Page 41 of Alpha Unbound

“Luke’s been there. Might still be watching.”

Silence stretches between us like a held breath.

It’s tense with everything we’re afraid to say aloud. The kind of silence that vibrates with unspoken truths and shared history, pressing close until it almost feels like a third presence in the room.

I hold her tighter, heart thudding beneath her cheek. I know what she’s about to say, and it still hits like a hammer.

Finally, she murmurs, “Then he knows we’re together.”

“Yeah.” I wrap my arms tighter around her.

She looks up, gaze fierce and wet and glowing in the low light. “What now?”

“Now?” I lean down and brush my lips across hers. “We make damn sure whatever’s coming knows we know about them and we’re watching, too.”

Her nails drag lightly down my chest. “You mean we’re going hunting?”

I grin, sharp and hungry. “Exactly.”

CHAPTER 16

KATE

The morning light crawls across the bedroom wall, catching on the curve of Hudson’s shoulder where he sleeps beside me. His scent still clings to my skin—pine, musk, something darker. Something… mine. I lie there, barely breathing, heart thudding loud enough to count. It should feel like peace. Like safety.

But all I can think about is Luke.

Last night, after Hudson turned out the light, I lay curled against him, pretending to sleep while my mind whirled. His breath was slow and steady at my back, one arm slung over my waist. I could tell he wasn’t asleep either. His nearness should have comforted me. Instead, the darkness crept in around the edges of my calm.

"You keep thinking so loud I’m going to start charging rent," I murmured against Hudson’s shoulder, trying to make light of the storm churning in my chest. My voice came out rougher than I intended.

He moved slightly, his arm tightening around my waist. "You’re not wrong," he said. "But we both know he’s still out there."

I nodded, the words sitting like stones in my throat. "Yeah. We do. So why hasn’t he come to me?"

"Maybe because whatever he’s into—he thinks it’d kill you."

That sat in my chest like ice. I rolled to face him, traced the stubble along his jaw. He caught my wrist, kissed the inside.

"I’ve got you now," he said. "We’ll find him. You’re not doing it alone. Not anymore."

He kissed me then—slow, deep, anchoring. And I let him. Let the heat between us quiet everything else. But even as his hands roamed, even as his body pressed against mine like he was trying to erase the world for a little while, Luke’s shadow lingered in the corners of the room.

I’d never said goodbye to Luke. Not properly, but then I hadn't known he was leaving. And now I was starting to wonder if I’d ever get the chance.

This morning, I wake to the ache of last night—the way Hudson held me like I was breakable and bulletproof all at once. The way his lips tried to soothe the fear he couldn’t quite chase away. And the way, even in Hudson’s arms, Luke’s shadow still pressed against my ribs. I wake to the sting of questions unanswered and the knowing that peace, for me, is always temporary.

I turn onto my back, eyes tracing the sleek ceiling overhead—clean, well-kept, like everything else in the Rawlings compound. No cracks, no stains, no visible flaws. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for imperfections—I’m searching for distractions. That sealed surveillance device Hudson found—that Luke planted—shoved all the questions I’d tried to bury straight back into the center of my chest. And now they’re sitting there like a stone I can’t swallow.

Luke was watching us. Still is, maybe. And I can’t figure out if that makes me angry or just heartbroken.What were you doing, Luke? What were you trying to protect me from?

I close my eyes, and the memory rushes in like it’s been waiting. That day on the bridge. Luke standing just to the left of Hudson, the two of them younger, harder-edged. They’d fought—over me, of course. Hudson wanted something. Luke didn’t trust him. Typical big brother move.

But it was the way Luke looked at me afterward. Like he knew. Like he saw something coming that none of us could stop. I was seventeen and furious and tired of being treated like a baby. But he wasn’t just being overprotective. He was worried. That memory—him standing rigid, fists balled, watching Hudson walk away—burns hotter now than it did then. Because maybe he wasn’t just being a pain in the ass. Maybe he was already running. Already pulling at threads that were wrapping around his neck.

The shower hisses on in the attached bath. Hudson has managed to get up and move without my noticing while I’m musing to myself. I sit on the edge of the bed, my feet brushing the old floorboards. Then I stand, dress, and leave without a sound.

Elena’s apartment over the bookstore smells like roasted coffee, worn leather, and lavender—like memory and comfort and something sharper underneath. She raises an eyebrow when she sees me, but says nothing. Just steps aside.

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