Page 69 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

He shuts off the tap. “You’ve lived in cities your whole life, Jessa. There’s a lot about where I come from that you don’t know.”

“Where you come from.” I straighten. “Your people. That’s the second time you’ve said it like that.”

“Now’s not the time for it.” He sets the pan in the rack. “What matters this minute is figuring out who went after those two girls and why.”

“Then let me do the one thing I can do and call the police.”

“I have people. More than the police, faster than the police.” He turns to face me. “I need you to be patient, and I need you to trust me.”

“You keep saying that.” Frustration climbs into my voice. “‘Trust me, trust me.’ I’ve known you a matter of weeks, Marcus. You can’t just keep asking me to hand everything over on faith.”

He crosses the kitchen and stops close, closer than the conversation needs. When he looks at me, his eyes are steady, no charm in them, none of the easy teasing.

“Then don’t trust me.” His voice drops low. “Trust one thing. I would never, in this life or any other, let harm come to Mia. Not for anything. Can you trust that much?”

Something in me goes still.

Because it’s too much. No man swears that about a kid he met a month ago, and for one cold second, I wonder if he knows. The kitchen is silent. I’m no fool. His words are a double-edged sword, but I pretend not to understand.

“Fine,” I say at last, and my voice isn’t as steady as I want. “I’ll trust you with Mia.” I fold my arms. “I still think coming here was a mistake. Nothing like this has ever happened to us. Not once, until this town.”

He doesn’t argue. He busies himself with the coffee maker, spooning grounds, and I watch the set of his shoulders. They’re stiff, bunched, like a man braced against something.

“You want a fresh cup?” he asks. “Yours must be cold.”

I sip my coffee and make a face. “Please.”

He makes two cups. When he hands it over, his fingers brush mine.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He sets his own cup down without drinking from it. “I’ve been trying to work out how to—”

The kitchen door opens.

An older man steps through it like he owns the place. He’s tall, silver through the hair, broad across the chest, with a warm, crinkled face. My eyes go from him to Marcus and back, and the resemblance is right there in the jaw and the height, both of them built to fill a doorway. They’re clearly family.

He isn’t alone. Sloane comes in behind him, and my jaw tightens before she’s fully through the door. She looks at me, and her lip curls, pleased about something.

“Uncle.” Marcus sounds both surprised and wary. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Sloane and I were passing by and thought we’d stop and see you.” The older man’s warm eyes settle on me. “And who’s this?”

I open my mouth to say I’m Mia’s mother. But Marcus’s arm comes around my waist and draws me into his side, solid, deliberate, before a syllable’s out.

“She’s at my house early on a Saturday in her nightclothes.” His hand spreads at my hip. “Who do you think she is?”

His uncle’s face cools, the smile staying put while his eyes go hard. “Marcus.”

There’s a warning edge to his voice, and Marcus slides his arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. “I’m afraid you’ve interrupted us. We were about to go to bed.”

I flush, but something tells me to stay silent. It’s in the way Marcus is standing. His body is too stiff even while his tone is pleasant.

“She’s no match for you, Marcus.” His tone stays mild, almost kindly, which makes the words worse. “I’d hoped you’d conduct yourself like a grown man. Not go chasing the first woman you could get your hands on.”

My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“My private life is no concern of yours.” Marcus’s arm tightens. “What I want to know is why you’ve brought Sloane into my kitchen.”

The uncle looks at me a long moment. “Get out.”