perimeter checks every hour.”
Because even in the background, the threat still loomed. Zeppelin wasn’t taking his eyes off the real danger just because his mate was safe for now.
“Good.” He glanced toward the stairs. “I don’t want him overwhelmed tonight. We’ll do introductions at dinner but keep it casual.”
“Got it, boss.” Vaughn flipped a steak. “Though you might want to warn him that casual for us still means twenty questions and inappropriate comments.”
“One disaster at a time,” Zeppelin muttered, heading back upstairs.
An hour later, he found Preston standing at the window, gazing at the mountains bathed in golden light, staring out at the wilderness like he was finally breathing with both lungs.
For a moment, Zeppelin just watched him, taking in the sight of his mate framed against the backdrop of his territory like he was always meant to be there.
“It’s beautiful here,” Preston said without turning around. “Peaceful.”
“It is,” Zeppelin agreed, moving to stand beside him. “You belong here, you know.”
Preston turned to look at him, vulnerability written across his features. “I’ve never belonged anywhere.”
That was the softest, saddest confession wrapped in a breath of hope. Preston, whose entire identity had been shaped by trying to shrink himself, hide his light, and survive—standing in the warm hush of a place built for belonging.
“You do now,” Zeppelin promised, taking his hand. “It’s dinner time. Ready to meet everyone?”
Preston took a deep breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They descended to the dining room just as the pack was gathering. The massive table, crafted from a single oak, stretched the length of the room. Candles flickered in iron holders down the center, casting warm light over platters of food.
Conversation halted as they entered, fourteen pairs of eyes turning to look at Preston. Zeppelin felt his mate tense beside him but was proud when Preston straightened his shoulders and stepped forward.
