Page 7 of Alpha's Claim
Colt stood on the balcony of his bedroom, his sharp eyes fixed on the guest room down the hall, where the woman—Briar—lay sleeping. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, but tension rippled through his muscles, as if holding still required every ounce of his willpower.
Two days. She’d slept for two days straight, waking only once, long enough to drink a little water before falling back into a restless slumber. Etta, their trusted housekeeper, had reassured him that Briar’s condition was improving—severe dehydration and exhaustion, nothing life-threatening—but Colt’s gut twisted with unease. He’d seen the bruises mottling her pale skin, the way her eyes had flashed with raw terror when she’d first regained consciousness.
She had been running from something, and whatever—or whoever—it was, it had done a hell of a number on her.
He raked a hand through his hair, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Questions gnawed at him—where had she come from? What was she hiding? Could she be a threat to his pack?
It wasn’t just his responsibility as alpha that drove the questions. It was more than that—something primal andpersonal, something that made him want to protect her, even though logic screamed caution. Caution had never been his strong suit.
Colt clenched his jaw, stepping away from the railing and returning to his room to pace from wall-to-wall. His pack didn’t need to see him this agitated by the presence of a woman, especially a human one. His boots thudded against the hardwood floor, the steady rhythm doing little to calm the storm brewing in his mind. The pack came first—always. He couldn’t afford to make reckless decisions, no matter how much he wanted to trust his instincts.
And yet, his instincts about Briar were unlike anything he’d ever felt. From the moment he’d caught her scent—rain, blood, and something inexplicably familiar—his wolf had stirred, howling in recognition. She was his fated mate. He knew it with a certainty that ran as deep as his bones.
But being his mate didn’t make her any less dangerous to him or his pack. There were plenty of stories in shifter lore that spoke of fated mates being a destructive force in an alpha’s life. But he saw those as cautionary tales. Colt much preferred the ones where the she-wolf in question brought so much more to the pack and the relationship than the wolf in question ever dared to dream. There were plenty of examples of she-wolves being coerced into their roles who ended up being the best thing that ever happened to alpha and pack. He grinned ruefully—Cameron Nichols, I’m thinking of you and your Riley.
Briar was human—or at least, she smelled human—and that alone posed a risk. For millennia, wolf-shifters had lived in the shadows, keeping their existence hidden from humans while living alongside them. Even in modern times, the secret had to be protected at all costs. If Briar knew too much, if she had seen something she shouldn’t have…
Colt let out a slow breath, forcing himself to push the thought aside. There were too many unknowns, and he wouldn’t get the answers he needed by interrogating her before she had recovered.
He left his room, standing just outside the door in the hallway, where Etta moved quietly in and out of the guest room, checking on Briar’s condition. Their medical staff had declared her free of any life-threatening injuries, and Etta had taken charge of Briar’s care. Colt trusted her implicitly. If there was one person who could keep the girl safe—and pry loose any secrets she might be hiding—it was Etta.
Still, Colt couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling twisting in his chest. What if Briar was a danger to the pack? What if the people chasing her showed up at their doorstep? As much as his wolf insisted she belonged to him, Colt knew he couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment. The safety of the pack had to come first, no matter the cost to him personally.
Even now, as he replayed the moments he’d spent watching her sleep, arousal simmered just beneath his skin, leaving him restless and on edge. Briar’s presence stirred something inside him—a hunger he couldn’t ignore. He remembered the way her red curls had tumbled across the pillow, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her scent clung to his senses, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else.
He wanted her. Not just physically, but wholly—mind, body, and soul. But wanting her didn’t mean trusting her, and until he knew for sure that she wasn’t a threat, he had to keep his distance.
He’d begun to pace and made himself stop at the open door to the guest room. He leaned against the doorframe, watching Etta as she adjusted the blankets around Briar’s sleeping form.
“How is she?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Etta glanced over her shoulder, her expression patient but knowing. “She’s doing better. The worst of the dehydration has passed, but she’s still weak. Poor thing’s been through hell.”
Colt nodded, his jaw tight. “Any signs she’s waking up?”
“Not yet. But she’s stirring more, dreaming.” Etta smoothed a hand over Briar’s forehead with a motherly touch. “Whatever, or whoever, chased her, it left marks on more than just her body.”
Colt’s chest tightened. He didn’t need Etta to tell him that Briar was haunted—he’d seen it in her eyes, that wild, desperate fear that told him she was running from something far worse than a broken-down vehicle, the storm or exhaustion.
He straightened, arms crossed over his chest. “You think she’s hiding something?”
Etta gave him a pointed look. “Everyone who’s been through what she has is hiding something, Colt. The question is whether it presents a danger to the pack, this ranch, or you.”
He exhaled through his nose, his frustration mounting. That was exactly what he was trying to figure out. Was she running from a danger that threatened the pack, or was she just an innocent woman caught in a nightmare?
He wanted to believe it was the latter. Everything in him rebelled at the idea of Briar being a threat. His wolf growled softly in agreement, urging him to protect her, to claim her as his own. But being alpha meant thinking with the head between his ears and not the one between his legs.
Etta straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. “She’ll wake soon. Give her time. When she does, you can ask your questions.”
Colt grunted, knowing Etta was right. “I’ll keep watch.”
Etta patted his arm as she moved past him toward the door. “Try not to scare her when she wakes, Colt. She’s been through enough.”
He gave her a half-smile. Scaring her was the last thing he wanted. If anything, the thought of her fearing him made something inside him twist painfully.
As Etta left the room, Colt took a step closer to Briar’s bedside. He stood over her, watching the way her pale skin seemed almost too fragile against the bruises. Her breathing was slow and steady now, but her brows twitched, as if she was lost in troubled dreams.
What secrets are you hiding, Briar?