Page 83 of Ruthless Alpha Beast
“Have a good time, Tara,” I smile. “I’ll see you when you’re back.”
I watch her leave the pack, taking in the way her perfect hips swing from side to side.
I consider following her, just to make sure that she gets there safely, but decide against it. I’ve done enough stalking for today.
But as I begin to head back to the cabin, there’s a nagging feeling that stops me in my tracks.
“Jared,” I call to one of the guards on duty. “Make sure she gets to Sawyer’s safe, will you?”
“Yes, Alpha. No problem.”
***
When Tara returns, unlike usual, I’m not thinking about her or waiting for her; instead, I’m outdoors chopping wood.
I just got off a phone call with Penelope, who told me that the rate at which the witches are making potions is paling in comparison to the rate of expansion of forest decay.
News that every shifter Alpha wants to hear, of course.
For thirty minutes there, I wasn’t thinking about Tara but actually about the unbelievably dire situation at hand.
Then she appeared.
I forget about the wood I’m chopping, or the issues of the forest, and drop my axe before gazing at her.
It’s nighttime, the skies are dark, but the moonlight is bright, and beneath it, I notice her silk-smooth skin and those wild eyes.
“I did make dinner,” I say. “There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”
She takes a look at my torso, lightly dripping with sweat, and then quickly gazes somewhere else.
Tara can be shy—I’ve always known that, beneath her sometimes hard exterior, she’s just a sweet girl who is sometimes at a loss for what to say.
It only makes me want her more.
“Thanks,” she says. “Are you coming inside?”
I glance at the pile of chopped wood by my feet. Didn’t get as much done as I’d hoped, but there are bigger issues at hand.
“Yeah,” I respond. “And let me guess, you want me to put on a shirt?”
She shrugs. “Hey, I’m used to it at this point. Sweaty, shifter abs aren’tthatoffensive to me anymore.”
Progress, I suppose.
Once we’re inside, Tara heads straight for the kitchen, and I put that shirt on.
I sit with her by the table as she forks mouthfuls of my chili and rice.
“How was Lacey?”
“Fine,” she responds between bites. “Anxious about what’s going on, obviously, but okay.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Honestly, it’s getting harder and harder not to be. Penelope told me that the witches are struggling to make enough potion on time.”
“Really?”
“Yep. The decay is working fast.”
