Chapter 4 #2
"Because I can't—" He stopped, jaw working like the words were stuck.
His hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white.
He tried again. "You. I can't stop..." He shook his head, frustrated with himself, those dark eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
"The brandy. What you said about it. My grandmother's heart in a bottle.
" He finally looked at me, raw and exposed.
"No one ever saw that before." He swallowed hard.
"Saw me." The last two words came out rough, almost pained, and then he looked away like he'd said too much.
I stood there, processing. The silent, stoic Alpha who'd barely said ten words to me the first time we met—pouring out his confusion like it cost him everything.
"You could start by saying hello." I reached out and covered his hand with mine, feeling him flinch at the contact. "When you see me in town. Instead of lurking in your truck like a stalker." I let a small smile curl my lips.
A sound escaped him—almost a laugh, rough and surprised. "I'll... try." His hand turned under mine, his fingers brushing against my palm. "It's been a long time since I've had anyone to say hello to." He admitted quietly, his voice rough with something that might have been loneliness.
"Well." I squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Now you do." I pulled out my wallet to pay for the brandy.
The dreams started that night. Not the vague, pleasant dreams I'd been having before—moonshine and honey and rain, all swirled together.
These were vivid. Intense. The kind that woke me up gasping, my skin flushed and my heart racing.
In the dreams, there were hands. Multiple hands, all different—massive and scarred, calloused from guitar strings, burned from work with animals.
They touched me everywhere, gentle and demanding all at once.
Mouths at my throat, my shoulder, my hip.
Voices in my ear, murmuring things I couldn't quite hear.
I woke up tangled in my sheets, Gumbo's eyes glowing in the darkness outside my window, and knew I was in trouble.
Three Alphas. All circling. All watching. All wanting something from me that I wasn't sure I was ready to give.
"This isn't normal." I said to the ceiling, my voice rough with sleep. "This doesn't happen to people." I threw an arm over my eyes, trying to slow my racing heart. Except it was happening. To me. And I had no idea what to do about it.
A week later, I found the survey stakes.
I'd been walking my property line, checking for damage after a storm, when I spotted them—bright orange markers driven into the soft ground at regular intervals.
Fresh. Recent. Professional-looking, with a company logo stamped on the plastic flags: CRESCENT HOLDINGS LLC.
Someone was surveying my land. Someone with money and lawyers and plans I hadn't been told about.
I crouched down to examine one of the stakes, my blood already starting to heat.
That's when I caught the scents—layered over the plastic and fresh-turned earth, like someone had been here recently. Multiple someones.
Moonshine and cedar. Honey and cinnamon. Rain and ozone.
All three of them. They'd found these stakes before I had. Been here, examined them, and hadn't said a damn word to me about it.
I stood up slowly, anger mixing with something more complicated.
The stakes weren't from them—that much was obvious.
Crescent Holdings, whoever they were, had put these here.
But my three circling Alphas had known about it.
Had been sneaking around my property, investigating threats to my land, and decided I didn't need to know.
Like I needed protecting. Like I couldn't handle my own problems.
I yanked every stake I could find out of the ground, one by one, the satisfying resistance of metal pulling free from wet earth doing nothing to calm the fury building in my chest. Seven stakes total. I carried them back to the cabin in a bundle, orange flags fluttering against my arm.
Gumbo was waiting on the porch when I got back, his massive head lifted, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of my anger.
"Don't." I warned him, climbing the steps and dropping the stakes in a pile by the door. "I'm not in the mood." I pushed through the screen door and let it bang shut behind me.
Inside, I paced. The cabin suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in. I wanted to hit something. Wanted to scream. Wanted to drive into town and demand answers from three Alphas who apparently thought I was too fragile to handle my own business.
Instead, I made myself sit. Pulled Marguerite's quilt around my shoulders and stared at the wall, breathing slow and deliberate until the red haze of fury faded to something more manageable.
Three Alphas. All circling. All keeping secrets.
Now a development company staking claims on land that had been in my family for generations. I needed to think. Needed to plan. Needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do about all of it.
Tomorrow. I'd deal with it tomorrow.
As I finally drifted off to sleep that night, Gumbo's bulk warm against my side, my dreams were full of orange flags and hungry eyes and the growing certainty that my quiet life was about to get very, very complicated.