Chapter Eight
Zeppelin stared at the phone screen, rage burning like a hot coal in his chest. With each swipe, the texts grew darker, more calculated.
Antonio had started with guilt trips, sprinkling in just enough concern to seem caring.
Then came the demands disguised as requests, followed by thinly veiled threats wrapped in faux affection.
Miss you, handsome. Hope you’re taking care of yourself since I’m not there to do it. You know how forgetful you get when I’m not around.
Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in days. Are you ignoring me? That’s not very nice after everything I’ve done for you.
Saw your dad yesterday. He mentioned you haven’t called him either. Should I be worried? Maybe I should come find you, make sure you’re okay .
The manipulation was so obvious it made Zeppelin’s teeth ache from clenching his jaw. This fucker knew exactly what he was doing, playing on Preston’s fears and insecurities with surgical precision.
The last text had been sent just an hour ago. That smirking emoji followed by those words— See you soon, handsome —made Zeppelin’s wolf snarl with protective fury.
Taking a screenshot of Antonio’s profile picture, Zeppelin sent it to Vaughn. Not even thirty seconds passed before his phone vibrated with an incoming call.
“Who the hell is that?” Vaughn asked without preamble.
“Antonio.” Zeppelin voice came out as a low growl. “The piece of shit who's been stalking Preston.”
Quickly, he took screenshots of the worst texts and sent those too, his finger jabbing at the screen harder than necessary.
“Make sure every pack member has this picture,” Zeppelin ordered. “If anyone spots him in town, I want to know immediately. Tell them not to engage—just call me.”
“On it,” Vaughn replied. “What’s the plan if we find him?”
“We have a conversation.” The words came out deceptively calm, but Vaughn would understand exactly what kind of conversation Zeppelin meant.
After ending the call, Zeppelin found Preston in the kitchen, hunched over a massive bowl of fruit. His mate was methodically working his way through strawberries, blueberries, and chunks of peach, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.
“Are you planning to eat all of that?” Zeppelin asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Preston swallowed hastily, a drop of juice clinging to his bottom lip.
“I don’t want it to go bad.” He gestured at the overflowing bowl with his fork.
“You bought enough fruit to feed a small army, and I’m just one person.
” His hair fell across his forehead as he looked down, jabbing another piece of peach.
“My mom always said wasting food was a sin.”
The sunlight filtering through the kitchen window caught on Preston’s hair, turning it to spun gold. Even with puffy eyes from crying earlier, he looked beautiful, sitting there surrounded by the colorful bounty.
“I could take some back to the pack,” Zeppelin offered, moving into the kitchen. “They’ll demolish it in minutes.”
Preston looked up, curiosity brightening his eyes. “Do you all live together?”
Zeppelin nodded, stealing a blueberry from the bowl. “A pack who stays together builds their bond, makes them stronger.” He popped the berry into his mouth. “Plus, it’s easier to keep an eye on everyone.”
“So, it’s like a frat house, but with more fur and fewer keg stands?” Preston’s mouth quirked up at the corner.
“Something like that,” Zeppelin laughed. “Though I wouldn’t put it past some of them to try keg stands on a full moon.”
Preston’s smile widened, and Zeppelin found himself drawn to it like a moth to flame. He picked up a strawberry and held it to Preston’s lips.
“Open,” he commanded softly.
Preston’s eyes darkened as he parted his lips. Zeppelin traced the fruit along his bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth, his fingertips grazing Preston’s warm skin.
“Good?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
Preston nodded, cheeks flushing pink. “Very.”
Zeppelin selected a piece of peach next, its sweet scent filling the space between them. He held it up, watching as Preston leaned forward to take it from his fingers. This time, Preston’s tongue darted out, catching the juice that threatened to drip down Zeppelin hand.
The intimate gesture sent heat racing through Zeppelin body. His wolf rumbled with satisfaction at feeding his mate, at providing for him in this simple, primal way.
As if on cue, Preston’s stomach growled loudly, cutting through the charged moment.
“Sorry,” Preston muttered, looking embarrassed. “Apparently fruit isn’t cutting it.”
Zeppelin thought of the sad, freezer-burned TV dinner from earlier. His mate deserved better than that pathetic excuse for a meal.
“I’m taking you home for a real dinner,” he decided. “Something that doesn’t come in a plastic tray or need to be microwaved.”
Preston’s eyes lit up. “Actual food? That someone cooks? With, like, seasoning and everything?”
“Vaughn makes a mean steak,” Zeppelin said, already pulling out his phone to text his beta. “And Liam bakes bread that would make you weep.”
“You had me at actual food,” Preston said, hopping off the stool. “Let me grab a jacket.”
After carefully selecting which fruits to bring along—Preston insisted on taking at least half—they headed out. This time, instead of the motorcycle, Zeppelin led Preston to a black SUV parked around the corner.
“Less dramatic than the bike,” he explained at Preston’s questioning look, “but better for transporting humans and fruit without bruising either.” Zeppelin would protect every damn bruiseable part of his mate. Heart included.
