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Alpha's Vow (Shifter Ops 2)

Page 41

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“Maybe because Channing isn’t off knocking up humans—”

With a snarl, I leap, knocking Rafe to the ground. I’m so enraged, I don’t even know if I’m in wolf form or human.

Human, it seems. With three very large other humans sitting on top of me, holding me down.

“Fates, he’s got it bad,” Channing crows.

“Fuck you.” I struggle but can’t get up. Not with all of them holding down my limbs with their entire body weight.

“You’d better mark your girl before you lose your shit,” Deke says.

“Listen to me,” Rafe says. “Listen.” He infuses Alpha Command into the word, and my body instinctively goes still. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I know she’s your mate. But you sure as fuck did this backw—”

“I’d like to see you do things perfectly when it comes to a female,” Deke growls, surprising me by taking my side and standing up to his alpha.

To my utter shock, Rafe doesn’t re-establish dominance. For a second, his expression grows remote, as if he’s actually thinking about a female. But that’s impossible. Rafe has never been interested in seeking his alpha she-wolf mate. And it’s hard to imagine he’ll ever find her when we’re holed up in this small town and rarely interact with other shifters.

“No,” he says gruffly, suddenly getting off me. The other two follow his lead and stand. Rafe reaches a hand out to help me up.

I only take it because it’s unlike him to be conciliatory.

“I just hope you’re thinking about everything that could go wrong.” Rafe turns away from me and rubs a palm over his closely-shorn hair, melting the snowflakes on the top of his head with his body heat.

“Why would he want to do that?” Channing asks under his breath.

“Sarcero is out there. He could be out for revenge, and how better to get it than through your female? Or through your child?”

My stomach drops.

Fuck.

I swallow, hard. “I will figure out how to keep them safe,” I swear.

Rafe nods. “We all will.”

I’m instantly sorry for picking a fight. I know Rafe carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. More than he should, even for an alpha of such a small pack. I step in for a bro-hug and thump his back. “I love you, man.”

“Cock-sucker,” Rafe mutters because he doesn’t do intimacy.

Channing and I both laugh.

Chapter 11

Charlie

Tonight is girls’ night and Sadie, Adele, Tabitha, and I plan to meet at Tabitha’s house. I’m going to tell them I’m expecting. Sadie already knows, and Adele knows some of my history with Lance, but it’s time to tell them all the whole story.

Tabitha lives in a converted train car outside Taos. Her decorating style can be summed up as: really cool clutter. It doesn’t help that half her house is dedicated to interesting vintage objects, or clothes she sells online.

I push aside the beaded curtain and make my way to one of the three beanbag chairs. There’s a more structured modern chaise longue-like piece of furniture available to sit in, but I avoid it. Tabitha calls it a ‘yoga couch’, but I looked the brand up online and it is definitely a sex couch. The red pleather cover is easily wiped down, but still. Even Adele chooses a beanbag.

Adele’s already here, holding court for three dozing cats, with a fourth on her lap. In addition to her online business, Tabitha pet-sits to pay for her groceries. She’s also worked as a model, an earthship builder, a jewelry artist, and an off-road Jeep racer. Career goals don’t mean the same thing to Tabitha as they do to me.

She definitely doesn’t have a life plan.

“Hey lady,” I greet Adele. My friend looks a bit more relaxed since I saw her last. I don’t want to pry into her business woes unless she brings them up first, so I settle for, “How are you doing?”

“Great.” Adele strokes the giant tabby. “Getting some purr therapy.”

“Oh, is Winston Churchill bothering you?” Tabitha calls from the kitchen.

“Not at all,” Adele murmurs. The cat purrs so loud, I can hear him from my seat. “Charlie just got in.”

“Charlie, welcome,” Tabitha calls. “Make yourself at home. Anything to drink? Adele’s got wine.”

“Just water for me, thanks.” I hold out my hand and coax one of the Siamese over.

Tabitha swings in with a bag of chips and bowl of salsa. She shoos the second Siamese cat away from the low coffee table, then props her hands on her hips. She is in a bright yellow jumpsuit, looking like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. She does cosplay a lot, as well as buys vintage clothes in bulk at estate sales and uses her own sewing skills to reinvent them. The jumpsuit is probably a result of this.

“How the heck are you, Charlie?” Tabitha asks, still bustling around, setting out coasters and rearranging the snacks. “I haven’t seen you around.”



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