When he pulls back, I blink up at him. “You look pretty today.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “Why do you guys always compliment me when I’m wearing one of your oversized shirts?”
“Because you look good.” Warren leans back, admiring my legs. “It rides up in all the right places.”
I smack his chest, then ask, “Where’s Beck?”
Warren snorts softly. “Last I saw, he was upstairs pulling all the shoelaces out of his shoes, while researching whether ghosts can get stuck in mirrors.”
I smile, completely unsurprised. “Of course he was.”
Warren brushes his thumb along my jaw once more, then steps back. “I’m going to make a phone call,” he says. His tone shifts, still gentle, but more focused. Business mode. “I’ll be in the office.”
“Okay.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then heads down the hall.
I turn back toward the kitchen, going over my little list of things that still need to get done. There are still counters to wipe down and something faintly sticky near the sink that will bother me if I don’t deal with it now.
I slide a few stray mugs and plates into the dishwasher, the soft clink of ceramic oddly soothing. Then I reach for a washrag, run it under warm water, and then turn to the kitchen island.
And movement catches my eye outside.
I still, rag dripping in my hand, and slowly lift my gaze out the back porch doors. There’s someone at the edge of the yard, half-shadowed where the trees start to thin. My pulse stutters as a man cuts a line straight toward the porch.
Who is that?
I squint, trying to figure out if it’s a gardener or someone like that, but he’s walking in a weird way. Creeping. Like he’s trying not to get caught.
A chill slips over me right as the man moves closer, stepping into better light, and recognition hits fast.
Jimmy.
The rude alpha. The one Warren fired.
“Fuck that.” I fling the wash rag onto the countertop, water splattering everywhere. Then I open my bond to Warren, forcing it to flare like a snapped wire.
The response is immediate.
Heavy footsteps tear through the house, fast and violent enough that the floor seems to shudder under them. I don’t even have time to turn before Warren comes barreling through the house, his pace reckless, uncontrolled. I hear the impact of his shoulder clipping the corner of the wall as he takes the turn into the kitchen at full speed.
He slams into the doorway, momentum barely checked, phone still clenched in his hand. His head snaps left, right, and back toward the windows. His eyes are wild, scanning, searching, locking onto every shadow as if it might lunge.
“Tansy,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Where?”
I point outside, heart still pounding. “Edge of the yard. He’s coming toward the porch.”
Warren turns, catches sight of the man through the glass, and his expression immediately shifts.“Motherfucker.” He shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “Stay here,” hesays, already shifting his weight toward the back door. “Donotgo near the windows.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, simply. “I’m going upstairs to find Beck.”
“Good,” he says firmly.“Lock yourselves in up there. Don’t come down until I say so.”
“Will do,” I promise.
He reaches out and kisses the top of my head. Then he turns toward the back door, already shifting into motion, alpha focus snapping into place like armor.
As I head for the living room, my bond with the alpha flares and then abruptly dims, like someone slamming a door halfway shut. The sudden pressure makes me stumble a step.
