Page 37 of Alpha’s Wife

Selene,

I’ve told Ava and Serena everything. No one wants the war, but the men are dug in. We’ve all had bad experiences, but it pales in comparison to what Ralph did to those men.

We can’t promise anything, especially after last night. Tristen came home injured, and they’ve all been locked in a council meeting since before dawn. They want to hit back twice as hard, but we’re working on them, making them see sense. They need to hear more about who he really is, not the rogue they want him to be, and his brother. That’s the only thing that’s moving them at all.

Be careful,

E

I read it twice, and something in my chest eases, just a little. Maybe this can work—maybe too slowly, but if the alphas on the island don’t want a war, I know there’s a way to get through to Ronan. But if they retaliate, then he won’t hold back. The only way to stop this is to end it before it really starts.

I write back, laying out every bit of information about Ronan that I think may sway his half-brothers into seeing him differently. That he protects his pack, that he took all the wounds last night so that his men wouldn’t have to, that his isn’t the crazed rogue they’re picturing. He’s a man who grew up fighting for everything he has and doesn’t know how to stop.

I send it before I can talk myself out of it, and then sit on the edge of the bed I didn’t sleep in as it hits me all at once.

Every word I wrote about Ronan was true, and when I really look at it, I know I’m falling for him. And it isn’t the magic, or the coercion, or some grand plan that I’ve walked right into. I just like him, despite it all. It crept up on me, over all the nights, the conversations, even the sparring, and now it’s just the truth.

I’m falling for a man who is about to start a war. I watched it happening this morning, escalating before my eyes, as the man who had been in my arms only moments before hardened. He’s going to bleed himself dry over this and take everyone down with him. People he genuinely cares about.

I get up and walk into the kitchen, which is exactly as we left it—the pushed-back chairs, the half-used medical kit discarded on the island, and blankets thrown off the couch. I stand there and look at the scene, my face suddenly hot, and the physical need I feel when I think of him begins to pull at me again.

I can’t stay in this cabin surrounded by all this, so I tidy the worst away, dress quickly, and knock on the window to wave to Tom, letting him know I’m heading out. He looks up from his regular spot on the porch where he’s been reading his book, and I do my best to paint a neutral expression on my face as I head out, careful not to let him see the cabin still in disarray behind me.

I tell him we’re going to the bakery, and his whole face lights up so much I can’t help but laugh, confirming this is exactly what I need. I need people to talk to me, or even at me, and just let the noise drown out my own thoughts for a while.

Maeve seems to run the bakery the way she runs everyone, with enthusiasm and kindness. Her daughter, Savannah, works the coffee counter, and somewhere over the last few weeks, the two of them have drawn me in without my noticing. They adore Tom and fuss over him as soon as we arrive, setting him up in the corner as usual with his favorite coffee and cake. I go to follow, but Savannah insists on setting me up at the counter so she can talk to me.

Savannah’s my age, quick and loud, and the person who most reminds me of my coven sisters; it’s easy to like her. “You look rough,” she laughs. “Is this a good rough or a bad rough?”

“Don’t answer that,” Maeve calls from the back. “You don’t have to tell her anything.”

“She’s my friend, and friends tell,” Savannah says, sliding coffee across and leaning on the counter, studying my face the way Emma does, the only difference being that she just says what she’s thinking. “You look like you had a fun and very long night.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “You can’t say that…”

“Just as I suspected, and you’ve gone red as a beet.” She grins, delighted with herself. “I should’ve been a detective.”

Maeve appears with a plate of something warm; she sets it in front of me without asking, because that’s what she’s taken to doing whenever I call in after I’ve been at the clinic. “Leave the girl be.”

But Savannah’s watching me, and her grin has faded into something gentler. “You don’t look happy about it, though,” she says, quieter now. “You look like it’s complicated.”

“It is complicated,” I admit, and it’s such an understatement I almost laugh.

“It always is, with the good ones,” Maeve says gently, and then they both let it drop, and I think I like them even more for seeing it but not making me explain it.

“Anyway,” Savannah says, changing the tone and pulling out a battered notebook from under the counter, dropping it in front of me. It’s covered in lists and names. “You’re just in time, actually. We need another opinion. Mom and I have been arguing about this for a week, and we’re getting nowhere.”

“About what?” I say, grateful for the chance to talk about something else.

“The winter fair,” she says, like it should be obvious, as though it’s the most important thing in the world. “Solstice. The whole settlement throws one every year, with lights strung along the main row, a bonfire, stalls, music, and dancing till the early hours. It’s the best night of the year, and this year it’s going to be the biggest one yet.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work, is what she means,” Maeve says, but she’s smiling into her tea.

“We can’t agree on where to put the bonfire.” Savannah taps the page. “Last year it nearly set fire to the library roof, so this year I think we should put it on the green where there’s room to dance as well. Mom says it’s too near the water and the wind will be a problem.”

“The wind will take it,” Maeve says. “I’ve watched it take it twice when folk have been burning things down there, and this will be even bigger.”

I look down at the notebook—the stalls, the food, who’s bringing what, a whole night sketched out in Savannah’s careful handwriting—and something in my chest pulls tight. “What about the area behind the warehouses?” I hear myself say. “Out of the wind, but there’s still room to dance. We can string the lights from the buildings. We did our solstice fires in a walled yard at the coven, tucked away from the weather, and they always held.”