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

Luke held up his hands. “I already know that bearcats don’t share food for shit.”

Sinking into the sofa, Havana reminded him, “Pallas cats aren’t much better.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Tate, taking the spot beside her. He placed his phone and keys on the coffee table, as if to mark his territory in some way—it was an Alpha male thing, from what she’d observed. He then leaned back, the side of his body pressed against hers, and draped one arm on the back of the sofa behind her head.

“We’re in the mood for a comedy, so we chose this,” said Bailey, gesturing at the movie she’d selected on the streaming service.

Luke frowned. “You call Halloween a comedy?”

Bailey looked genuinely perplexed. “You don’t find it funny?”

The Beta shook his head. “Can’t say I do.”

“Huh. Weird.”

Sure enough, the three females laughed several times throughout the movie. Tate could honestly say he didn’t know what they found so funny, but he was glad that Havana had relaxed beside him. Well, she wasn’t completely relaxed. There was an undercurrent of restlessness radiating from her, just as there was from him—the chemistry between them was always running in the background, always keeping their systems on edge.

He didn’t push his luck and give into the urge to play with her hair. Mostly because he didn’t want to anger her devil any further—she wasn’t going to welcome casual touches while so irritated with him. He had no clue what he’d done to upset her so much, and he couldn’t understand why Havana wouldn’t be upfront with him about it.

Once the movie was finally over and the table was cleared, Aspen and Camden said their goodnights and left. Bailey then traipsed off to her bedroom, looking sleepy.

As Havana walked Tate and Luke to the door, Tate signaled for his brother to wait outside the apartment and then turned to her, intending to again ask what her devil’s problem with him was. But he hesitated when he saw that her face was all soft with fatigue. He didn’t want to poke at her for answers when she’d finally relaxed. He wanted her to get some sleep so that her instincts remained sharp.

He pinned her gaze with his. “You’ll be careful? Gideon probably won’t seek to acquire you again—not now that you’re on your guard. But it’s best to be safe than sorry.”

“I’ll be careful. Always am.” She rubbed at her brow, clearly exhausted.

Seeing her so tired made him want to nuzzle her, cosset her, tuck her in bed. But she wouldn’t allow it. “Good,” he said. “If something or someone doesn’t seem right to you, if you feel like you’re being watched or followed, you call me.”

She pursed those lips he loved. “Sure.”

That was a placatory answer if ever Tate had heard one. “This is serious, Havana.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. And if I find myself in a situation that I’m not positive I can handle alone, I will reach out for help.”

“But you won’t reach out to me,” he sensed.

She lifted her shoulders. “We’re not together anymore. We never really were.”

“You’re still under—”

“Your protection, I know. Look, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at it. No one who comes at me will find me an easy target.”

“I can believe that. It’s just …” He closed the short space between them. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

The soft admission touched Havana in places it had no business touching. A pang of longing hit her hard, making her chest squeeze. It was bad enough that her body pined for his. It made it ten times more difficult that her heart was equally involved. Her pulse jumped when he gently rested his hands on the sides of her head, spearing her with a look so intense her stomach fluttered. “Tate—”

“Ssh,” he soothed, dropping his forehead to hers. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing her in.

Her devil rumbled a put-out sound and turned away from him, but Havana didn’t move, letting herself have this small moment.

He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. And then to her temple. And then to her cheek. His mouth grazed her ear as he gently squeezed the side of her neck. “Missed you,” he gruffly whispered. And then he walked out.

The tension left Havana’s body in a rush, and all she could do was lean against the door as she closed it. Jesus, the guy knew what buttons to push—buttons he’d just practically stomped on.

Missed you.

She wasn’t going to let those words give her hope. No, she was done holding out for people. Done letting her dreams and fantasies play havoc with her good sense.

Hearing footfalls, Havana pushed away from the door and turned to see Bailey.

“You know, you could consider having one last night with him,” said the mamba.