Page 27 of Alpha’s Wife

“It’s just a strategy,” I say. “They’re buying time. You really think three alphas are that soft? They know who’s bleeding them now, and they’re either running scared or looking for an angle.”

“Or,” Ryder says, “they mean every word.”

“They don’t,” I snap.

“You don’t know that,” Ryder says, his voice rising in a rare display of frustration.

“I know exactly what this means,” I say, and it comes out harder than I intended. “We have given everything to this, and they have given nothing. All they have done is live an easy life; they don’t get to negotiate anything.”

Ryder watches me carefully for a moment before replying. “You used to say you just wanted a safe home,” he says. “Somewhere warm, food to eat, a community. We have all that and more now. We built it out of nothing. When did that stop being enough?”

“It was never enough; it was always the beginning,” I reply coldly. “Ever since Mom told us the truth. You may not want to embrace your alpha wolf, Ryder, but if you did, you might get your head out of your books and theories, and feel more like fighting for what we deserve.”

I let the silence fall, and I feel like a jerk. I am a jerk. I see him flinch, and I don’t even feel sorry. Ryder’s wolf is an alpha, and I know why he doesn’t embrace it. All we ever had was each other, and he doesn’t want to fight; he wants one vision, and he’s able to find it in himself to let me lead, knowing damn well I couldn’t if the roles were reversed. Our childhood left scars on him, and that’s what those half-brothers on the island don’t get—we’re still living with Ralph’s cruelty.

So I let the silence stand, because while I know I’m being a dick, I mean every single word. He’s quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s about to come out swinging or blank me the way he does when I piss him off—I’d rather he landed a punch than retreat more.

“Get a coffee if you want, or get off my porch, Ronan,” he says, giving me a look I’ve seen more times than I can count over the years before picking his coffee back up and returning to his laptop.

I have two choices: stay here with his judgment and a simmering argument brewing between us, or go home and get on with my work in the office cloaked in Selene’s scent. Given my current level of frustration and the way my wolf feels liable to crack open at any point, I trudge inside and pour myself coffee before returning to the porch where we sit in silence, and I glare out at the island.

I think about her. The bond. The magic. I think about how I need it now and how I’m going to take it.

Chapter 13 - Selene

It’s been two days since Ronan came home with a face like thunder and didn’t say a single word to me all evening, just locked himself in his office.

I knew something must have happened the moment he walked in. I’ve come to realize that he’s not the kind of man who slams doors or raises his voice. Instead, he goes quiet, deadly quiet. And I think that might be worse, because the quiet felt infinitely more dangerous than many things he could have done, and the whole cabin seemed to shrink around him. I stayed out of his way and retreated to my room with a book, and then lay there for hours listening to him moving around in the dark all night.

When Cole showed up early the next morning, I began to fill in the gaps. I was still in my room, but cracked the door and heard him telling Ronan that one of their young wolves, Davey, who I knew had gone missing recently, had been picked up in a small boat just off the shore. Ronan seemed relieved but not surprised. When he and Cole moved out onto the porch to talk, I followed through into the kitchen so I could listen, because I’m a witch, not a saint.

Apparently, Davey had been grabbed on one of their raids on the island. The brothers returned him unharmed, and there was talk of wanting peace—it sounds clear that they know who Ronan and Ryder are now. And Ronan, by the sound of it, fired back a reply that consisted of two words, neither of which was pleasant.

Cole left, and so did Ronan, without even saying goodbye. But the tension remained in the air even after he left. I spent the rest of the day dwelling on it and thinking far too much about Ronan. Those men, the brothers, who he’s spent a lifetime hating, want peace, and he’s spat on it. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but I guess I did wonder if there was an off-ramp for him. Perhaps if they knew about Ronan and Ryder, they could build bridges instead of going to war. Maybe they would, but he clearly wants his war.

Something’s changed in him these last couple of days, and it’s not just the simmering tension and temper. His wolf is noticeably closer to the surface than I’ve ever seen it. I catch it in his eyes when he looks at me, the telltale gold flicker and surge of power. The way he watches me lacks the careful consideration or amusement that was there before. It’s hungry. Like he knows what I taste like, and wants more.

The worst part is probably how much I want him to do it.

It’s the third morning since the mood shifted, and he finds me in the kitchen, which feels like a change, because he’s been gone most mornings before I get up or disappeared soon after. I tense before I can stop myself, and he notices. Of course he notices, because he notices everything.

“You can contact your coven,” he says.

I blink at him, genuinely surprised. “What?”

“Your coven. You can contact them. I’ve set up a tablet with their email.” He leans against the counter and folds his arms, and I hate that my eyes drop straight to them. “Emma says you miss them, which is obvious, of course. You want to let them know you’re safe.”

“And you suddenly care about this because…?” I say before I can help it.

He doesn’t answer. I just watch as his jaw works, like the question is an inconvenience he doesn’t want to dignify. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I wasn’t fit to be around the other night,” he says finally, looking at the window, not me. “I’m not trying to scare you. That’s all.”

It’s not an apology, and I wasn’t expecting one, but it’s the closest thing I’ve had from him, for any of this. And I don’t quite know what to do with it, so I just stare at him, dumbstruck.

“There is a condition,” he adds, because of course there is.

I roll my eyes. “There always is.”

“You tell them you’re safe, and that you’re staying to help the settlement of your own free will,” he says, his eyes holding mine. “You can tell them I took you. You can tell them we fucked if you want. But make sure you also tell them that if any witch comes here or tries to rescue you, we will defend ourselves, and they will get hurt. Now, I don’t want that, because I don’t want you upset, so tell them not to even try. For your own sake.”