The drive took them out of town, winding through dense forest before they turned onto a private road. Pine trees lined the way, their branches creating a natural canopy that dappled the sunlight across the hood of the car.
When they rounded the final curve, Preston gasped.
The pack house stood proud against the backdrop of mountains, three stories of stone and timber that seemed to rise organically from the landscape.
Wide windows reflected the late afternoon sun, and a sprawling porch wrapped around the entire first floor.
Smoke curled lazily from one of three massive stone chimneys.
“Holy shit,” Preston breathed, pressing his face closer to the window. “That’s not a house, that’s a freaking resort.”
Zeppelin smiled at his mate's reaction. “Built it about twenty years ago. Needed enough space for everyone to have their own rooms but still feel connected.”
Preston missed the fact that Zeppelin said he’d built it two decades ago. Since Zeppelin looked in his early to mid-thirties, that should’ve raised questions. But did Preston do the math? Absolutely not. Man was in awe. He was just out there with sparkly anime eyes going “pretty house.”
“How many of you are there?” Preston asked as they pulled into the circular driveway.
“Fifteen, currently,” Zeppelin replied, cutting the engine. “Though we have room for more.”
Room for his mate and his little fruit bowls.
Preston’s fingers tapped nervously against his thigh as they approached the massive front door. Zeppelin laid a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
“We’ll stay to ourselves for now,” he said. “No need to meet everyone at once.”
Relief visibly washed over Preston’s features. “Thanks. Today has just been...”
“A lot,” Zeppelin finished for him. “I know, sunshine.”
Inside, the house opened into a soaring great room with exposed beams and a stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Comfortable leather furniture created intimate seating areas throughout the space, and bookshelves lined another wall from floor to ceiling.
Zeppelin guided Preston through the house, past a professional-grade kitchen, where several pack members were already preparing dinner, and up a wide staircase to the east wing.
“This is all yours?” Preston asked as they entered a spacious suite.
“Alpha privileges,” Zeppelin replied with a small smile. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner's in an hour.”
While Preston explored the suite, Zeppelin slipped back downstairs to check in with Vaughn, who was seasoning steaks at the kitchen island.
“Any word?” he asked quietly.
Vaughn shook his head. “Nothing yet. Chase and Quinn are running perimeter checks every hour.”
Because even in the background, the threat still loomed. Zeppelin wasn’t taking his eyes off the real danger just because his mate was safe for now.
“Good.” He glanced toward the stairs. “I don’t want him overwhelmed tonight. We’ll do introductions at dinner but keep it casual.”
“Got it, boss.” Vaughn flipped a steak. “Though you might want to warn him that casual for us still means twenty questions and inappropriate comments.”
“One disaster at a time,” Zeppelin muttered, heading back upstairs.
An hour later, he found Preston standing at the window, gazing at the mountains bathed in golden light, staring out at the wilderness like he was finally breathing with both lungs.
For a moment, Zeppelin just watched him, taking in the sight of his mate framed against the backdrop of his territory like he was always meant to be there.
“It’s beautiful here,” Preston said without turning around. “Peaceful.”
“It is,” Zeppelin agreed, moving to stand beside him. “You belong here, you know.”
Preston turned to look at him, vulnerability written across his features. “I’ve never belonged anywhere.”
That was the softest, saddest confession wrapped in a breath of hope. Preston, whose entire identity had been shaped by trying to shrink himself, hide his light, and survive—standing in the warm hush of a place built for belonging.
“You do now,” Zeppelin promised, taking his hand. “It’s dinner time. Ready to meet everyone?”
Preston took a deep breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They descended to the dining room just as the pack was gathering. The massive table, crafted from a single oak, stretched the length of the room. Candles flickered in iron holders down the center, casting warm light over platters of food.
Conversation halted as they entered, fourteen pairs of eyes turning to look at Preston. Zeppelin felt his mate tense beside him but was proud when Preston straightened his shoulders and stepped forward.
“Everyone,” Zeppelin announced, his voice carrying easily through the room, “this is Preston.”
The simple introduction was all it took. Chairs scraped against hardwood as the pack surged forward, eager to meet their alpha's mate. Zeppelin watched as Preston was surrounded, hands reaching out to shake his, voices overlapping as everyone introduced themselves.
Watching Preston smile tentatively as Chase told an animated story, seeing his mate begin to relax as he was folded into the warmth of the pack, Zeppelin allowed himself to hope. Hope that the broken pieces of Preston’s life could be mended here, among people who would protect him with their lives.
Hope that his mate would choose to stay.
* * * *
Preston nestled deeper into the blanket, savoring the way the wool scratched pleasantly against his skin as he tucked himself closer to Zeppelin’s side.
The massive back porch of the pack house stretched into darkness at the edges, but their little nest of comfort remained bathed in the dancing orange glow from the fire pit.
Sparks occasionally popped and floated upward, tiny fireflies ascending to join the brilliant canopy of stars overhead.