Page 23 of Alpha Unbound

He crashes into the shelves behind him, breath ragged, eyes wild.

I sit up, heart hammering. “Get out!"

"Kate..."

"No. You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

His eyes flash. “You think you have a choice? That I do? We are fated mates,” he declares.

I slide off the counter, gather his clothes from the floor and throw them at him before moving behind the counter, placing it as a barrier between us.

“Everything’s a choice, Hudson. Even giving in to instinct or fate.”

He watches me. Not moving. Not speaking.

“You want to mark me? To claim me?” I say quietly. “Then earn it.”

The words settle in the charged air between us, a challenge and a warning. He doesn’t follow me when I disappear into the back room. I pause behind the curtain, chest heaving, hand braced against the doorframe. The adrenaline hasn’t faded—not completely. My body still thrums with the aftershocks of want, anger, and something too complicated to name. Vulnerability, maybe. Or the terrifying hope that he might come after me.

"And be sure to lock the door behind you."

The words come out sharper than I mean, but I don’t take them back. Not when my chest still heaves, not when the ache of what almost happened—what almost changed everything—still smolders deep inside. I wait for the sound of the door, the echo of his exit, but I don’t turn around. Because I know if I see him now, I might not make him leave at all.

I flinch when the door slams shut, the sound too final, too sharp in the silence he left behind.

Of course he didn’t lock it—there’s no way to from the outside. I wrap my shirt around me with fingers that still tremble and cross to the front door. Pressing my forehead to the cool metal, I let the chill seep into my skin.

Then, with a steadying breath, I slide the deadbolt into place. A small, defiant sound in a world that’s anything but certain.

In my pocket, the note from Luke crinkles as I curl my fingers around it.

A reminder that desire and danger walk too close in this town. I’ve worn down the edges from unfolding it so many times, rereading the half-scribbled warning, and searching it for hidden meaning.

I haven’t told a soul—not even Waylon. Not yet. Because if what’s in that note is true, then Hudson might be the leastof my problems. And trusting the wrong person could cost me everything.

And just like that, the fire inside me fades to ash. The storm he brought in slipping back into the silence it came from. But the heat isn’t gone. It simmers beneath the surface, like embers under scorched earth—waiting for one breath of wind to rise again and burn everything down.

CHAPTER 9

HUDSON

Idon’t remember the drive back to the compound. Not the curves of the mountain roads. Not the cold air sneaking in through the cracked window. Not the trees, skeletal in the dark, standing like silent witnesses to how thoroughly I fucked that up.

I just remember the sound of Kate’s voice. The way it cracked—not from weakness, but from fury barely contained. The razor edge of hurt threading through every word. It wasn’t just anger. It was the sound of someone who had been burned too many times and refused to let it happen again. And it hit me like a punch to the gut—because I put that fire in her throat.

Her fury was righteous, her fear hard-earned. It hit like a lash across my chest, sharp and stinging, forcing me to face what I’d done. My throat tightened, jaw clenched, every instinct screaming to go back and fix it. But I knew better—this wasn’t something a quick apology could erase. Not this time.

And her challenge? It was sharp as teeth, daring me to do better—or stay the hell away.

It echoes in my ears long after the tires crunch across the gravel drive, long after I slam the truck door so hard the frame shudders. The house is quiet—too quiet. One or two pack matescatch sight of me as I pass through the wide entryway, but the look on my face must warn them off. They step back into shadow, heads lowered, pretending not to see the wild threading through me.

I don’t stop.

My body holds energy wound too tight, like a taut wire strung through muscle and bone. Every step forward is a silent snarl held in check, a promise of violence to anyone dumb enough to get in my way. I don’t have the words, not yet. The burn of humiliation lingers, tangled with regret and something sharper: the awful clarity that I’d come too close to claiming what I hadn’t earned—what I might never deserve.

I growl when a younger wolf rounds the corner into the hallway too fast, his scent sharp with curiosity. The kid stumbles back, eyes wide, body snapping to attention like prey cornered. I bare my teeth and keep moving.

No one follows.

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