Page 38 of Rejected Alpha Mate

She doesn’t even look back.

Maybe she’s right to keep her distance. That’s what I deserve. But why does it feel like, apart from protecting us, she was protecting me specifically? Why would she ensure that I wouldn’t go to Montreal?

***

The house is quiet again by the time night falls. Too quiet, and it resurfaces my guilt like acrid bile in my throat that needs the stiffest drink to be washed away.

The others left an hour ago, leaving only the sound of the wind whispering through the trees.

Donna’s door hasn’t opened once since dinner.

I should be sleeping, resting to heal from the dark magic that has been removed, but the silence presses on my chest until I can’t stand it anymore. My body feels too restless, my thoughts too loud. So I head downstairs, the echo of my footsteps carrying through the dark hallway.

The kitchen light glows dimly, stopping me in my tracks when I see her there.

Donna, barefoot in one of her oversized T-shirts, stands at the counter with a glass of water in her hand. Her hair is loose, cascading over one shoulder like dark silk. She looks tired, shoulders slouched, but her eyes are alert when she glances up and spots me.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us hums like the aftershock of a storm.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask quietly, finally breaking the silence.

She shrugs, setting her glass down. “No. I’m guessing you can’t, either?”

I shake my head. “Guess not.”

An awkward pause stretches between us before I move to the counter, grab a glass, and pour myself something stronger: whiskey, because I need it more than water. The sound of liquid hitting glass fills the silence like a confession.

“Why did you stop me from going to Montreal?” I ask, tipping the glass to my lips. “You could’ve told Dom the truth, but you didn’t.”

Donna doesn’t hesitate. “I didn’t say anything to stop you from going,” she says with a nonchalant shrug.

“Well, you killed two birds with one stone, Donna. And I know you don’t do anything without reason,” I remark pointedly.

She takes a deep breath as she places the glass in the sink before she turns to me and crosses her arms. “Why were you so set on leaving after what happened last night? It’s like you’re running away.”

“I’m not running away,” I scoff as I empty my glass before turning to face her. “I should have been there with the others.”

“You have free will. You should have gone if you were so determined,” she says calmly, but I can read through it.

“I wanted to go to Montreal to give you space. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Her jaw tightens and her eyes narrow. “Is that what you think I want?”

“Isn’t it?” I counter.

The air thickens, her pulse visible at her throat as my eyes flit there, my own heartbeat responding to it. I tip back the glass, finishing the whiskey in one gulp, then move to place my glass in the sink, purposely leaning over Donna and watching her face as I swoop into her personal space.

Donna doesn’t flinch, barely breathes, but she doesn’t move away. If anything, she straightens her spine, meeting my eyes squarely.

I move even closer, close enough that the space between us burns with heat and restraint. My hand finds the cabinet beside her head before I can think better of it. Her scent hits me all at once, lavender and warmth and something that feels like home.

“I thought you wanted space,” I murmur, my voice low, rougher than I intend.

Her breath catches as her eyes twitch. “Maybe it’s what you want.”

“No,” I admit, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “I’m not afraid of you, Donna. And you shouldn’t be afraid of me, either.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas…” she says my name in a sultry tone that ignites the fire in my bloodstream.