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Three

Chapter 3 – Nathan

“What about Nick?” Daniel asked, his eyes skimming over the page of the notebook in his lap. “We agreed last meeting that someone would

speak to him about his trouble at work.”

“I’ve met with him twice.” I didn’t move from my spot leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest. I was still in my suit from work—the dove gray one that Micah joked gave me the ‘tall, dark, and

handsome vibe’—but I’d tugged my tie off the minute I walked in the door. It hung over the back of the chair behind my desk, and I made a mental note to take it upstairs when this interminable meeting finally ended. “I’ve looked into the situation and recommended he request a transfer. The bank has been moving managers around, and the new head of his branch is an

asshole.”

Phillip looked pleasantly surprised. “That’s fast work, Nathan.”

“I take care of my pack,” I said, pointedly. To the extent you codgers let me, anyway.

Before any of them could find a diplomatic answer, the doorbell rang. I stifled a sigh, undecided whether I welcomed the break or was irritated by it. The sooner we got through the agenda, the sooner I could kick the Elders out of my house.

“Excuse me.” Pushing off the wall, I pivoted on my heel and walked out into the hall. Sunshine poured through the front door’s leaded glass panes, illuminating a familiar blue blob waiting on the other side. Opening the door, I greeted the postman cheerfully. “Let me guess. Certified mail?”

He chuckled and wiggled the clipboard playfully. “As usual, Mr.

Sloan.”

“You guys must be making a mint.” Taking the clipboard, I scrawled

my name on the page and handed it back. He fished the letter from his bag, and I accepted it. I touched it to my forehead in a salute. “Thanks.”

He returned the gesture, tapping two fingers to his temple, and then jogged off the porch back to his rounds. Shutting the door, I tried to

suppress the wave of loathing that came over me as I registered Kurt’s smell on the envelope. I growled under my breath as I stalked back into the office.

“Nathan?” Gideon asked, standing up from his preferred chair. “Everything all right?”

“Mail,” I spat, tearing the envelope open. “From Kurt.”

I ripped the paper out and unfolded it, skimming the words. “About damn time.”

“What? What is it?” Phillip asked, worry suffusing the question. “He’s going to man up and fight me for the pack like a proper

Alpha.” I thrust the letter at Gideon and then strode to my desk. I dropped

into the chair behind it and kicked a foot up onto the desktop, edgy energy crackling through me as I watched the Elders pass the letter around.

“Six months,” Daniel said, faintly, passing the letter to Phillip. “If you’re not officially pronounced Alpha in six months, he’ll issue a formal challenge for rights to the pack.”

“Let him,” I bit out, irritated by the way the man had gone pale. “I can take him—as a man or a wolf. I’ll break him in half for threatening my pack, and this entire mess can be over! Hell, it’d be a favor to his pack if I killed the bastard.”

“Absolutely not,” Phillip said, tossing the letter onto the low table in front of the sofa.

“Why the hell not?” I demanded, sitting up and slamming my hand on the desk with a crack. “I can take him—you know I can. The pack needs stability, and fighting Kurt one-on-one will get it. It’ll keep anyone else from getting ideas about threatening us, too.”

“No,” Daniel hissed, his eyes narrowing in a rare open display of

concentrated frustration. “The only thing that will bring this pack stability is

you complying with your father’s will.”

“You’ve had a few days to think on it,” Phillip coaxed. “Surely you can see—”

“It’s not going to work,” I interrupted, sharply enunciating every word. “I’m not an idiot. I know who you want as the surrogate. She isn’t

going to volunteer, and I refuse to see her pressured into it ‘for the good of the pack’. We’re not that kind of pack.”

I’d met a few creepy lecher Alphas and Elders in my life; just the memory made my skin crawl.

“Nathan,” Phillip started.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I cut him off, harshly gesturing in the direction of the letter. “Kurt is willing to fight me. I’ll kick his ass and be done with it.”

“That is not your decision,” Daniel said flatly. “Until you are officially instated as Alpha, you require our blessing for such a

confrontation, and we will not give it.”

“We can’t,” Phillip agreed, turning reproachful eyes on me. “Even if we did, it wouldn’t resolve the larger problem. You cannot be Alpha

without a family, Nathan, and until you are, threats like these will keep coming. If not from Kurt, then from someone else.” He pursed his lips.

“Frankly, even a mate of your mother’s caliber would be better for the pack than continuing like this.”

Fury erupted, scalding through my veins, and I jerked my feet off the desk. “Get out of my house. All of you.”

“Nathan,” Daniel protested.

Gideon stepped between us, placing a quelling hand on the other Elder’s chest. “It’s enough, Dan,” he said quietly. “Leave it. We’ve got another meeting Thursday. We can take it up then.”

Fuming wordlessly, Daniel and Phillip shot me murderous looks as they grabbed their coats and stormed out. Gideon collected his coat as well but paused at the office door. He looked exhausted, and I felt a pang of guilt at the toll this mess was taking on him.

“I'm sorry I can’t fix this for you, Nathan. You know if there was anything I could do, I would.”

“I know.” The words came out more gruffly than I’d intended, and I tried for something resembling a smile. “Go on,” I told him, waving at the door. “Get out of here. Give Mary my love.”

“You should come for dinner soon,” he said, pulling his jacket on. “She’d love to feed you.” Micah’s mother was the best cook in the pack.

“I might.”

Gideon nodded, gave me a small, tired smile of his own, and left.

When I heard the front door close behind him, I leaned over, both my hands flat on the desktop. All the anger seemed to bleed out through my feet, leaving me drained. Dull, weary resentment sat heavy in my bones,

and I slowly became aware of the low throb in my head that promised a pounding headache and the empty feeling in my stomach.

