Page 68 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Erik. After three blessed days of absence, here he is again.
Michael glances toward the door, then back at me. “Think about it,” he says quietly. “You can let me know tomorrow.”
He takes his coffee and moves to a table far from the entrance, leaving me to contemplate his unexpected proposal. It’s tempting, the thought of having protection sooner rather than later, of not feeling so vulnerable.
Something about it unsettles me, though. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
The day passes in its usual rhythm, except that I find myself watching Michael more closely than before. There’s nothing overtly suspicious about him—he sits quietly with his coffee and a book, occasionally glancing up to observe the café. Normal customer behavior. Yet his sudden offer of help seems oddly coincidental after last night’s incident.
Erik, meanwhile, has claimed his usual corner table, his gaze following me with that intense focus I’ve come to expect. But today, there’s something different in his expression—a wariness, perhaps, or a concern that wasn’t there before.
I don’t speak to him, nor he to me, but the weight of his presence feels heavier somehow, more intrusive. By closing time, my nerves are frayed, my patience thin.
“Take tomorrow off,” I tell Margo as she’s leaving. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning, so I’ll be opening lateanyway. And then you can cover for me the next day, which I’m going to take off.”
The doctor story is not entirely a lie. I have been feeling off lately, the strange stirrings beneath my skin becoming more pronounced. But my real plan is to visit James at the police station, to discuss legitimate options for self-protection.
“You sure?” Margo asks. “I don’t mind coming in late.”
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. “Take the whole day. Dr. Whiskers probably needs quality time with his therapist, anyway.”
She grins. “You mock, but my cat’s mental health has improved dramatically since starting therapy. His anxiety around the vacuum cleaner is almost gone.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I say with a laugh. “Give him my regards.”
The next morning, I wake up earlier than usual, unsettled by dreams I can’t quite remember. The internal agitation is stronger, more insistent, like something is trying to claw its way to the surface.
I take my weekly dose of suppressant, grimacing as I always do at the familiar, sweet taste. For the first time, I wonder if it’s losing its effectiveness, if the proximity to Erik is somehow counteracting the treatment. It shouldn’t be possible; Maya assured me the formula was stable, designed to last through any circumstance.
But then, she never anticipated that Erik would find me, that he would insert himself back into my life with such stubborn determination.
After a quick breakfast, I head out, intending to check inventory before my visit to the police station. It is still dark outside with the early hour, streetlights casting pools of yellowon the empty sidewalks. The café is silent; Alex will sleep for several more hours. The boy has the remarkable ability to tune out the world until at least noon, if he’s allowed. Not wanting to disturb him, though, I enter through the front door instead of taking the back stairs.
I’m counting packets of filters behind the counter when the I hear the bell chime. Startled, I turn to find Michael coming in, a small package tucked under his arm.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, backing away slightly and cursing myself for leaving the door unlocked behind me. “We’re closed.”
“I know,” he says, his tone apologetic. “I saw your lights on and thought you might want this sooner rather than later.” He extends the package toward me. “For your protection.”
I stare at it, understanding dawning. “You brought me a gun? Without even asking?”
“You seemed interested yesterday,” he says, looking confused by my reaction. “And after what happened in the alley, I thought you’d want it right away.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask sharply. “I never told you the details.”
Michael freezes, his expression shifting subtly. “You mentioned security concerns. I assumed—”
“You assumed wrong,” I cut him off. “Please leave. Now.”
He sets the package down on a nearby table. “At least keep it,” he says. “For emergencies. I can show you how to use it properly; there’s a shooting range just outside town. We could go today, if you want.”
Before I can respond, the front door of the café opens again, the bell chiming wildly as Erik strides in, his expression thunderous.
“What’s going on here?” he demands, his gaze locking on Michael with predatory intensity.
Michael straightens and turns to face Erik fully. “Private conversation,” he says coolly. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Erik’s attention shifts to the package on the table, and his eyes narrow dangerously. “Is that what I think it is?”
