Page 29 of Trust No Alpha
He didn’t turn to look and see if Kris followed. He didn’t need to. Seconds later, footsteps crushed the snow behind him and followed him up the steps to his front door.
Once inside, Thorne went straight to his heater and turned the thermostat up. Immediately, warm air poured into the living room.
He pulled off his gloves, throwing them on his coffee table, and turned to see Kris, holding his pack at his side. The boy swiveled his body to shut the front door behind him.
Kris stood in the foyer of the living room, a stiff figure like some frozen black ice statue. All Thorne could see of his true form were his reddened cheeks, his dark eyes, the firm jaw, and how he stood nearly as tall as Thorne. But not quite.
Though Kris did not smell like one, he was definitely Alpha in stature and stance. Clearly he was in some sort of crisis. But not the Burn.
He’d read just today that all Vandergale boys were Alphas. Born and bred true, from pure bloodlines centuries old. Boys from the greatest of family lineages and wealth were always discarded at birth if they weren’t perfect and true Alphas. No exceptions. No questions. That was just the way of their kind.
Therefore, Kris would be no exception. He was Alpha. He was a Vandergale.
But then what in all hells was he doing on the coldest night of the year in Thorne’s shed?
The boy at the window. The boy who ducked away when he thought Thorne had seen him. No mistake about it. That was who now stood at Thorne’s front door staring at him as if he were some sort of demon.
What the fuck was going on?
Throne shrugged off his jacket and scarf and hung them on a hook on the wall. Then he turned toward the kitchen.
“You need to get some hot liquid inside you. Do you prefer tea or coffee?”
No answer.
He didn’t wait for the boy to decide. He figured this late at night, tea was probably best. He set the kettle on the stove and turned it on.
He tried not to be too curious, and refrained from checking to see if the boy had moved yet. He was going for nonchalance here. Trying to be the good host. After all, this wasn’t just any boy. This was a Vandergale he was making tea for.
It had been at least a decade since he’d had anyone in his house. His last visitor had been a plumber when he’d had a flood in his kitchen. Most other upkeep and repairs to the house Thorne could do himself.
Thorne got out two mugs and his box of Red Zinger tea bags. As he busied himself, he called out. “Make yourself at home. Tea in just one minute.”
No sound. He closed his eyes tightly. Then opened them again. When the kettle whistled, he poured the water and plopped in the tea bags. Steam rose into his face.
Putting the mugs on a tray along with sugar, some packets of cream, a plastic squeeze bottle of honey, and sugar cookies he’d bought on his last foray into town, he lifted it and took it into the living room.
It was ridiculous, actually. Did he think he was entertaining some wealthy guy? No. This was a runaway kid. But he’d still done the whole thing with the tray and the cookies. It felt right.
Kris stood, still in his coat, hat and gloves, inside the living room now. He saw the boy’s pack sitting by the rug near the door.
Well, it was some progress even if the boy had set down his belongings and only taken a few steps forward.
“It’s warming up in here fast,” Thorne said casually. “I don’t think you need your coat.”
As if waking from a long sleep, Kris blinked slowly several times. He tilted his head up, chin out, and his eyes shifted, gaze moving about the room.
Finally, he lifted his still-gloved hands and started to unzip his coat.
Thorne set the tea tray on the table and said, “Drink it while it’s hot.”
Kris now held his jacket in his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
Thorne took a step toward him, reaching out. “I’ll take it.”
Kris stared at him, unmoving.
Tired of the game, Thorne grabbed the jacket from Kris and hung it on a hook by his own. He turned.
