Page 7 of Lunar's Ruined Alpha
“I need to take care of this,” I reply, stepping past her.
“No, Alina, you don’t—”
Zahra’s fingertips brush against my arm as she reaches out, almost as if to stop me, but whatever the end of her sentence is, it fades into a dull roar in the back of my mind.
There’s a Greenbriar scent in the air.
Not mine. Not Noah’s.
It’s fresh and strong, tinged with the pleasant bitterness of autumn leaves and a cool breath of forest air. I would know that particular scent anywhere, even if it’s been ten years since I was so close to it. It’s overpowering, calling to me like a siren song.
The noisy din of The Diner quiets to a mumbled hush as my ears start ringing. My heart hammers so fast that I wonder if I’m about to lose control and shift right here in the middle of the restaurant.
The shifter—the Alpha—sitting across from Henry Whiterose has his back to me, but I would know him anywhere. I would know him if I were blind. I might even know him in death.
His broad shoulders are chiseled like the muscles wrought in a marble statue of a Greek god. He sits up straight with flawless posture, but there’s a tension in his limbs that tells me he’s about two seconds away from noticing me.
Rowan.
I was right. His hair is slightly darker than his son’s turned out to be. It’s an odd thought to bother having, right here in the middle of my nightmare brought to life, but a strange numbness has overcome me, and I’m not entirely sure I still have a firm grip on reality.
The wise thing to do would be to turn and run. Grab Noah and disappear out the back of The Diner, then hop in the car and drive until we see the sunrise. I’m in a fragile state, but I could probably get us close to the Canadian border before we’d need to stop. Except, we wouldn’t have much of a head start. He’d find us.
He’s already found us.
It wasn’t supposed to happen, and yet fate has decided otherwise.
The worst part is that, instead of running, my feet start moving of their own accord. I feel like I’m floating as I move toward the Greenbriar Alpha heir, like I’m watching myself cross the room from outside my own body. It’s like there’s an invisible string tugging me towardhim. Or maybe less of a string and more of an indestructible chain attached to a manacle secured around my very soul.
Henry is the first to look up as I approach. The world has taken on a slow-motion sort of quality, like everyone is suddenly underwater. I watch the old man’s brow furrow, and then his eyes widen in shock. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, and he half rises from his chair on aging legs.
But then the shifter across from him twists in his seat, and we lock eyes for the first time since I was eighteen years old.
There’s a hollow whoosh and the dizziness returns so violently that I wonder if I’m about to faint. My stomach flips, and then I’m wondering if I’m going to vomit.
“Fuck,” is all I can think to say.
Rowan Greenbriar blinks. Once. Twice. His nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent. I watch his pupils dilate, his jaw tighten as he clenches his teeth.
Molten fury seeps into my bloodstream because there’s nothing I can do to avoid the way my body responds to that look on his face. The wild, instinctive urge for Rowan to claim, to possess, to devour what is his.
Because that’s what I am. His Mate. Just as he is mine. My Mate.
Except, no. That’s not true at all. He rejected me, mere minutes after he realized what I am. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me, and that not even the bond between us was worth the risk of losing his birthright.
Kseniya thought she was doing the pack a favor by delivering that prophecy, but all she did was curse me.
“Glory be to the ocean-eyed Alpha, ninth of his line. Yet beware the beloved heir’s Mate, who shall ruin him in time.”
I hate that old wretch of a woman. It’s not like I asked for this, and yet I was the one who suffered for it.
I’m vaguely aware that several painfully silent minutes have passed. I’m also aware that most of the other patrons are doing a very bad job of pretending to mind their own business. Nearly every eye in the room is on us.
It’s too much to handle. I’m already weak and shaking. As I watchRowan’s throat bob with a swallow, a war raging in his eyes between his most basic instincts and his propriety, my grip on the coffee pot loosens.
The pot slips out of my hand and crashes onto the floorboards. Glass shatters and shards scatter in every direction. Shouts of alarm echo around the space, but they seem muffled. I don’t even move, even with my shoes now drenched in scalding coffee. Neither Rowan nor Henry flinches either.
“Alina,” Henry says.
