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

“Look—”

“You met someone else? Is that what this is?”

Frowning, she twisted to face him, forcing him to edge back and lower his arm. “What? No.”

“So what am I missing? What happened between last night and right now that made you want to walk away?” He squinted. “Did someone say something to you? Has one of my pride mates got their panties in a twist because their Alpha’s involved with a loner?”

“If any of them had a problem with you and I sleeping together, they didn’t make me aware of it.”

“Then why do this?”

“Like I said, it’s just time that we each went our own way.”

He moved his face closer to hers. “You didn’t seem to feel that way last night when you were coming all over my cock.”

She damned her cheeks for heating. The sex between them was amazing, sure, but that was all they had. And telling him how much that hurt her wasn’t anywhere on her annual schedule. She wasn’t going to put herself out there and make herself vulnerable only to have him tell her what she already knew—he wouldn’t give her more.

Besides, knowing Tate, he’d feel shitty that she was hurting. She didn’t want that. He was a good guy who’d walked a very fine line, careful never to make her feel used without leading her into thinking their relationship was anything other than casual.

“Answer me, Havana. What the fuck brought this on? Why are you telling me we’re done?”

Every instinct she had bristled at the sheer demand in his voice; at the utter expectation of a response, like he held authority over her. She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, how very vehement you sound. I get that you’re an Alpha, but you’re not my Alpha. Now quit looming over me. I don’t like it.”

“Then tell me what I want to know.”

“I already did.”

“It was a half-assed answer. I want to know the rest.”

“There’s nothing more to know.” She rubbed at her temple. “God, why are you making this difficult?”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. You weren’t supposed to care. This wasn’t supposed to bother you. I don’t know why it does. I don’t get why you’re pushing me on this.”

“If I’d suddenly turned around and declared that you and I were done, you wouldn’t have wondered why?”

“No. Because you were clear from the beginning that this fling would have a quick expiry date. I would have thought you’d have ended it before now. You didn’t, but you would have some time soon. You wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it; wouldn’t have considered it a big deal. You’d have easily moved on with your life … because I’d never actually been part of it, had I? I’d just hovered on the edges of it—you wouldn’t allow anything else.”

Tate ground his teeth, silently conceding that she was right. He hadn’t pulled her into his world, hadn’t offered her a place in it, hadn’t marked her as his. So he shouldn’t feel like he was losing something. Something important.

When Havana first declared they needed to “go their own way,” it had taken a few seconds for her words to sink in. Then anger had exploded in his gut, and a cord of something that was strangely akin to panic had twined tight around his lungs—that cord was still there, making his chest twinge with every breath. Her declaration thrust his cat into the throe of a hissing, snarling fit of fury, and the feline showed no signs of getting his shit together.

His cat usually never gave a damn when a woman chose to walk away. The animal tired of females fast. He usually began to withdraw after a month or two—he’d been that way since Ashlynn pissed all over them three years ago.

Similarly, Tate never much cared if a woman ended a fling. Purely because, due to his cat’s habit of withdrawing from relationships, Tate was careful not to choose females who held too much appeal for him. But as everything in him rebelled at the thought of Havana walking away, he realized he hadn’t succeeded at holding her at a distance. More, he’d gotten far too comfortable in their relationship, shallow though it was.

He also realized that his cat had been more invested in the fling than Tate had originally thought. The feline’s interest in Havana hadn’t yet waned. But the cat would pull away from her eventually … and there’d be nothing Tate could do to stop it.

Some of the women from his past had only been bluffing when they proclaimed it was “over.” They’d said it in an effort to spur Tate into offering them more, which had never worked. But he could see that Havana wasn’t playing that game. She meant what she said. She was ready to scrape him off.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. In fact, Tate should have been able to nod and wish her well. He should have been able to agree that the fling had run its course.