Page 39 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
She turned toward me without startling, which told me she’d been aware of my approach for several minutes. Forest awareness that most people didn’t develop, but she’d always been different that way.
“Jace.” There was no surprise in her voice, but something that might have been relief. “I should have known you’d remember.”
“Professional hazard. I remember every detail about places that matter.” I gestured toward the log, careful not to assume welcome. “Mind if I join you? I promise not to fall in this time.”
That earned me a small smile, the first genuine expression I’d seen from her since she’d vanished from town. “You didn’t fall in. You jumped in trying to catch that frog for me.”
“And came up empty-handed and soaking wet while you laughed until you cried.” The memory was so vivid I could still feel the shock of mountain snowmelt, could still hear her delighted giggles echoing off the rocky banks. “Completely worth it, though.”
She scooted over to make room for me on the log, and I settled carefully beside her. Close enough to catch the vanilla and warm sweetness of her scent, but not so close that she’d feel crowded. The same respectful distance I’d maintain with wildlife that needed space to feel safe.
We sat in comfortable silence while I catalogued the forest sounds around us. The creek’s constant murmur over stone. A red-breasted nuthatch calling from the canopy above. Somewhere deeper in the woods, the rapid drumming of a pileated woodpecker working on beetle larvae in a dead snag.
Normal forest rhythms that meant the ecosystem was functioning as it should. But the tension radiating from the woman beside me suggested emotional systems that were struggling to find their balance.
“So,” I said eventually, keeping my tone carefully neutral. “Martinez was asking about Thursday. Wanted to know if his partner could join us for the foraging hike.” I paused, giving her space to respond. “I told him I’d confirm the final headcount. But I wasn’t sure if we were still on.”
Her shoulders tensed, and I felt the shift in her energy. “I’m sorry. I should have texted you.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t...” I searched for the right words. “Pushed too hard. Asked for too much too soon.”
“You didn’t.” The words came out quick, almost desperate. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all me.”
“Want to tell me what ‘this’ is?”
She was quiet for long enough that a chipmunk ventured out onto a nearby boulder, cheeks bulging with seeds it was gathering for winter storage. Smart behavior for a creature that understood seasonal cycles and the importance of preparation.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “How to be around people who are kind to me without waiting for it to turn into something complicated. How to choose who to be with and when it’s okay.”
The pain in those words made my chest ache. “What makes you think kindness has to turn complicated?”
“Experience.” She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “Every time someone shows interest in me, every time things start feeling good and safe, it becomes about what they want from me. What they need me to be.”
I thought about this carefully, watching the chipmunk stuff another seed into its already overstuffed cheeks. In my work, I’d observed countless examples of animals that thrived in collaborative relationships. Wolf packs that hunted together, beaver families that built together, bird flocks that migrated together. Cooperation as a survival strategy, not competition.
“Is this about the foraging hike?” I asked gently. “Because if it feels like too much, we can just stick with cooking lessons. Or nothing at all, if that’s what you need.”
“It’s not the hike. The hike sounds wonderful.” She turned to look at me, and I saw genuine regret in her expression. “It’s everything else. The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re seeing something I’m not sure I can be. The way I catch myself looking forward to seeing you, getting excited about teaching you to cook. The way it all feels too good to be real.”
Understanding hit me with sudden clarity. She wasn’t retreating from something I’d done wrong. She was retreating from something that felt too right, too fast, too risky to trust.
“And then there’s Hollis,” she continued, the words tumbling out now like water over stones. “Who’s been so patient and careful, who makes me feel safe in his bookstore, who never pushes for more than I’m ready to give. And I like spending time with him. I really like it. But then I feel guilty because I’m supposed to be figuring out what’s happening with you, and I can’t do both, and I don’t know the rules for any of this.”
There it was. The real source of her retreat. Not fear of what I’d offered, but confusion about what she was allowed to want.
I took a slow breath, choosing my words carefully. “Talia, there are no rules that say you can’t spend time with both of us.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I know Hollis has been spending time with you. Half the town knows, because this is a small town and people talk.” I kept my voice steady, matter-of-fact. “And I think that’s good. Hollis is one of the best people I know. Patient, thoughtful, good at creating safe spaces for people who need them.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I do.” I meant it, too. The territorial instinct that said I should feel threatened by another alpha’s interest in the woman I was falling for was completely absent. Instead, I felt something closer to relief. “He’s exactly the kind of person you should have in your life right now.”
She was staring at me like I’d started speaking a foreign language. “But you... I mean, don’t you want...?”
“Want you to myself?” I finished for her. “Maybe. But that’s not really the important thing here. The most important part of all of this right now, what Iwant,is for you to have whatever support system helps you feel safe and valued. And if that includes Hollis, then I’m glad he’s there.”
