The Alpha's Protective Mate

12

Charlotte Sanguinite

Carrying Mano’s crate, I walk inside and close the door. Ricky has left a note for me on the front desk.

Charlotte,

Everything is done. The animals are resting. You just need to feed the kittens according to their schedule. I just fed them. I’ve left a folding mattress in the back office for you in case you want to sleep.

Sorry, and thanks,

Ricky

A small smile on my lips, I set down the note and head to the bathroom to change into my pajamas, but not before opening Mano’s cat box. She’s been here plenty of times; she jumps out and explores the office, sniffing around. Putting my hair up in a messy bun, and feeling more relaxed in my loose pajamas, I check the fridge in the kitchen. It’s always stocked because Ricky likes to eat at night. I pour myself a glass of milk and warm it up before looking at all the baked goods I got from Shelby.

I select a beef bun and a pizza sandwich. Sitting in the back office, I have my dinner, trying not to think about the events of today. Now that I’ve been sufficiently distracted, my pessimism has begun to fade away. I’ll get through this. I always do. I won’t let some arrogant Alpha ruin my mood or my life. Besides, it won’t be the worst thing to actually leave this city. And I don’t even have to sell the apartment. I can just rent it out. Plus, if I can secure a job at some ranch or farm, Mano would love the freedom.

Feeling a little more bolstered, I snort. Robert Montgomery can go suck it. Just because I like the way he smiles doesn’t mean he’s any less of a jerk. I saved his life, and he’s repaying me by trying to kick me out of Portland. If he knew it was me who saved his life, I wonder if he’d be singing the same tune?

My expression grows dark.

Not that I can tell him. I don’t want to be dragged into this war between the two species.

I pick up my dirty plate and glass and wash them in the sink, my mind wandering. Angie did warn me that my future was uncertain. She seemed to be sure that there was something bad coming to Portland soon, and that I would find myself involved in it somehow.

Perhaps it would be for the best if I leave now. Now is as good a time as any. I don’t have much experience aside from waitressing and working in coffee shops as a barista. Perhaps I should give farmwork a try. I might even be good at it.

My lips curve as I chuckle at myself. The image of myself in overalls, hauling around a bale of hay, is a ridiculous sight, even in my own imagination, and most likely an exaggerated one. I should probably look up what kinds of jobs are available at a farm, though.

As I put the dishes aside to dry, I feel my heart becoming lighter.

I’ve always been adaptable. It was the only way I could survive after being thrown out of my home at such a vulnerable age. I had to protect myself against all kinds of predators that had human faces. But beneath the hurt and the fear was a desperate desire to live, to survive.

My hands curl around the edge of the marble sink, and I press my lips together in determination.

I’m going to be fine.

I’ll weather this storm as I have the others before it.

Hearing one of the dogs barking from the other room, I wipe my hands on a towel and head to the source of the sound. One of the younger dogs, a six-month-old Labrador, is frantically digging at his cage and barking. Realizing he needs to go out, I grab a leash and open his cage. He bolts for the door that leads to the yard, but I grab him and secure the leash to his collar.

Once outside, I walk him over to one of the trees and let him do his business.

When he’s done, his head swivels to the side, and I see a streak move past. It takes me less than a second to process what it was, and my heart crawls into my throat in sheer panic.

“Mano!”

Damn it! I must have left the door open!

She’s not listening to me, already scrambling up the tree, eager to explore.

“Mano, no!” I have one hand on the leash, the puppy barking his head off, as my one-eyed adventurer contemplates the top of the fence.

I quickly begin tying the dog’s leash to the tree trunk when I see Mano jump. A strangled sound leaves my throat as she flies right over the wooden fence.

I don’t have time to waste.

While Mano is mostly an indoor cat, I take her out on walks, so much so that she isn’t scared of being outside. I’ve never let her out alone by herself. But since this isn’t the first time she’s outside, she won’t be scared. Her instinct won’t be to hide under a car. She’ll go exploring.

Securing the dog, I climb up the tree and jump. My reflexes are nimble, and I land on the edge of the fence. Slipping to the cement ground on the other side, I begin calling out, “Mano! Mano, come here!”

However, Mano doesn’t respond.

I’ve worked in this shelter long enough to know what happens to indoor cats who escape.

“Mano!” My voice breaks as I run down the street, tears burning my eyes, my heart thudding so hard against my rib cage that it feels like it will burst out of me.

“Mano, come back!” My face is wet as I stagger to a stop, looking up and down the street. I can’t see her anywhere. My body is heavy with fear and grief.

“What do I do?” The words are torn out of me in a broken sob. “Mano!”

But there’s no sign of her anywhere.

I’m not a crybaby, but I stand there, in the middle of the empty street, with tears streaming down my face. I feel as if my whole world has suddenly gone dark.

I can’t lose Mano. She’s my only family.

“Mano!” The sound is a wretched whimper. I don’t know which way to turn. Where do I begin looking?

“Charlotte.” A calm voice from behind me has me turning around, and I see Robert Montgomery standing there, his expression strange.

In his arms, he’s holding Mano.