Page 34 of The Reluctant Alpha

I need you safe.

My heart did a stupid little flip in my chest. I traced the words with my finger, remembering the whispered "my mate" I'd heard—or thought I'd heard—before falling asleep. What did that mean to someone like Bayer? To a shifter? Emery had tried to explain pack dynamics and mating to me, but I'd always tuned out, assuming it had nothing to do with me. I chewed my lip. I knew shifters "mated" for life, except I wasn't a shifter. I was a human teaching assistant with little money and a job I currently hated, living back at home like some loser. Bayer thought he wasn't good enough for most people. I knew he had little confidence, but really, mine was all for show.

I'd learned that lesson first in seventh grade, when Tyler Hutchinson and his friends had cornered me in the locker room after gym class. They'd shoved me into a locker, laughing as I struggled to get out, until Coach Morrison finally heard my panicked screaming.

The next day, I'd shown up to school, walked right up to Tyler at lunch—where everyone could see—and made a joke about his failed attempt to stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey. I'd made myself the punchline, controlled the narrative. The cafeteria had erupted in laughter, and Tyler's face had gone bright red.

After that, I'd learned to weaponize my own humiliation. Every time someone tried to push me down, I'd make a joke first. Every insult they threw, I'd turn into comedy gold. I became the class clown, the sarcastic kid who could take anything they dished out and serve it back with a smile.

Eventually, they'd stopped trying. It wasn't fun to bully someone who laughed at themselves first.

But the armor I'd built—the quick wit, the deflecting humor, the refusal to show vulnerability—had become so much a part of me that I didn't know how to take it off anymore. Even with Emery, my best friend, I kept parts of myself hidden behind jokes and sarcasm.

Because the one time in my life I’d let my defenses down I’d learned my lesson to make sure I didn’t ever do it again.

Last night had been...incredible. Terrifying. Life-changing. All the dramatic adjectives my English teacher would have circled in red on an essay. But it was true. Something fundamental had shifted between Bayer and me, and I had no idea what came next.

I showered and dressed quickly and then padded to the small kitchen area, finding a fresh pot of coffee waiting. As I poured myself a cup, I noticed Bayer had left his phone charging on the counter. The screen lit up with a text notification from Phoenix: Meeting moved to main house. Now.

Whatever they'd found must be serious. I sipped my coffee, debating what to do. Bayer had said to stay inside, but he hadn't specified where inside. The main house was literally through that door, and I wanted to hash everything out with Emery. Besides, if they were discussing the revenant, I wanted—needed—to know what was happening.

Decision made, I carried my coffee, grabbed my own phone (fully charged, thanks to Bayer), and headed through the house to the main kitchen.

I could hear voices coming from the great room—Phoenix's authoritative tone, Simeon's calm replies, and occasionally Bayer's deeper rumble. I slipped inside, staying near the back of the room where I could see and hear without immediately drawing attention.

But I'd forgotten about scent as every single shifter looked over at me as I crept in. Deciding to deal with it, because shy I was not, I walked over and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Emery but not far away from Bayer who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I snuck a peek at him while Phoenix carried on. Emery grinned and pulled me onto the sofa next to him, so unfortunately Bayer was now behind me.

Phoenix stood at the center, his expression grim as he addressed the gathered pack members. "The victims were college students from Ellensburg. According to their friends, they'd gone outside the bar for a smoke and never returned."

"Like the family at the campground?" someone murmured.

"Not quite," Phoenix answered. "The girls were killed instantly, if violently. But the bodies weren't arranged in any pattern. It was more like..."

"Like feeding," Rhys finished, his face taut with anger. "A revenant needs blood, more than a normal silver-skin. As you know, a mature silver-skin can go for weeks without, and kills are unnecessary. It was feeding with no control."

A cold shiver ran down my spine, and I felt Em move closer. These weren't just killings—they were a predator satisfying more than hunger.

"Were there any...messages?" Bayer asked from behind me. "Carvings, like the others?"

Phoenix shook his head. "Nothing. The human authorities are calling it an animal attack with the ripped throat."

"So, it's escalating," Draven observed. "First the family as a message, then the wolf as a challenge, now feeding in town."

"It's getting bolder," Simeon agreed. "And hungrier."

I felt Emery tense beside me. His hand found mine, squeezing gently. I returned the pressure, grateful for the connection.

"We need to find it before it kills again," Phoenix continued. "Rhys, what else can you tell us about revenants? How do we track something that leaves no scent?"

Rhys stepped forward, his face grim. "Revenants do have scents...corrupted ones." He frowned. "I do know they are enhanced."

"Enhanced how?" Kaylan asked.

"Strength, speed, healing—all accelerated beyond normal silver-skin capabilities," Rhys explained. "But they lose some of the more refined abilities, like complete scent-masking. There's always a trace—decay, corruption. It's subtle, but it's there. The more ravaged they become, the worse their appearance and scent become, which explains why you were scenting nothing to begin with."

"And they can't maintain a glamour for long you said," Ben added, checking with Rhys for confirmation. "The energy cost is too high, especially before feeding."

Phoenix nodded. "So, we look for traces near feeding sites. And we double patrols around town."