Page 88 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
She shrugs, unconvinced. “You’ve been ‘not sleeping well’ for four days straight. Ever since you gave Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Intense his walking papers.”
“I did what needed to be done,” I say, focusing on wiping down the already clean counter. “He needed to understand that I meant it when I said I want nothing to do with him.”
“Uh-huh.” Margo’s tone is skeptical. “And that’s why you keep staring at his empty table like it might spontaneously combust if you look away.”
I throw the cleaning rag at her, which she dodges with a laugh.
“Just saying, boss. For someone who’s glad to be rid of the guy, you sure don’t seem very...glad.”
She’s right, though I’d never admit it aloud. I’m not glad. I’m miserable. But it’s better this way—cleaner, simpler. Erik clearly has someone else in his life, someone whole and unbroken and undamaged. Someone who makes him laugh. I refuse to be the obligation that keeps him from happiness.
Besides, I tell myself for the hundredth time, I never wanted a relationship anyway. What I felt for Erik was nothing but the fated mate bond talking—a biological imperative, not genuine emotion. It never meant anything real.
I know all about men and their touches, their demands, their entitlement. I spent years as an object to be used, a body to be violated. Why would I ever want to invite that back into my life, even in a supposedly consensual form?
And yet...
Erik never touched me that way. Even when he kissed me, it was gentle, questioning. He never pushed, never demanded. He gave me flying lessons without strings attached, security without conditions, books without expectations.
I shake my head, dispelling the dangerous train of thought. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Done. I need to move on, just like I did before.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of orders and customers. Alex moves through the café with quiet efficiency, clearing tables and serving orders. He has been subdued for a while now, his face downcast. I’ve tried asking him what’s wrong, but he just keeps saying he hasn’t been feeling well. And then there’s the way he flinches whenever the door opens. I wonder if one of the customers has been harassing him. I’ve asked the other employees to keep an eye on him.
By early afternoon, the lunch rush has finally died down. I’m wiping tables, enjoying the brief respite before the afternoon coffee crowd arrives, when the bell above the door chimes. I look up automatically, the welcoming smile already forming on my lips.
It freezes in place as recognition hits me like a bolt of lightning. It’s the woman from the restaurant. Erik’s...whatever she is.
She stands in the doorway, elegant and poised in a simple blue dress that somehow looks effortlessly perfect on her. Her dark hair falls in shining waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes—startlingly similar to Erik’s—scan the café with calm assessment.
For a moment, I consider ducking into the kitchen and hiding until she leaves. But pride keeps me rooted in place. I refuse to cower in my own café.
“Welcome to The Morning Brew,” I say to her as I return to the counter, my voice remarkably steady given the chaos inside me. “What can I get for you?”
She approaches me, her movements graceful and assured. Up close, she’s even more beautiful—flawless skin, aristocraticfeatures, an aura of quiet confidence that makes me acutely aware of my own rumpled appearance after a long shift.
“A latte, please,” she says, her voice cultured with a hint of an accent I can’t quite place. “And a moment of your time, if that’s possible.”
My fingers tighten around the cleaning cloth. “I’m working.”
“I can see that.” She glances around the half-empty café. “But it seems relatively quiet at the moment. I won’t take much of your time.”
I want to refuse. To tell her I’m busy, too busy to chat with the woman who has apparently claimed the mate I rejected. But curiosity wins out over pride.
“Fine,” I say, moving to the espresso machine. “One latte, and I can spare five minutes.”
She smiles—a genuine expression that transforms her face from merely beautiful to radiant. “Thank you. I’m Leanna, by the way.”
The name rings a bell. Erik mentioned her once, when he was trying to explain why he rejected our bond. “The current queen of the Northern Wolf Kingdom. I was drawn to her courage...”
My hands tremble slightly as I steam the milk. This isn’t just any woman. This is the one Erik fell in love with. The one who got away.
What is she doing here? And isn’t she supposed to be mated? Why was she so handsy with Erik the other day?
I finish making her latte and slide it across the counter to her. I gesture to a small table in the corner—as far from curious ears as possible in the open space of the café.
She follows me and settles into one of the chairs with effortless grace. I sit across from her, my back straight, shoulders tense.
“This is a lovely coffee shop,” she says, glancing around appreciatively. “You’ve created something special here.”
