Page 79 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“It’s not like that,” I protest.
“No?” Olivia raises an eyebrow. “The way he looks at you when you’re not watching? The way he’s positioning every camera to give optimal coverage of wherever you usually stand? The way he has memorized your schedule and shows up every day right before your lunch break?” She shakes her head. “Honey, that man is nuts about you.”
I busy myself rearranging bags of coffee. “There’s history between us. Bad history.”
“I gathered as much,” Olivia says gently. “But sometimes, a few nice gestures aren’t about making up for the past. Sometimes they’re about showing you they’ve changed—that they’re willing to put in the work for a different future.”
“He abandoned me when I needed him most,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them. I know Erik can probably hear me—his shifter hearing is acute enough to catch conversations across the café—but I don’t care. “He decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Olivia winces. “Ouch. That’s rough.”
“Yeah.” I grab a stack of napkins. “So, you’ll understand why I’m not exactly falling over myself to give him another chance.”
As we return to the front counter, I catch Erik’s slight stiffening, which confirms he heard every word.
Good, I think viciously. Let him hear the truth.
The rest of the day passes in uncomfortable tension. Erik continues his work silently, his expression closed off, his easy charm from earlier nowhere to be seen. By closing time, the security system is complete—a comprehensive network that will alert me to any unusual activity around the café.
As my employees file out, Erik packs his tools, his movements methodical and precise. When we’re alone, he approaches me behind the counter, where I’m tallying receipts.
“It’s done,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I’ve programmed your phone as the primary alert recipient, with Alex’s as backup. The code is the date you first opened this café.”
I look up, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. That date means everything to me; it’s the day I truly claimed my independence, my new beginning. The fact that he knows it, that he chose it specifically, touches something deep inside me thatI’ve tried to keep walled off. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” He hesitates, then asks, “Is that really what you think? That I abandoned you because you weren’t worth the trouble?”
The directness of his question catches me off guard. “What else am I supposed to think? You rejected our bond. You made it very clear that your duty to the kingdom came first.”
“It wasn’t that simple,” he says, frustration edging his tone. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting both of us.”
“From what? Happiness?” The bitterness I’ve tried so hard to suppress seeps into my voice. “Or was it just easier to reject me than deal with a broken, damaged mate?”
Erik’s expression darkens. “You were never broken to me.”
“Save it,” I say, turning away. “If you’re doing all this to earn my forgiveness, you can stop. There’s nothing to forgive, Erik. We’re just two people who were briefly connected by something neither of us chose or wanted. Now we’re not. End of story.”
I feel rather than see him move closer, the air between us charged with tension. “Is that what you really believe?” His voice is dangerously soft. “That I never wanted our bond?”
“I believe,” I say carefully, not turning to look at him, “that I’m not interested in being anyone’s obligation or responsibility. Especially not yours.”
His hand catches my arm, turning me to face him—not roughly, but with an urgency that brooks no resistance. “You were never an obligation,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “You were a choice I was too afraid to make.”
Before I can respond, he closes the distance between us. His lips find mine with surprising gentleness, a question rather than a demand. For one suspended moment, I forget everything—my anger, my distrust, my carefully constructed defenses. My bodyremembers what my mind tries to forget: that this is my mate, that some part of me has always been his.
Then reality crashes back. I jerk away, breath coming fast, heart hammering against my ribs. “Don’t,” I warn, voice shaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Instead of the arrogance I expected, Erik’s expression shows only regret. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That was unfair.”
“Unfair?” I laugh, the sound brittle. “That doesn’t begin to cover it. You can’t just kiss me and expect everything to magically fix itself.”
“I don’t,” he assures me, stepping back to give me space. “But I need you to know—I need you to understand that this isn’t about obligation or duty or making amends. This is about us. What we could have been. What we still could be.”
“There is no ‘us,’” I insist, hating the breathlessness in my voice, the lingering warmth on my lips. “There never was.”
Erik studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “I’ll respect your boundaries from now on,” he says. “But I’m not giving up, Fiona. Not on you. Not on us.”
As he walks out the door, I press trembling fingers to my lips. I tell myself the hollow ache in my chest is relief, not disappointment. That the lingering heat where his hand touched my arm is from anger, not longing.
