The Alpha I Live With Knew Me Long Ago

"Static," Silas muttered, breaking the heavy silence from the night before.

He had stared at his trembling hand, shoved it deep into his pocket, and stalked away without another word.

Now, morning sunlight filtered through the dirty kitchen windows. I kept my promise. I found a metal bucket, a frayed rag, and a block of harsh-smelling soap under the sink. I tied my hair back and got to work.

"You're moving my things," Silas said.

He stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a mug of black coffee. He kept a wide berth, pressing his massive shoulder against the doorframe to stay as far from me as possible. His eyes tracked my every movement.

"I'm cleaning them," I corrected, scrubbing a layer of grease off the wooden counter.

"I didn't ask you to scrub the kitchen."

"I said I'd work for my keep. This place is a disaster."

His jaw clenched. "I like it how it is."

"You like living in filth?"

"I like living alone."

He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room. He had to pass behind me to reach the sink. The space was incredibly narrow. As his broad chest brushed past my shoulder, a sudden, heavy pressure seized my lungs.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A strange, magnetic pull dragged my attention straight to him. My blood rushed through my veins, humming with the same wild energy from last night.

Silas froze mid-step.

The dark coffee in his mug sloshed over the rim, burning his knuckles. He didn't even flinch at the heat. His head tilted, leaning just an inch toward my neck. He inhaled sharply.

"Do I smell bad?" I asked, gripping the edge of the wet counter.

"What is that?" His voice was a low, rough scrape.

"Cheap soap?"

"No." He stepped back quickly, putting three feet of distance between us. His chest heaved as he stared at me, his eyes wide with a frantic, chaotic energy. "You smell like..."

"Like what?"

He cut himself off. The vulnerability vanished, replaced instantly by cold, hard stone.

"Like the city," he snapped. "It's suffocating."

"I'll stay out of your way, then."

"See that you do." He dumped the rest of his coffee down the drain and marched out of the room.

By afternoon, I moved to the hallway. The wooden floorboards were warped and slick with soapy water. I dragged the mop in wide arcs, trying to ignore the constant prickle of awareness on the back of my neck. Silas sat in the living room, staring at an open book. He hadn't turned a page in an hour.

"You're using too much water," his voice boomed from the armchair.

"The wood is stained," I called back. "It needs soaking."

"You're going to rot the floor."

I turned around, leaning my weight on the wooden mop handle. "If you want it done your way, Silas, do it yourself."

"I told you I didn't need a maid."

"And I told you I pay my debts. A deal is a deal."

I shifted my stance to face him fully. My wet sock hit a puddle of soapy water. My foot shot out from under me.

"Ah!"

I braced for the bone-jarring impact of the hard wood. It never came.

A massive arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me upward with terrifying speed. Silas crushed me against his solid chest. His grip was iron-tight, his large fingers digging into my ribs to keep me upright.

The moment our bodies collided, that same scorching jolt erupted between us.

It shot through my veins, setting every nerve on fire. My skin buzzed. My heart slammed against my sternum, syncing perfectly with the rapid, thunderous beating of his own heart.

Silas let out a low, rough groan. His face dropped, burying his nose into my hair. He took a deep, dragging breath. The scent of pine, rain, and dark earth wrapped around me, clouding my senses.

A violent shudder ripped through his massive frame. He was shaking. The man who looked like he could snap trees in half was trembling while holding me.

For a split second, his grip tightened. He pulled me closer, erasing the last millimeter of space between us.

Then, his entire body went rigid.

He shoved me backward.

I stumbled, my hip slamming into the hallway wall to keep from falling.

"Watch where you're stepping!" Silas roared. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.

"I slipped," I gasped, rubbing my bruised side.

"You're careless. You're going to break your neck, and I'll be the one dealing with the corpse."

"You didn't have to catch me."

"Next time, I won't."

He dragged a shaking hand down his face. He refused to look at me. He stared at the blank wall above my head, his jaw ticking furiously.

"Clean this up," he snapped. "And stay out of my sight."

He spun around and took the stairs two at a time, the wooden steps groaning under his weight.

Night fell, bringing a bitter chill to the cabin. The storm outside had turned to sleet, pelting the glass window of my small guest room.

I lay on the thin mattress, shivering uncontrollably. My sweater wasn't enough to block out the freezing draft creeping through the floorboards. I curled into a tight ball, rubbing my arms to generate heat.

A floorboard creaked out in the hallway.

I held my breath.

Heavy footsteps approached my door. They stopped right outside.

"Silas?" I whispered into the dark.

No answer.

A faint rustling sound came from the other side of the wood. Then, silence. The footsteps retreated, moving down the hall toward the master bedroom. His door clicked shut.

I threw off my thin sheet and crept across the freezing floor. I turned the knob slowly and peeked out into the dark hallway.

A thick, heavy wool blanket sat neatly folded on the floor right outside my room.

I picked it up. It was incredibly warm. I buried my face in the dark fabric. The scent of woodsmoke and pine hit my senses instantly. It was his blanket. He had brought it straight from his own bed.

I pulled it around my shoulders, letting the warmth soak into my freezing skin.

Through the thin walls, I heard a dull thud.

I pressed my ear against the cold plaster.

Silas was pacing in the room next door.

"Stop it," his voice rumbled, muffled by the wall. It sounded strained, laced with an agonizing frustration. "You don't know her. It's not her."

Another thud, like a fist hitting a wooden desk.

"Get her scent out of your head," he growled to himself.

I gripped the edges of the wool blanket, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.

Who did he think I was?

And why did my blood sing every time he came near?

I stepped back toward my bed, my eyes locked on the wall separating us. Then, a low, guttural snarl echoed from his room, followed immediately by the terrifying sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces.