Some Alpha 185

185 Grace: Middle of the Night 

185 Grace: Middle of the Night 

When the storm wakes me at two thirty–seven in the morning, it’s a relief. 

The phone’s built–in flashlight comes in handy as I stealthily close both bathroom doors before finally flicking on the overhead lights, blinking a little in the sudden brightness. 

Outside, the sound of an occasional car makes it through the walls. But where we are, in the back of the parking lot, there isn’t much going on, leaving things surprisingly quiet. 

I shiver. 

Which is exactly what I want him to do. 

The bathroom door swings open. 

I dampen a washcloth under the tap, careful to keep the water pressure low. You can hear everything in this camper, from people moving around to every time the water’s being used. Privacy is an illusion. 

My pulse hammers against my wrist, my throat, between my thighs, until I’m dizzy. 

Awkward, when I’m still standing here naked and he’s still… looking at me. 

It’s quiet. 

Jesus. 

Neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes. The storm outside seems to pause with us, only to give up the illusion as thunder claps. 

And who knows how we’ll be resting tomorrow night. 

Lyre hadn’t given much explanation when I explained it to her, not that we had much time to talk about it in between… everything else. Just said Bun needed the stabilization, and I should know my limits. But, of course, the Lycan King doesn’t agree, saying if I knew my limits I wouldn’t have fallen unconscious. 

No matter how many times I smell the man, I can’t quite pin down what he smells like. It’s just uniquely him and right now, it’s overpowering in the bathroom as he steps 

10:13 

185 Grace: Middle of the Night 

inside and closes the door. 

The tiny square of cloth wasn’t really hiding anything, but I suddenly feel even more naked than I was before, my skin covered in goosebumps as his breathing comes faster. 

I consider checking the battery levels to see if running the AC for a few hours would drain us too much. The thought of cool air makes me close my eyes in longing, but I dismiss it immediately. It’s more likely to wake up the others, and we all need rest after such a long road trip. 

“Nope, I croak, destroying the sexiness of my nudity with my own voice. Classic. “Just 

me.” 

The washcloth in my hand is useless as a shield, and his gaze roves over my body without shame, taking in my nudity without a single apology. “You’re awake.” 

I clear my throat, and his stare finally meets mine. 

The cold water brings relief as I squeeze the now–wet cloth over my skin, rivulets sliding down to catch in my waistband. Without thinking twice, I kick off my pants, 

too. 

Which begs the question: what’s wrong with Caine, for him to require it at all times? 

Not that I’m admitting to it. 

Tomorrow, we’ll officially be back in Blue Mountain territory, where Rafe’s taken over as Alpha. Even the thought of seeing his face makes my stomach roil with nausea, and I scrub a little harder against my collarbones, forgetting I’m just trying to cool myself down. 

His hands twitch at his sides as he takes another step. 

Better not to think about Rafe and Ellie and how awkward everything’s- 

You know, naked. 

My shirt clings to my back, sticky with night sweat. I peel it off, followed by my bra, and inhale the slightly musty/air. The storm thuds against the roof with incessant, heavy rain, somehow making the humidity worse just by thinking about how wet it is 

outside. 

The RV feels like a pressure cooker tonight. With the unseasonable heat passing and 

10:13 

185 Grace: Middle of the Night 

cooler fall temperatures finally making its way to the area, the rain’s forced us to shut. every window. Without a cross–breeze or the air conditioner running, we rely on fans to circulate the stagnant, humid air, made worse by the sheer number of living beings breathing in this enclosed space. Even with Lyre’s dehumidifier running. 

Perhaps it only happens when she’s out of control. Lyre said it was stabilization, so such a scenario would make the most sense. 

Drenched in sweat, I slip out of bed. Sara and Bun don’t even twitch on their two–thirds of the mattress, cordoned off with a pile of rolled up blankets and body pillows Caine acquired from the store. 

“I should,” he agrees, making no move to leave. 2 

Caine stands in the doorway. 

“I—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “I thought everyone was asleep.” 

Not quite a proper shower, but it’s enough to wash away the remnants of those endless zombie dreams and the sticky sweat covering my skin. 

These are all options, but instead I remain standing there, watching as he takes a step 

closer. 

The bathroom isn’t very large. He’s practically in front of me now, his eyes dragging up my bare legs, my abdomen, lingering at my breasts. 

Do I scream? Crouch and cover my lady bits? Yell at him to leave and risk waking up innocent children? 

“I thought it was one of the kids.” 

Il bathroom Lightning flashes, barely visible behind the dark shades covering the window. He reaches out, pinching the washcloth between two fingers as he slides it from my grasp. 

His gray eyes meet mine for one electric second before they drop, tracing the curves of my exposed body. His pupils dilate instantly, black eclipsing gray. 

He’s insistent on reducing even the possibility of accidental touches, even though I can’t feel anything when I touch Bun. It’s only Caine who seems to pull my energy out. For whatever reason, my dreams were infested with zombies. There’s only so much 

185 Grace: Middle of the Night 

running away from the undead a girl can handle dreaming about–which is zilch, by the way–and I’m way above my quota with one night alone. 

“You should go,” I whisper, not meaning it. 

I freeze, washcloth pressed to my chest, tiny streams of water streaming down my stomach and legs. 

I scrub at my face and sigh, heading silently into the bathroom, where I can at least stretch my legs a little, since getting back to sleep feels a little impossible right now. 

He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t back away. His gaze burns a path across my skin, leaving heat in its wake. 

Reaching out, I brush my fingers against Bun’s ankle, focusing on the brief contact. But there’s nothing. No sudden rush of magic, no feeling of anything draining from me. 

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