But none of it matters now.
She’s back where she belongs, and I’ll be damned if I let her slip through my fingers again.
Smiling determinedly at Gio, I say, “Wanna hear about how I became alpha?”
The little boy nods eagerly, silver eyes glowing with excitement. “Tell me! Tell me!”
I chuckle as I settle more comfortably on the couch, not planning to leave anytime soon. Yvonne didn’t kick me out, so that was a good sign. Beneath that tough outer shell is the compassionate young woman I know her to be. It’s only a matter of time before she drops her guard.
“Now, Champion, where do I begin…?” I say thoughtfully, deciding to tell him about the alpha trials I went through to get to where I am now, hunting wild animals and a demonic force in the forests.
Perhaps it will ignite Yvonne’s admiration for me….
Chapter 9 - Yvonne
Highly aware that I need to be quiet, not banging around pots or breaking any dishes, I tiptoe around the kitchen, trying to be as nimble as possible.
I know I should wake him up, but I’m not ready to face Dawson just yet. It’s enough that he caught me checking him out last night. It’s even worse that he decided to fall asleep on the couch while he chatted with Gio.
I’d been eavesdropping from the kitchen last night, listening to Dawson recount tales of his past to my son. There was a moment of disappointment when he left out the part about meeting me in the library, and visiting often when he discovered it was my hideout.
Actually, I was left out altogether, as if I were wiped from his past. Then again, he didn’t quite get to that part of his life before his snores joined Gio’s when they both fell asleep on the couch.
Maybe I’m being a little ludicrous, expecting Dawson to put our time together on a pedestal. What was I expecting, anyway? That he’d suddenly change his mind after all these years, and declare that he made a mistake back then?
How am I supposed to tell him that his mistake is now a five-year-old boy named Gio?
It’s why I left Snehvolk in the first place—to avoid the conflict of bearing the child of the alpha who’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want me as his mate when he rejected me. He would have rejected Gio, too. The only reason Dawson is remotely interested in being good to my son is because Gio strokes his ego every time he’s around.
Dawson couldn’t care less that the child is his, and is under the impression that Gio’s father is someone else.
It needs to stay that way.
My determination sets off in my fingers when I’m about to crack an egg, and instead, crush the shell. Muttering a string of curses under my breath, I grit my teeth and purse my lips when I feel a familiar presence lurking behind me.
It’s Dawson; I can tell by the distinct scent of sandalwood overpowering the aroma of the crispy fried bacon I’d already cooked for breakfast.
My breath catches when I lift my eyes and see the faint silhouette of his reflection in the kitchen window. With his hair tousled from falling asleep on the sofa, and blue eyes soft from just waking up, his morning look is a charm of its own; it’s impossible to ignore how much charisma he exudes without even trying.
Even after all these years, I feel heat rising in my core, spreading out through every nerve in my body just by the awareness that he’s behind me. I remember what it felt like when I’d anticipate his arrival in the library, sensing his presence long before he approached the window where I’d be nestled in the chair. My knees would weaken the moment I caught the whiff of his rich, masculine scent.
Just as they’re weakening now. My disadvantage right now is that I’m sitting down.
Bracing my hands on the edge of the counter, I turn around slowly, internally building up my walls so that I can remain indifferent to Dawson’s being here this morning.
If I had it my way, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity for a sleepover. Mentally, I chastise myself for allowing mycompassionate side to get the best of me last night, leading me to offer to tend to his injury.
What was I thinking? That it would be easy to remain oblivious to his otherworldly good looks? That I could possibly train myself to be a brick wall without feeling when he oozes a natural charm that would make any she-wolf weak in the knees?
Who was I kidding?
Despite my natural response to the dominant male’s presence, there’s a small part of me that believes I can be neutral, even as I turn fully and set my eyes on him. But it’s worse when I come face to face with his fresh look, his aura so primal that I can’t stop the rolling waves of lust that come over me.
If I thought deflecting and denying my body’s natural response to him was hard last night, I’m in for a treat this morning when he smiles, showing off the painfully undeniable allure he was born with.
A dimple in his left cheek caves in, and I’m about ready to cave and—
“Ooh! What’s for breakfast?” Dawson asks, his morning voice strikingly similar to the one he’d drawled all over my skin when he made passionate love to me in the library.
