Page 18 of Taken By the Pack

But as I grab his sweatshirt, the soft fabric clings to me, and I hesitate. It smells like him. Warm, musky, a little woodsy.

My fingers tighten on the fabric for a moment before I shake my head. God, what’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t want to keep it, but I do.

Dressed, I run a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers catch on knots. Great. I probably look like a disaster.

I check the nightstand for a mirror or brush, anything, but instead, I find them—pictures.

I freeze, staring.

There are a couple of them, scattered around. The first one’s of Rowan, his arm around a woman. She’s stunning—dark hair, sharp cheekbones, perfect smile.

My throat tightens as I pick up the next one. They’re laughing. In another, he’s carrying her, her legs wrapped around his waist. And the last one… they’re kissing.

“Shit.” My hands shake as I set the pictures down.

I shouldn’t be this affected. He’s an Alpha. Of course, there’s someone else. There’s always someone else.

But why didn’t I smell her? There was no trace of anyone else in this place. Does she live far away? Or… is he just a cheater?

The thought makes me nauseous.

I grab one of the pictures without thinking and head downstairs. I hear him before I see him, the clink of a mug on wood and the low hum of his voice, probably talking to himself.

When I reach the kitchen, I stop short. He’s standing by the window, sipping coffee. His back’s to me, broad and bare, and he’s wearing these low-slung joggers that hang dangerously on his hips.

His hair’s all messy, like he just rolled out of bed, and for a second, I forget why I’m pissed.

Then I remember.

I walk up to the table, dropping the photo in front of him. “Who is she?”

He freezes mid-sip, his shoulders going rigid. Slowly, he sets the mug down and turns to me. His gaze drops to the photo, and something shifts in his expression.

“Grace,” he says, his voice low.

“Who is she?” I repeat, sharper now.

He picks up the photo, his jaw tightening. “You went through my shit?”

“It was on the nightstand. Don’t make this about me.” I fold my arms and glare at him. “Just answer the question.”

He steps closer, holding the picture up. “How fucking dare you?”

“I dared because I have a right to know!” I snap.

“A right?” He laughs, but it’s cold and sharp. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You don’t fucking know me. You begged me to help you last night. That means nothing.”

Before I can argue, he grabs me by the arm, dragging me to the wall. His hand presses against my throat—not tight, just enough to hold me there.

My pulse races. For the first time, I really see him. Not as the guy from last night, but as an Alpha. The dangerous, lethal kind. If he wanted to, he could crush me.

“Let me go,” I whisper.

“Don’t go poking around in shit that doesn’t concern you,” he growls. His eyes are piercing.

I swallow hard, my gaze locking on his. “You’re hiding something. Why? Who is she? Is she your mate?”

He steps back like I’ve burned him. His hand falls away, and he rakes it through his hair, pacing. “Mind your own fucking business.”

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