For a heartbeat, the restaurant froze.
Martha stood by the doorway to the kitchen, still in her stained apron, a dishcloth in one hand. The warriors in Alpha Davis's colors filled the entrance, boots dripping rain onto the wooden floor. Customers stared, wide-eyed.
The owner slammed a hand on the counter.
“Hey!" she snapped. “You can't just barge in here. We open in an hour."
The closest warrior ignored her. His gaze was fixed on Martha.
“There she is," he repeated. “The Alpha's bride."
Martha's hand tightened around the cloth.
“I am not anyone's bride," she said.
“Orders from Alpha Davis," the warrior said. “You ran away. You're coming back with us."
He started toward her.
The owner stepped in front of him.
“She works for me," the woman said. “If she owes someone money, they ca
