165
165
ALTHEA
I didn’t trust the peace.
That was the first thing I thought when Alpha Collin knocked on my door the next morning—not loudly, not like an Alpha demanding entry, but softly. Almost… unsure.
I stared at the door for a long moment, my heart doing that annoying flutter it always did when he was near. I hated that too. Hated how my body hadn’t learned the same lesson my mind had.
“Yes?” I called, keeping my voice flat.
“Get dressed,” he said from the other side. “We’re leaving.”
My spine stiffened. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
“I know,” he replied. “You’re still coming.”
I opened the door just enough to glare at him. “You don’t get to order me around.”
Something flickered in his eyes—instinct, maybe—but he caught it before it could turn sharp.
“You’re right,” he said. “Let me rephrase.”
He exhaled slowly, like every word cost him something. “I would like to take you out of this house. Somewhere with noise and people and air that doesn’t smell like hospitals and regret.”
That… threw me.
I studied him carefully. He wasn’t masked. He wasn’t looming. He stood there in simple dark clothes, no weapons, hands loose at his sides.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re shrinking,” he said quietly. “And I did that to you.”
My throat tightened.
“And because,” he added, eyes holding mine, “I don’t know how to fix what I broke. But I know how to try.”
I should have said no.
I didn’t.
The market sat at the edge of the pack’s territory, sprawling and alive. Vendors shouted prices, children ran between stalls, laughter mixed with the scent of spices and fresh bread. It felt… normal. Painfully so.
I walked a half-step behind him out of habit.
“Walk beside me,” Collin said without looking at me.
“I’m fine where I am.”
He stopped.
People flowed around us, but his attention narrowed completely to me. “You don’t have to hide behind me,” he said. “And I won’t stand in front of you like you’re something fragile I might lose.”
My jaw tightened. “I am fragile.”
“Yes,” he said. “And you’re still allowed space.”
After a moment, I moved to his side.
It felt strange—being seen with him like this. The Alpha who terrified entire packs stood quietly beside me while I examined bolts of fabric, pretending not to notice the way his gaze kept drifting back to me like a tether.
“You don’t have to buy me things,” I muttered when he paid for a shawl I’d barely touched.
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re bad at this.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m aware.”
We moved slowly, no rush, no Alpha urgency. He let me stop where I wanted, listened when I spoke, didn’t interrupt when I went quiet. Once, when someone bumped into me too hard, his body shifted instinctively closer—but he stopped himself before touching me.
I noticed.
That night, he took me to a small place on the edge of the market—wooden tables, mismatched chairs, the smell of roasted meat and herbs. Nothing fancy. No pack members hovering. Just us.
We sat across from each other.
“This isn’t a peace offering,” he said suddenly, before food even arrived. “Or an apology dinner.”
“Then what is it?” I asked.
“A beginning,” he said. “If you’ll allow it.”
I studied his face, searching for the monster I’d seen before.
I found a man trying very hard not to be one.
“I don’t promise anything,” I said.
“I wouldn’t trust you if you did.”
The food arrived. We ate quietly at first.
Then—against my will—I laughed at something he said.
The sound surprised us both.
His eyes softened, something warm and dangerous flickering there. “There it is,” he murmured.
“What?”
“You,” he said. “Not pulling away.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” he said. “But I’ll remember it.”
The way he looked at me made my stomach flip—slow, heavy, unwanted. I shifted in my chair, annoyed at myself.
Get a grip, I scolded my body. He doesn’t get to undo everything with dinner and silence.
But when we walked back under the dim glow of lanterns, and his hand hovered near mine without touching, I hated how much effort it took not to reach for him.
I hated how much I noticed the restraint.
And I hated most of all that, for the first time since everything shattered, I almost believed he was trying—not to own me, not to control me—
—but to deserve me.