Page 86 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Margo glances toward the kitchen. “She’s been a bit off lately. Came back from lunch a few days ago looking like she’d seen a ghost.” She studies me. “You two have a fight or something?”
My brow furrows. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Huh.” She shrugs. “Well, something’s bugging her. She has been extra quiet. Even snapped at Alex yesterday, which she never does.”
Unease churns in my stomach. “Do you know where she went that day?”
“No idea.” Margo starts wiping down the counter. “She just said she needed some air. Came back looking upset.”
Before I can ask anything else, Fiona emerges from the kitchen. Her composure is stoic—spine straight, face carefully blank, movements efficient as she restocks napkins at the other end of the counter.
I approach her again, keeping my voice low. “Fiona, please. I need five minutes of your time.”
“I’m working,” she says, the first words she has spoken to me since I entered the café. Her tone is coolly professional, the way she might address a difficult customer. “If you’d like to order something, Margo can help you.”
“This is important,” I persist.
She finally turns her head to face me, and the cold distance in her eyes makes my chest ache. “More important than the last three times you said that? Or the time you kissed me without permission? Or the time you followed me to my flying lesson?”
Each question strikes me like a precise blow. “This is different,” I say, struggling to maintain my composure. “It’s about your safety.”
I catch a brief crack in her mask before her expression hardens again. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she says, the words clipped. Then, she goes to help a customer who has just come up to the register.
I wait, watching as she interacts with the young woman and her small child. Fiona’s manner with them is warm and genuine, completely at odds with the coldness she’s showing me. She even leans over the counter to say something to the little boy that makes him giggle.
When they move to a table, Fiona catches my eye and gestures toward her office. “Five minutes,” she says to me. “That’s all.”
The small room feels even more cramped than the last time I was here. Fiona doesn’t sit down; she stands with her arms crossed, waiting.
“I received information about a threat to your safety,” I begin, having already decided that directness is the best approach. “The organization of artificial shifters—”
“Stop,” she interrupts me. “Just stop.”
“Fiona, you need to hear this—”
“No, I don’t.” She moves to her desk and pulls out a cardboard box from beneath it. “What I need is for you to take your things and leave.”
I stare at the box, uncomprehending. When I look inside, I see the books I gave her, the security system manual, and the envelope containing the flying lesson vouchers.
“What is this?” I ask, though the answer is painfully obvious.
“This is me being done,” Fiona says, thrusting the box into my arms. “Done with the games, done with the back-and-forth, done with you showing up whenever you please, invading my life, my business, my peace of mind.”
Her voice remains level, controlled, but her eyes are bright with an emotion I can’t quite name—anger, certainly, but something more complex is beneath it.
“I don’t understand,” I say, not taking the box. “What changed?”
A harsh laugh escapes her. “What changed? You want to know what changed?” She shakes her head. “I don’t care what we might have been to each other once. It’s ancient history. But I’m done being your project, your obligation, your…whatever this is. I’m done with you showing up here, pretending to care.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say, confusion mixing with growing alarm. “I do care—”
“You had your chance, Erik,” she interrupts me. “You rejected me, rejected our bond. I accepted that. I moved on. I built a life for myself. And now you want to play games with my heart because, what? You’re bored? You’ve decided I’m worth your time after all?”
“That’s not—”
“I don’t want you in my café anymore,” she continues, her voice growing firmer. “I don’t want you in my life. I’ve tried to be polite, to be reasonable, but you keep pushing and pushing.” She shoves the box against my chest again. “Take your gifts and your protection and your excuses and go.”
I take the box automatically, too stunned by her words to resist. “Fiona, please. You’re in danger. Just let me explain—”
