Page 66 of The Knotheads Next Door
"Local dynamics," I repeat flatly. "Like alphas thinking they have the right to police who I talk to?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" I challenge, stepping closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're awfully concerned about a harmless conversation with a beta who offered to carry my coffee."
His nostrils flare slightly as I move into his space, his pupils dilating in response to my proximity. "I'm concerned about your safety," he says, but his voice is rougher than usual, betraying the emotion beneath his controlled exterior.
"My safety," I echo skeptically. "Not the fact that you and Jasper practically radiated territorial pheromones the moment Ben smiled at me."
Wells's expression hardens. "I don't know what game you're playing, Rowan, but it's dangerous."
"I'm not playing any game," I say, even though we both know that's not entirely true. "I'm just living my life. Making connections. Isn't that what you all wanted? For me to get settled in town?"
"Not like this," he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
"Then like what?" I demand. "Because I'm getting some very mixed signals here, Wells. One minute you're holding me like I'm something precious, the next you're pulling away and warning me off other men. What exactly do you want from me?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with all the tension and confusion and attraction that's been building for weeks.
For a moment—just a moment—Wells's carefully constructed facade cracks, and I glimpse something raw and wanting in his eyes. Something that makes my breath catch and my body respond with an answering heat.
Then the mask slams back into place. "What I want doesn't matter," he says stiffly. "You'll be moving on in nine days regardless."
The reminder stings more than it should. "Right," I say, taking a deliberate step back. "Nine days. Then we can all go back to normal and forget this ever happened."
Something flickers in his expression—pain? regret?—before he nods once, sharply.
"Exactly."
He turns and walks away without another word, his posture rigid, his scent a complex mixture of frustration and something deeper, more primal, that calls to the omega in me despite all my efforts to ignore it.
I watch him go, my own emotions a tangled mess. This morning was supposed to be simple—coffee with friends, festival preparations, normal, everyday activities. Instead, I've managed to provoke Jasper into a jealous fit and push Wells to the edge of his control.
And the worst part? I enjoyed it. The power of it, the rush of seeing these composed, controlled alphas react so viscerally to the mere suggestion of another man's interest in me.
What is happening to me?
When I return to the table, Lala takes one look at my face and says, "Well, well, well. Things just got interesting."
She has no idea.
Chapter 19
Theo
I've always found peace in the quiet of the clinic after hours.
There's something calming about the methodical tasks of closing up—organizing files, restocking supplies, the soft hum of the refrigerator storing medications. No emergencies, no worried pet owners, just me and the occasional overnight patient needing monitoring.
Tonight it's just Mrs. Wilson's elderly goldendoodle recovering from a minor procedure, snoring softly in his kennel in the back room. I've finished my paperwork and should head home, but I find myself lingering, enjoying the rare stillness.
Maybe I'm also avoiding the tension that's been thick enough to cut with a scalpel at the house lately. Between Jasper's brooding, Wells's rigid control, and Rowan's increasingly distracting presence, home feels less like a sanctuary and more like a powder keg waiting for a spark.
The gentle chime of the after-hours doorbell pulls me from my thoughts. Probably Mrs. Haverford checking on Barney. She's called three times already today.
But when I open the door, it's Rowan standing there, Gerald cradled against her chest, her expression tight with worry.
"Rowan?" I step back, immediately concerned. "Is everything okay?"
