Page 59 of Brutal Alpha's Forced Mate

I glance over my shoulder, searching for Gray. He’s there, of course, towering over the crowd with his calm, steady presence. He catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring nod. It helps, but not enough.

“I need to—” I start, but the words get lost in the noise. Someone thrusts a mug of something into my hand, and I blink down at the frothy liquid like it’s a foreign object. I don’t even drink beer. Not that anyone here seems to know, or care.

The celebration swells around me, pulling me under like a tide. Music starts up somewhere, and the crowd gives way to dancers and laughter. The energy is infectious, electric, and it should feel good. It should feel like victory.

But all I can think about is that demon and the portal. A sickeningwhat ifthat lingers like a shadow in the back of my mind.

What if we missed something? What if it wasn’t enough? What if next time—?

“Hey.” Gray’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of him at my back. “You doing okay?”

“Peachy,” I respond. I take a sip of whatever’s in the mug. It’s bitter and vaguely fruity, but it does the job of distracting me for half a second.

Gray doesn’t look convinced. “You’re about two seconds away from bolting.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, but even I can hear the strain in my voice. “Really. Just not used to this.”

“Being celebrated?”

“Being stared at,” I admit. My eyes dart to a cluster of shifters near the edge of the crowd, and their gazes linger on me like I’m some kind of miracle. “I didn’t do anything special. I just survived.”

“You did a hell of a lot more than that,” Gray states. His hand brushes against mine. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to remind me that I’m not alone. “Let them celebrate you, Jas. You’ve earned it.”

I want to believe him. I want to stand here and bask in the warmth of their gratitude, to let myself feel like the hero they see. But the truth is, I don’t. I feel exposed, like a nerve that hasn’t quite healed. The weight of their expectations is too much, too soon.

“I just need a minute,” I grumble, handing him the mug before the crowd can shove another drink at me.

“Jaslyn—”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, cutting him off before he can argue. My voice softens as I add, “I just need some air. I’ll be back.”

He studies me for a long moment, then he nods. “Don’t go far.”

“I won’t.”

I slip through the crowd as quickly and quietly as I can, keeping my head down and my steps aimed at the door. People part for me, and their smiles fade into puzzled glances as I pass. I know I’m being rude, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not right now.

By the time I reach the edge of the celebration, my chest feels like it’s about to cave in. I suck in a breath, then another, letting the sounds of the crowd fade into the background as I put more distance between us.

I don’t stop until the music and laughter are little more than whispers on the wind. When I do, I let out a shaky exhale and press my back against the rough bark of a tree. It’s over. We’re safe. I should feel relief, or pride, or something other than this knot of tension coiled in my stomach like a snake. But all I can think about is how close we came to losing everything—and how much closer we might come next time.

If there is a next time.

The thought makes my stomach churn, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the spiral to stop. I just need a minute. Just one damn minute to pull myself together before I have to face them all again.

I don’t hear Gray approach until he’s right in front of me. When I look up, he’s leaning casually against the tree beside me with his arms crossed like he has all the time in the world.

I groan, tipping my head back against the bark. “Are you going to drag me back?”

“Do I look like I’m in a hurry to go back to that?” He gestures loosely in the direction of the packhouse, where the sounds of laughter and music are still going strong.

I study him for a second, trying to read the expression in his eyes. It’s not pity, thank God, but there’s something softer there. Understanding. That makes it worse, in a way.

“I just needed to get away for a minute,” I mutter, dragging my hand through my hair. “It’s too much.”

“I get it.” He shifts to face me, and his arms drop to his sides. “It’s a lot of people, a lot of attention. Not exactly your scene.”

“That’s an understatement,” I say with a weak laugh. “They’re acting like I saved the world or something. Like I’m some kind of hero.”

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