"I should go." I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder and straightening my sundress. "Early morning." I smoothed down the bourbon-colored fabric, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Can I see you again?" Remy stood too, quickly, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste, his hand reaching out like he wanted to grab mine. "Take you to dinner, maybe, or—" His voice was eager, almost desperate, all pretense stripped away.
"No." I cut him off, but not unkindly, watching his face carefully for his reaction. His face fell, those amber eyes going dim with disappointment, his shoulders slumping like I'd physically struck him.
"If you want to show me more of the real you instead of the performance..." I stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in his amber eyes, to feel the heat radiating off his body, to smell that honey-cinnamon scent wrapping around me. "You can follow the rumors and gossip to find me." I held his gaze for one long moment, letting the words sink in.
I didn't wait for his response. Just turned and walked out of The Rusty Hook, feeling his gaze burning into my back the whole way, hot and heavy and wanting. The night air hit me like a wall—thick, humid, alive with the sound of frogs and insects. I climbed into my truck and sat there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, heart beating faster than it had any right to.
Two Alphas in a week. One who smelled like moonshine and watched me like I was a revelation. One who smelled like honey and cinnamon and hid his broken heart behind a beautiful smile.
"This is going to be trouble." I told the empty cab, my voice barely above a whisper. I was smiling when I said it, my reflection grinning back at me in the rearview mirror. I was still smiling when I got home and found Gumbo waiting for me on the porch, his tail swishing impatiently like he'd been worried.
"I met another one." I told him, crouching down to scratch his favorite spot, feeling his scales warm and rough under myfingers. "Pretty boy with a guitar and sad eyes. He's got ghosts, Gumbo. Just like me." I scratched along his jaw, watching his eyes half-close in pleasure.
Gumbo made a low rumbling sound that might have been judgment, his amber eyes fixed on me with that knowing reptilian stare.
"I know." I sighed, standing up and dusting off my knees, brushing bits of dock debris from my sundress. "I know. There's something about them, though, these broken Alphas. Something that feels like..." I trailed off, staring out at the dark water of the bayou.
Like home, my instincts whispered.
I went inside without saying it out loud. Some things were too big to speak into existence just yet. I dreamed about honey-colored curls and sad songs and hands that trembled when someone finally saw the truth.
In the morning, I woke up knowing something had shifted. Some door had cracked open that I wouldn't be able to close again. I wasn't sure if that terrified me or thrilled me.
Maybe both.
Chapter Three
Artemis
The hawk was dying.
I found her at the edge of my property, tangled in a fishing line that some careless tourist had left behind. Her wing was bent at a wrong angle, feathers matted with blood, and when I approached, she fixed me with one golden eye full of fury and fear.
"Easy, sweetheart." I crouched down slowly, keeping my movements deliberate and calm. "I'm not going to hurt you." I pulled off my flannel shirt, leaving me in just my tank top, and used it to carefully wrap around her body, pinning those dangerous talons.
She screamed at me—a raw, ragged sound that made my heart clench.
"I know." I gathered her against my chest, feeling her rapid heartbeat through the fabric. "I know it hurts. But I'm going to help you, okay? I know someone who can fix this." I stood carefully, cradling her like something precious.
Gumbo watched from the shallows as I carried her toward my truck, his amber eyes tracking the bundle in my arms with predatory interest.
"Don't even think about it." I shot him a warning look as I passed. "She's not food." I climbed into the truck one-handed, settling the hawk on the passenger seat.
The drive to Boudreaux Wildlife Rehabilitation took about thirty minutes. I'd never been there myself, but everyone in the parish knew about it—a sprawling property on the edge of the preserve where injured animals got patched up and released back into the wild. Run by some recluse who'd moved down from up north a few years back. Ex-military, people said. Keeps to himself. Doesn't talk much.
Another quiet Alpha with secrets. Just what I needed.
The property announced itself with a hand-carved wooden sign that read BOUDREAUX WILDLIFE REHABILITATION in letters that looked like they'd been burned into the wood. I turned down the gravel drive, my truck rattling over potholes, and the hawk made a distressed sound from beside me.
"Almost there." I reached over to steady her, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Just hold on a little longer." I guided the truck around a bend in the road.
The rehabilitation center was bigger than I'd expected. A main building that looked like it had once been a farmhouse, weathered but well-maintained. Behind it, I could see a series of enclosures—large aviaries, fenced areas, what looked like a small pond. The sounds of animals drifted through my open window: birds calling, something splashing, the distant bark of what might have been a fox.
I parked near the main building and cut the engine, gathering the hawk carefully in my arms. She'd gone still during the drive—either from shock or exhaustion—and I could feel her heartbeat slowing against my chest. Not a good sign.
"Hello?" I called out as I approached the building, looking for any sign of life. "Anyone here? I've got an injured hawk." I climbed the porch steps, scanning for a doorbell or knocker.
