Page 56 of Lunar's Ruined Alpha
When my father asked for details, though, I lied.
I told him that I heard it from a member of Whiterose pack, not that I saw it with my own eyes. Because there is absolutely no reason for me to be patrolling in territory that isn’t ours—not when nobody knows that my Mate and heir are there.
Cal gave me a look when I said that, as if he knows the truth, which shouldn’t be possible, but he kept his mouth shut. Honestly, I probably don’t thank my Beta enough. Or give him enough credit forhow loyal he is to me, even while doing his best to remain loyal to the current Alpha.
He tried to corner me on the way out of my father’s house, but then one of my father’s Betas called out to him, and I used the temporary distraction to slip away.
I didn’t know why I was in such a rush to get back to West Pond. I had no reason to be on edge. It was mid-morning, warm and sunny, and I was in a good mood despite the events of the weekend. I knew Alina was at work and Noah was at school, and therefore I didn’t have a whole lot else to do except continue poking my nose where it technically doesn’t belong.
But, from the moment I woke up this morning, I haven’t been able to shake an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like my wolf instincts know that something bad is coming, but my human logic hasn’t caught on to what it could be.
It could also just be the remnants of how I felt on Friday night after climbing down from Alina’s rooftop.
I think about it during the entire drive to West Pond.
Not that there’s much to think about.
If someone looked up the word impasse in a dictionary, there would be a picture of me and Alina. We’ve reached a point where she knows how much I want her in a physical sense, and she also knows now how much I regret rejecting the bond and triggering her escape from the pack.
And now I know that she wants me, too. Perhaps only because the bond has programmed her to be physically attracted to me, but it’s something.
She dreams about me.
She yearns for me, even in the throes of sleep.
And she gets so lost in the overwhelming sensation of my touch on her body that she forgets all her stubbornness and anger for a little while.
That has to mean she doesn’t hate me anymore.
Perhaps if I had the balls to tell her the truth—that I love her and have always loved her and will, despite my better judgment, love her for as long as I live—she might even start totolerate me. Maybe even she’d want to be my friend, at the very least.
But the painful reality is that none of it matters, anyway.
I may love her, and she may no longer love me, but it doesn’t erase the prophecy. It doesn’t get rid of all the complications that come with it.
Unless she wants to ruin me, and thus ruin the pack, we can’t be together. It’s as simple as that.
There has to be another path forward for us, though…
I’m scowling by the time I roll down Main Street, muttering under my breath as I park in front of The Diner.
Inside, it’s mostly deserted. An older couple shares their breakfast at one end of the bar, and a couple of shifters are hanging out at one of the booths at the back of the restaurant.
Alina isn’t here, though.
She’s supposed to be behind the bar, tinkering away with the coffee machine or harmlessly flirting with one of the customers.
Instead, there’s an older man standing in her place. I halt at the sight of him, wondering if I’ve miscounted the days. But, no. It’s Monday. And Alina works Monday through Friday so that she can take weekends off in coordination with Noah’s school schedule.
I stalk toward the man behind the bar.
“Where’s Alina?” I don’t bother with hey or hello. I don’t have time for that shit.
The man glances up at me, quirking an eyebrow. “Who wants to know?”
I bristle at his tone. The way he’s looking at me, with nasty amusement, makes my skin crawl. Why haven’t I seen this guy before? I’d remember someone with this kind of attitude existing in Alina’s periphery. I’ve been keeping track of everyone she interacts with, in the least creepy way possible.
“Tim,” chimes in the old lady at the end of the bar with a gently chastising tone. “I wouldn’t talk to him like that. He’s a Greenbriar.”
