When He's an Alpha (The Olympus Pride 2)

“Nothing changed, Tate. Things were exactly as they’d been from day one—simple, shallow. That was how you wanted it. And hey, that’s fine. But you couldn’t have honestly thought I’d be okay with you keeping one foot out the door and using me to amuse yourself until your true mate came along.”

He felt his jaw go hard. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure it was. Look, I can understand if you’re sick of jumping from bed to bed. If you want to stick with one female while you wait for your mate, fine. I just won’t be that female.”

“I’m not as desperate to find my true mate as you seem to think.”

“Whether or not you’re desperate to find her isn’t relevant. The fact is that, ultimately, you’ll want to one day bond with her.”

It wasn’t a “fact” at all. Unlike many shifters, Tate had never felt driven to find his mate. Many people saw it as their main purpose, but he often wondered if binding your soul to that of another was really worth the bother.

He’d never forget the fear he’d felt all those years ago watching his father—a man so strong and resilient and robust—begin to crumble at the breaking of the mating bond. Tate had never seen him like that before. Vulnerable. Fragile. Broken.

Vinnie had later told him it was like a slow death, like crawling through hell and then having to repeat the experience over and over. Vinnie would never have suffered that way if Gaia hadn’t been murdered by a shifter who’d turned rogue. And why had he turned rogue? Because he’d lost his mate, and the snapping of the true-mate bond had caused him to lose all sense of rationality.

Part of the reason Tate had been open to imprinting was that he’d never viewed true-mate bonds as shiny, sparkly things. But the shitstorm with Ashlynn proved that there was no avenue of mating that didn’t have the potential to result in a total clusterfuck. Neither avenue appealed to him all that much.

Tate snapped out of his thoughts when the music coming from Bailey’s room abruptly switched off.

Havana stepped away from him. “You should go. Bailey and I need to be somewhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get the answer I came for. Tell me the truth, Havana.”

“I did.”

“No, you told me a partial truth. I want the rest.” His peripheral vision picked up Bailey entering the living area.

“There’s nothing more to tell you,” said Havana. “Really.”

Bullshit. “What you’re saying doesn’t add up.”

“Well, the cougar will hopefully fill in the blanks,” said Bailey.

Tate blinked. “Cougar?”

Bailey nodded. “The shooter. He’s a cougar. You coming along to meet him?”

Tate went perfectly still, and his cat’s ears pricked up. “What do you mean ‘shooter?’ What shooter?”

A sheepish expression came over Bailey’s face. She looked at Havana. “That’s not what you guys were talking about, huh?”

Havana shook her head. “No.”

“Oops,” said the mamba. “I figured you were telling him what happened, what with us being under his protection and all.”

“One of you got shot?” asked Tate, his stomach hardening. “Who? Tell me.”

Bailey raised her hands. “Easy there, big guy. There were no bullets, only tranqs. And they don’t work on devils, so she was fine.”

Anger whipped through Tate. His cat hissed long and loud, slicing out his claws. Clenching his jaw, Tate took a prowling step closer to Havana. “Someone shot you with tranqs?” The quiet question dripped with red-hot fury. “When? Who?”

Havana scratched her nape. “Look, Tate, we have to go—”

“Don’t blow me off. Not now. Not about this. As Bailey rightly pointed out, you’re under my protection just like every other tenant in this building.”

“You know, the ‘I’m an Alpha, fear my wrath and do my bidding’ tone really doesn’t work on me.”

Well aware of that, he dragged in a steadying breath and made an effort to speak calmly. “Havana, I promised you’d be protected. I keep my word. I’m asking you not to make me break it. That’s exactly what you’ll do if you keep me from helping you.” He paused. “Who shot you, and when did it happen?”

She sighed. “Last night. We don’t know his name yet.”

“We call him Hyman,” Bailey helpfully chimed in.

Tate’s nostrils flared. “And neither of you thought to tell me about this? Don’t say it’s not my business. Every tenant in this building is my business. An attack on any of them is an insult to me. I want to know exactly what happened.”

Havana gave him one of those alpha eye rolls, like he was being a dramatic man-child she couldn’t help but pity. “There’s really not much to tell until we get the cougar to talk. He shot me with tranqs in the parking lot outside the rec center. I snatched his gun and used it on him. His buddy jumped out of a van, and we had ourselves a brief struggle. He hightailed it out of there when Aspen, Bailey, Camden, and Corbin came rushing over. We … detained the cougar, asked him some questions. He wasn’t very cooperative, so we decided to give him the night to think over whether he really wanted to continue playing it that way.”