Page 20 of Alpha Brock

“Maybe.” I grin.

“It’s…”

“Quirky?” I suggest, arching a brow. “Endearing?”

He frowns. “Alarming. I thought someone was breaking in.”

I giggle softly, shaking my head. “Again? Why so paranoid?”

It’s a dumb question, I realize after I ask it. The shadow pack has all of us paranoid lately.

“It’s my job to keep my pack safe,” Brock replies matter-of-factly. “That includes the packhouse.”

“Ever consider an alarm system?”

He rolls his eyes. “How did your housemates in Denver put up with you?”

I swallow down another spoonful of yogurt, shrugging again. “I’ve been told it’s because I’m so witty and charming.”

“Oh yeah?” For a second, I swear the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. “Who told you that?”

“Lots of people,” I smile coyly. “A bunch of people live at the Denver packhouse, it’s always busy. This place is like a ghost town in comparison.”

“Sorry we’re not meeting your high standards,” Brock scoffs. Okay, that’sdefinitelya smirk on his lips. “Hate to break it to you, princess, but this isn’t the Ritz Carlton.”

“Now that you mention it, Ihadnoticed that the turn-down service was lacking.” I grin, swallowing another spoonful of yogurt. I’m thoroughly enjoying this banter between us; this playful side of Brock that I didn’t think existed.

He yawns, stretching his arms over his head, anddamndo I appreciate the way his chest muscles ripple. “Get back to bed, huh?”

“Is that an order, Alpha?” I challenge, raising a brow.

Brock rolls his eyes again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just don’t want to you to wake anyone else.”

“You’re the only one who has ever woken up and interrupted my late-night fridge raid.” I point my spoon at him before dipping it back into the container and scooping out a little bit more yogurt.

He stares at me dubiously. “Nobody in Denver has ever heard you creeping around at three a.m.?”

“If they have, nobody was ever curious enough to come check it out. You just can’t seem to stay away from me though, can you?” I wink, licking pink yogurt off the side of the spoon seductively.

I know I’m in the danger zone here. I’ve got no business hitting on the alpha who is hosting me in his packhouse, and there are a lot bigger things going on with our packs right now than this intense sexual tension between us. Because make no mistake- that’s exactly what it is. Brock may act like he’s annoyed with me most of the time, but I see the way he undresses me with his eyes. Boy wants a piece, and I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him, too.

Brock’s eyes darken, dropping to my mouth and tracking the movement of my tongue as I lick the spoon. “What are you doing?” he rasps, and I swear his voice has lowered an octave or two.

“What do you mean?” I ask innocently. I blink at him, eyes wide.

He takes a step toward me. Then another.

I suddenly feel like a fox being hunted; frozen in place, paralyzed by the feral look in his eyes.

Brock stops when he’s standing right in front of me- or over me, rather; the guy is at least six-foot-four. “You know what you’re doing,” he growls.

His deep, masculine scent batters my senses and my heart races in my chest as I peer up at him through my eyelashes, dropping the spoon into the yogurt container and sliding it onto the counter beside me. Then I lift a hand, reaching forward. Pressing a palm to his bare chest.

He doesn’t stop me. His nostrils flare, his wolf swirling gold in his irises. His skin is warm underneath my palm and it feels like electricity is zipping between us, a transfer of energy.

Then it’s like I’m hit by a freight train- my vision tunnels and I’m slammed with an overwhelming feeling of desperation, rage, betrayal, hopelessness. Suddenly I’m not in the kitchen of the Riverton packhouse anymore, I’m in a forest. It feels like summertime- I can sense how warm the earth is under my feet, hear the sounds of insects chirping. It’s like a movie playing out in front of my eyes, except I’m actually there; I’m a part of it. I see a girl pulling her hand away from someone else’s, though I can’t see her face. All I see is a blur of strawberry blonde hair as she whirls around and starts walking away. Then I hear Brock’s voice, sounding tortured, broken as he calls after her, “Anna, please…”

My hand drops from Brock’s chest and as soon as it does, it’s like the connection is broken. I come crashing back into the present, back to reality. The forest falls away and I’m in the packhouse kitchen once again.