Heaving a sigh, I left the office. Down the hall, I stepped into the kitchen and pulled the bottle Tylenol off the counter. I didn’t even bother to put it away these days. Popping two, I swallowed them dry and crossed to the fridge. I pulled it open, scanned its barren shelves, and promptly shut it again.

Of course, there wasn’t any food. I was supposed to shop on Sunday, but coming home to a porch full of Elders spouting wild ideas had completely derailed the day. I’d spent yesterday walking a client through a small crisis, and I’d been working since 5:30 this morning with nothing more than quick bathroom breaks.

For a brief moment, I toyed with the idea of just downing the untouched case of beer—the only thing remaining in my otherwise empty fridge—and calling it dinner. It was tempting. Too tempting.

You’re not that kind of Alpha.

Snarling with frustration with myself and the world, I grabbed my keys and headed for the garage.


They say you shouldn’t shop when you’re hungry. Something about hunger making for impulsive shopping decisions. It was advice I’d never heeded—and not just because my schedule didn’t always allow for nice,

scheduled, well-fed grocery shopping trips.

In my experience, shopping while hungry was a great way to speed up the process. When you’re hungry, you don’t stand around in front of the meat case debating whether you should get the pork chops or the ground beef. You just buy them both, which means you go home with more groceries. The more groceries I bought per run, the longer I could put off the next shopping trip. That’s what I told myself, at any rate. Anything to make the tedium and inconvenience more bearable.

I was hunting for the protein bars and muttering curses under my breath at whoever kept moving things around in this damn store when I

stopped dead in my tracks. The entire world seemed to narrow to a single figure standing at the end cap two aisles over. Celeste.

She was reading the back of a box, her usually sweet face scrunched in a frown. Her dress was too perfect to be anything but one of her own

creations, some kind of soft red fabric in a loose, wrapped cut with split

sleeves. Like everything she made, it was stunningly well done. It somehow managed to be practical and modest while doing absolutely nothing to hide the delicate lines of her slender form.

I’d teased her once about being a fairy child hidden among the rest of us boring humans. Playfully accused her of bewitching me with her people’s magic. She’d laughed and insisted I was ridiculous, but looking at her now, I felt just as caught in her web of enchantment as I had all those years ago.

Tucking a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear, she put the box back on the shelf and looked up—directly at me. She froze, and her trapped, panicked expression made me sick.

Part of me wanted to turn away, to give her an out. But pack mores required that I speak to her, and now that she’d seen me, there was no way to bow out without making things worse.

You’re the Alpha, I reminded myself sternly. Act like it.

Taking a deep breath, I pasted a pleasant, businesslike expression on my face and closed the distance between us. “Celeste.” She’d let me call her Celly once. Back then, catching sight of me had made her cobalt eyes light up instead of bringing a hunted look to her face. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She gripped her basket tightly. “Thank you.”

“How’s the business? Katie mentioned you had a ton of customers over the holidays—custom orders, or something?”

“Yes.” She licked her full pink lips, and her eyes darted away from mine as if tracking escape routes. “There’s always a rush, around

Christmas. It’s evened out now, the pacing. But, um, it’s good.”

Watching her fidget was excruciating. Being this close and unable to touch her was worse.

“You’re shopping?” she asked, fumbling for something that would satisfy the social rules that bound us. Her parents had been just as strict on pack etiquette as my father.

“Reluctantly.” I shrugged, forcing myself to smile casually again despite the pain in my heart. “I should probably finish, actually. Get home while there’s still time to cook something tonight.”

Relief flooded through her so clearly it was palpable. “Yeah, definitely. I won’t keep you. Have a good night.” She flashed me a quick, forced smile and darted away.

I watched her queue up in a checkout line, studiously examining the gaudy tabloid covers in the rack beside her to avoid any chance of looking back at me. Swallowing my grief and frustration, I made myself turn away, my body moving on autopilot to resume the half-forgotten search for protein bars.

Celeste was the only member of the pack I didn’t check in on regularly as part of my Alpha duties. She didn’t want to see me. As much as I wanted to see her, I’d sworn to myself long ago that I wouldn’t be the kind of overbearing Alpha my father was. As long as Celly was safe, I’d honor her wishes and keep my distance.

I kept tabs, of course. She was active in the pack, and it was easy

enough to keep up with news on her business and concerns from a distance. She was perpetually helping out with the pups and the elderly in the pack,

supporting anyone who was struggling however she could. I heard her name constantly. It was always casual and in passing, but every mention was a reminder of what I’d lost. It felt like dying of a thousand cuts.

Belatedly, I realized I was standing in front of the protein bar shelf, staring blankly at it. Annoyed with myself, I threw two boxes in my cart

and headed for the checkout lanes. You can’t change what’s done, I reminded myself ruthlessly. She’s moved on. You should, too.

I purposely chose a lane with a longer line, ensuring that Celeste would have plenty of time to clear the store and the parking lot before I

headed out to my car. Unfortunately, the line gave me time to think, and the only thing my brain was interested in thinking about was Celly.

She’d made it clear she didn’t want me back, but by all accounts, she’d never shown so much as a whiff of interest in any other man. She never dated, never flirted. She filled her days with work and service until there wasn’t room for anything else.

So do you, I told myself.

The conveyor lurched into motion, startling me out of my thoughts. I bent my attention to the cashier and the mundane process of checking out. Thoughts of Celeste returned with a vengeance as I carried my bags out to the parking lot. We were both coping, it seemed, but I couldn’t help

wondering if her well-managed life was as much a facade as mine.

Are you happy, Celly? I wondered, wistfully, sliding into the driver’s seat. Because God knows I haven’t been truly happy since the day I lost you.

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