Page 63 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

She’ll be waiting for me to slip up.

Instead, I turn my attention to the rest of the room, scanning for anything else that might be out of place. The drawers under the bench are open, the contents rummaged through, and the cabinet where I keep my personal tools is missing its lock.

My jaw tightens as I crouch next to the cabinet, Frankie’s scent unmistakable. She didn’t even try to mask it. She wanted me to know it was her. My wolf snarls again, my fists clenching at the thought of her digging through my things, violating my space.

I force myself to take a deep breath, the cool air doing little to calm the storm inside me. She didn’t find it. If she had, she wouldn’t be subtle about it. Frankie’s not the kind to hold her cards close—she’d confront me outright, demand answers in front of the whole damn den.

Still, the fact that she was even this close…it’s too much. Too dangerous.

As if she was summoned like a demon, she’s suddenly there in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she’s been waiting for this moment all night. Her arms are crossed, her sharp gaze locked onto me, and it’s like I can already feel the fight brewing in the air between us.

“Nice trip?” she says, her tone deceptively casual, though her eyes are anything but. “What’d you bring back? Trouble?”

I let out a breath, turning to face her fully. “No, but thanks for the warm welcome. It’s always so nice chatting with you, Frankie.”

Her lips twitch, but her eyes don’t lose that edge. “You’re really leaning into this ‘drifter who doesn’t care about the rules’ thing, huh? Taking Magnolia off like that without telling anyone. You don’t think the den deserves a little heads-up when someone like you takes someone like her?”

Someone like me. Someone like her. The implication grates, and my wolf stirs, bristling at the insult to both of us. I keep my tone light, though, letting my usual sarcasm slide into place. “Relax. She’s a grown woman, Frankie. Last I checked, she doesn’t need a permission slip to leave the den.”

“Yeah? And last I checked, people here care about her,” she fires back. “You think her parents weren’t tearing the place apart looking for her? You think the den wasn’t ready to mobilize if she didn’t come back? You didn’t just take her off on some joyride—you put the entire pack on edge.”

My jaw tightens, and I can feel my patience thinning. “She wanted to go, and she asked if we could stay the night so she could see the stars,” I say evenly. “I didn’t kidnap her.”

“That’s not the point,” Frankie snaps, stepping into the room now, her posture stiff and commanding. “She’s got responsibilities here. People who rely on her. And you? You’ve been here, what, a couple of weeks? You don’t get to come in and throw her life off balance.”

For a moment, I think about snapping back. About throwing every piece of her accusation right back in her face. But something in her tone stops me. Something underneath the frustration and the edge of her voice—genuine concern. She cares. And not in the abstract, "this-is-my-pack" way. She cares about Magnolia.

I take a breath, running a hand through my hair. “She’s not a kid, Frankie,” I say. “I get it. You’re protective of her. I respect that. But you need to trust her to make her own decisions.”

Frankie falters, just for a second, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wasn’t expecting that. I can tell by the way her stance shifts, just slightly, like she’s recalibrating. “It’s not about trust,” she says finally, her tone softer but still firm. “It’s about making sure she’s safe. That someone isn’t…taking advantage of how much she wants to see the world outside this place.”

That one stings. Not because it’s wrong, exactly, but because I know how easy it would be to do just that. To exploit Magnolia’s kindness, her wide-eyed curiosity. To take everything she’s offering and more.

But that’s not what this is. That’s not what she is.

I shake my head, meeting Frankie’s gaze directly. “I’m not hurting her,” I say, my wolf rumbling beneath the words. “If anything, I’m trying to give her something she doesn’t get enough of around here—a chance to breathe. To be herself. Maybe instead of tearing me down for it, you should be asking yourself why she felt the need to get away.”

Frankie’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think she might lunge. But then her shoulders sag, and her gaze flickers. “You better mean that,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “Because if you’re lying—if you’re using her—there’s nowhere you can run that I won’t find you.”

I nod, my wolf growling in satisfaction. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Her lips press into a flat line, but she nods, backing off just enough to let me breathe again. “Good,” she says. Then, glancing around the room, her gaze lingers on the disarray she caused. “And clean up your mess. You’re not above the rules here, no matter how much Magnolia likes you.”

She stalks out without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with my wolf still thrumming in my chest. I let out a long breath, the tension bleeding from my shoulders as the door clicks shut.

Frankie’s not wrong about one thing: Magnolia’s the kind of person this pack would fight for.

The kind of person worth protecting.

I stay still for a long moment after Frankie leaves, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps echoing down the hallway. My wolf is still restless, prowling under my skin, but I keep it in check, forcing myself to take deep, steadying breaths. The scattered tools and drawers gape open like a wound, a tangible reminder of how close she came to finding something she shouldn’t. My fists clench at my sides, and I have to resist the urge to slam them into the nearest surface.

Not yet. She might still be watching.

Instead, I focus on the room, slowly beginning to put things back in their place. One tool at a time, one drawer after the other. The rhythm of organizing calms me, giving me something to focus on other than the storm of thoughts in my head. But the tension doesn’t leave, the weight of what almost happened settling heavy in my chest.

When I’m sure enough time has passed, I head to the back office, each step feeling heavier than the last. My wolf stirs again, uneasy but quiet, as I push the door open and step inside. The small room is dim, the blinds drawn, and for a moment, I just stand there, listening to the silence.

The signal beacon is still hidden where I left it, concealed in the back wall of the coat closet under a mountain of junk. I crouch down, moving things aside until I find it. Relief washes over me when I see the beacon untouched, its small light blinking steadily.

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