Page 75 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Right in front of us, Fiona moves to the edge with her instructor. Her face is full of pure joy as she looks back at me. “See you on the ground!” she calls, and then she’s gone, leaping into the emptiness with an exuberant whoop that fades almost instantly in the howling wind.
My instructor nudges me forward. “Your turn!”
I stand at the threshold, staring down at the patchwork landscape thousands of feet below. Every instinct screams at me to step back, to refuse to take this unnecessary risk.
But Fiona is out there, falling through the sky, experiencing a freedom I can barely comprehend. And I promised to follow her.
I jump.
The initial sensation is one of pure terror—my stomach dropping away, the wind tearing at my clothes and skin, the Earth and the sky spinning in a disorienting blur. For a heartbeat, I’m convinced I’m going to die.
Then, my instructor adjusts our position, and suddenly we’re stable, falling belly-down through the air. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it transforms, becoming something electric, invigorating.
I can see Fiona below me, her arms spread wide as she falls, her body turning gracefully in controlled spins. Even in free fall, there’s a precision to her movements that speaks of experience. She has done this before. Many times, judging by her confidence.
The view around us is impossibly vast and blue. The ground below continues to race toward us, but for this brief, suspended moment, we are creatures of the sky, unbound by gravity or the constraints of our earthly forms.
I understand now, in a way I couldn’t before. This is what Fiona meant about feeling alive. In this moment of perfect risk and perfect freedom, everything else falls away. There is only thewind, the fall, the exhilarating knowledge that I have chosen this moment, this experience, this risk.
My instructor taps my shoulder, signaling it’s time to pull the cord. I comply, and there’s a violent jerk as the parachute deploys, arresting our free fall and transforming it into a gentler descent.
Below me, I see Fiona’s parachute is open as well, a bright splash of color against the green and brown landscape. We drift toward Earth in wide, lazy spirals, the rush of the air replaced by an almost eerie silence.
When we land—a controlled stumble that my instructor assures me is perfectly normal for a first jump—Fiona is already on the ground, her parachute gathered in her arms, her face flushed with exhilaration.
“So?” she calls as I approach, having been freed from my harness. “What did you think?”
I pause, considering my answer carefully. “I think I understand you better now,” I say honestly.
Her expression relaxes, a genuine smile lighting her features. “Not bad for a virgin,” she concedes. “You didn’t even scream.”
“I was too busy praying,” I admit, and she laughs, the sound carrying across the open field like music.
For a moment, we stand together in comfortable silence, the adrenaline of the jump creating a curious intimacy between us. I want to reach for her, to pull her close and tell her how remarkable she is, how much I admire the woman she has become.
But I hold back, respecting the boundaries she has established. This moment of connection is fragile, precious. I won’t risk breaking it with demands or expectations.
“Thank you,” I say instead, “for showing me this part of yourself.”
She studies me for a full minute, her expression unreadable. Then, she smiles—a small, private smile that feels like the greatest victory I’ve achieved in years.
However, she says nothing, and the silence speaks volumes.
Chapter 13
Fiona
I try to focus on restocking the coffee beans, but my attention keeps drifting to the man occupying his usual corner table. Erik has been here for three hours already, alternating between reading a newspaper and watching me with those intense green eyes that seem to track my every movement.
This is the new strategy, apparently. After weeks of showing up daily with unwavering persistence, he has switched tactics. Gone is the brooding commander who demanded my attention through sheer force of will. In his place is this...charmer. This man who smiles more, who engages my staff in easy conversation, who somehow discovers things about me that I’ve never told him.
Like the books. Yesterday, he arrived with a stack of first editions—rare anthropology texts I’d been searching for but couldn’t find. When I tried to refuse them, he simply left them on the counter with a note: “Knowledge belongs to everyone. These belong to you.”
The worst part is how my traitorous heart leaped at the gesture. How I stayed up half the night devouring the pages, running my fingers over marginalia from scholars long dead.
“Boss? Earth to Fiona!”
Margo’s voice snaps me back to reality. My purple-haired employee is staring at me with knowing amusement.
