Page 4 of Alpha's Touch
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That hadn’t gone exactly how Zeppelin wanted it to. He’d pictured a different reaction in his head, and it didn’t include his mate looking bored with him.
He sat there completely stunned, still shocked that he’d felt the pull when the cute bartender had stood from behind the counter. He’d known the moment the pull hit him. It was like the universe just whispered, “pay attention,” directly into his soul. The sensation had blindsided him as soon as he’d gazed into gorgeous green eyes.
“You planning on staring at him all night?” Vaughn, his beta, slipped into the booth across from him, setting down two fresh beers.
Zeppelin took the bottle without looking at it. “Maybe.”
He watched the bartender—Preston, Ash had called him—move like he was still learning the dimensions of his own body, catching his hip on the edge of the counter, fighting the treacherous curve of a pint glass, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of a trembling hand. Zeppelin couldn’t look away. He wondered, not without sympathy, if the human even realized how obvious his discomfort was or if he was one of those people who thought their inner storms didn’t show.
Vaughn drummed his fingers on the tabletop then leaned in, trying to catch Zeppelin’s eye. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” Zeppelin finally tore his gaze away from his breathtaking mate. Short, with a small belly Zeppelin was dying to explore. With his tongue. The extra weight was hot as fuck, and Zeppelin was dying to bend the guy over the nearest stool.
“Like you’re about to either eat him alive or propose. It’s disturbing.”
Preston was definitely on the menu. “He’s my mate,” Zeppelin replied, the words strange but amazing on his tongue as he went back to watching Preston. The guy balanced a tray of drinks on one hand, and Zeppelin coiled in anticipation of jerking from his seat to catch the order if his mate tripped over his own feet again.
A beer bottle hit the table with a dull thud. Zeppelin wasn’t sure if it was his beta’s drink or someone else’s in the pack.
“A human?” Vaughn lowered his voice. “You’re sure?”
Zeppelin stared incredulously at him. “It’s the pull. Of course I’m sure.”
He’d never been more certain of anything. The sensation was still hot inside his chest, as if someone had poured a shot of high-octane whiskey directly into the space between his ribs. The evidence was in every cell of his body, every glance he shot at the bartender, every time Preston laughed or flushed or clumsily dropped a bottle.
The pull thrummed stronger when Preston bent over to retrieve a fallen napkin from the floor, and Zeppelin’s grip tightened around his beer bottle. He could smell Preston’s scent even from across the room—something clean and warm, like soap and nervous sweat, with an underlying sweetness that made Zeppelin’s mouth water. Every instinct screamed at him to walk over there, pin the human against the bar, and claim what was his.
Instead, he forced himself to stay seated and watch Preston fumble with the cash register, completely oblivious to the predator tracking his every movement.
His mate laughed at something Ash said, the sound bright and genuine, and Zeppelin’s wolf perked up like it had heard its favorite song. The human had dimples when he smiled. Zeppelin hadn’t noticed them before, too distracted by those green eyes and the way the guy’s hands shook when he tried to speak.
“He’s terrified of you,” Vaughn observed, following Zeppelin’s gaze. “Guy looked like he was about to pass out when you were talking to him.”
That bothered Zeppelin. He wanted Preston to feel safe with him, not scared. The human was so small compared to him, probably a foot shorter and built like a runner rather than a fighter. Zeppelin could break him without even trying.
The thought made his stomach clench. He’d have to be careful, gentle. His wolf didn’t like that idea. It wanted to claim and possess and mark, but Zeppelin forced it down. Preston was human. He didn’t understand what it meant to belong to a shifter, didn’t know that Zeppelin would die before letting anything hurt him.
Preston dropped a beer mug, the sound of shattering glass cutting through the bar noise. Even from across the room, Zeppelin could see the flush creeping up his neck as Ash waved him away from the mess.
“Smooth,” Vaughn muttered, but there was amusement in his voice rather than judgment.
“Mock my mate again and I’ll rip out your tongue.” Zeppelin found himself standing before he made the decision to move. The pull tugged at him, demanding he go to his mate, help him, comfort him. Preston was embarrassed and flustered, and every protective instinct Zeppelin possessed had him moving across the room.
Chapter Two
The barback with the manbun—Terry, Preston finally remembered—was grabbing something from the back shelf when Preston’s phone vibrated in his back pocket.
Since no one was throwing up a hand like they were signaling a cab, Preston checked to see who’d texted him. He’d only been in town a few weeks, so whoever it was, they belonged to his past.
A past he desperately wanted to forget.
Please don’t let it be him.
This was the third town Preston had moved to in the past four months. Just when he thought things were safe, he’d had to pack up and move again.
His car had finally given out, and Preston had left it abandoned in the parking lot of the motel in the last town where he’d been staying.
