"Has she now," Maeve said. "Well, I hope she told you I don't trust alphas as far as I can throw them. And seeing as you're built like a brick shithouse, that's not very far."
Fritz's smile didn't waver. "And so you shouldn’t."
Maeve’s mouth opened and then closed.
She took my hand and we walked toward my caravan, the small, silver bullet of a home looking smaller than I remembered. It sat in the shadow of the stone wall, looking lonely. The window box with the frozen pansies was still there, the flowers now completely dead. Brown and brittle and clinging to the stems out of sheer stubbornness.
I led the way inside, my hand on the flimsy door handle. I had to lift and twist at the same time, the trick I'd perfected over years of living here. The door swung open with a creak that needed oil.
The familiar scent of old wood and lavender greeted me. It smelled smaller than I remembered. Cramped. The kitchenette with its two-ring hob. The table that folded down from the wall. The bed at the back that doubled as storage.
This had been my whole world for two years.
Now it felt like a shoebox.
"Mr. Cheddar?" I called out.
A soft meow came from the bed. That’s when I saw the ginger loaf of fur curled up right in the center of my duvet, his tail wrapped around his nose. My heart melted.
I ignored the tight, aching bond in my chest and threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the cat's warm fur.
"Oh, you sweet, orange dummy. You missed your mum, didn't you? You didn't care about helicopters or claiming marks or complicated pack dynamics, did you?"
Mr. Cheddar purred, a low vibration that thrummed against my cheek. His fur smelled like the caravan, like outside, like the simple life I'd left behind. This was what I needed. A life that was simple, real and uncomplicated.
Then, I felt something move.
Not the cat.
A tiny, frantic flick of a tail appeared from under my pillow. My eyes went wide. A field mouse darted out, its little black eyes panicked. It scrambled over Mr. Cheddar's back, tiny claws scrabbling for purchase.
The cat didn't even open an eye. He just meowed lazily and went back to sleep, clearly too sleepy to move.
"Mouse!" I shrieked.
I scrambled back, my feet hitting the floor, then immediately jumped onto the tiny kitchenette counter. My hip knocked into the kettle, sending it clattering. "Fritz!"
Fritz burst through the door, his body tense, eyes alert for a threat. He looked ready to fight. To defend. To destroy whatever had made me scream.
Instead, he found me standing on the counter, pointing wildly at the bed while Maeve doubled over laughing in the doorway.
"Aww. he left you another gift, Pres" Maeve wheezed, clutchingher stomach.
The mouse, realizing its error, darted off the bed and disappeared into my knicker drawer.
Fritz didn't laugh. His shoulders relaxed, the tension draining out of him. He just looked at the tiny creature now frantically trying to hide in my underwear. "I'll get it, Liebling."
He grabbed an empty Tupperware container from the sink, the one I used to keep my tea bags dry. For the next ten minutes, I watched the mouse make another escape from the drawer and a billionaire alpha crawl around the floor of my cramped caravan, shushing a mouse while Mr. Cheddar watched with bored judgment from the bed.
"Come on, little one," Fritz coaxed, his voice gentle. "Just into the box. That's it."
He finally trapped it, the mouse's tiny feet scrabbling against the plastic. Fritz stood, holding the container at arm's length, and looked at me still standing on the counter.
"Crisis averted," he said.
"My hero."
He grinned, that easy, infectious smile that made my chest warm. "Where do you want him?"
