Chapter 3
I’m pulling wire on the south fence line when I hear the engine.
Caleb’s on the far side of the post, hammer in his hand. He looks up. So do I. The car is too quiet to be anything local. It sounds electric. Must be a rental.
“Ray?” Caleb says.
“Not in that.”
“Delivery?”
“Not on a Friday.”
I straighten. The car clears the last dip and comes into view. It’s silver, picking its way up my dirt road at a crawl.
My chest goes tight. My scalp prickles. I’ve been telling myself that the Bureau thing was nothing, that deleting the notification was the end of it.
I know anyway.
The car rolls up beside us on the road and stops. The engine cuts. For a second there’s only the wind and the pumps a mile off, and then the door opens and a man gets out.
He’s taller than me. He has dark hair cut short at the sides. His eyes meet mine, and the wind shifts, and I stop breathing.
He smells incredible. I don’t have any other word for it. His is a scent I have never encountered in my life. I recognize it deep in my core like I’ve been looking for it.
It hits the flat of my sternum and spreads outward.
My knees lock. My stomach pulls low and hot in a way I have never felt in broad daylight, not once, not ever.
My jaw clamps so hard a tooth clicks and I bend at the waist, slow, and set the coil of wire on the ground because my hand has started to shake.
No.
Absolutely not.
The man has gone still. Very still. His chin has come up. He is staring at me, and his shoulders have set in a way that tells me his body has done to him what mine is doing to me.
“Wyatt,” Caleb says, low.
Oh God. I forgot Caleb is here.
I swallow. “I see him.”
The alpha closes his car door without looking at it and starts walking. He stops ten feet short of where the fence line comes down to the drive. He does not step onto the pasture.
“I’m sorry to turn up like this,” he says. His voice is deep. It reverberates through me. “I’m Julian Duffield. You were supposed to meet me yesterday.”
My mouth is dry. I work my jaw once. Maybe there are words somewhere inside of me, but I’ll be damned if I can get them out now.
“The Bureau insisted I come out,” he continues. He pauses and picks his way through the next sentence. “Because apparently we’re a prime match.”
Behind me, Caleb inhales and doesn’t exhale.
“Huh,” my brother says, after a long second.
Julian’s eyes flick to him, back to me. He doesn’t speak. I watch his nostrils move, just once, small. He’s trying not to breathe me in.
I know, because I am doing the same thing.
Caleb shifts the hammer to his other hand, and then, diplomatically, he says, “I’ll take this lot to the barn. Y’all talk.”
He picks up the tool bag, giving me a look on the way past. Then he’s walking up toward the house at half his usual speed, and I’m watching him go because watching him go means I don’t have to look at my alpha yet.
My alpha. No, he’s not mine. He’s just an alpha. Julian Duffield, that’s what he said his name was. He looks like a Julian.
When Caleb disappears around the side of the house, the yard gets very quiet.
The wind shifts again. His scent comes in stronger this time and the pull in my gut sharpens until I have to plant my feet.
I have had heats I remember less clearly than this moment. The man is ten feet away. He has not touched me. I can feel him like a hand on the back of my neck.
Julian’s mouth has parted a fraction. He has not moved.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“Don’t —” My voice gives out. I swallow. I try again. “Don’t want an alpha.”
The words come out low and rough.