Bound to the Alpha

9. Ashes

     The following evening, the Silver Dawn Pack held a burial for their lost kin.

     Angelina remained in the Pack House, listening to the faint voices of women, men and children singing for Jack one last time. The echoes of their pain and sorrow filtered through the Territory like a heavy pall. She heard footsteps downstairs moving about in the early hours of the morning and a few voices but no one had knocked on her door when silence lingered after their departure.

     She couldn't find the energy to saunter downstairs and make herself a meal because she felt their anguish. It was hard to not notice the sombre shadow that soaked up the Pack.

     Death was death.

     It didn't matter that their Packs weren't on friendly terms. Someone had taken a loved one from each of their Packs.

    Unfortunately their loved one hadn't returned the way they anticipated.

     Angelina paused on a single line of her book, sensing the presence standing outside her door. She recognised his scent before his knuckles softly rapped on the door, almost hesitating. She waited a few seconds, perplexed.

     Had he gotten the right door? He couldn't possibly be looking for her at this hour.

     She heard his boots shift a little, before a soft thump landed on her door. "Angelina."

     Her name was so softly spoken, she barely heard it through the hardwood timber of the door.

     She closed her book and glanced at the clock hanging on her wall. It was a little after midnight. She hadn't realised that she had read for so long. She slipped her book into the small crevice seated between the two pillows she hauled off the bed and placed on the window settee to make her comfortable. She enjoyed that particular spot the most since she could see the whole Pack through the tinted glass.

     Angelina tiptoed to the door, peeking through the little hole.

     She couldn't get a good look at him because the man had his forehead pressed up to her door, obscuring her view. "Mason?"

     The man didn't respond for a few seconds but then he staggered a few steps back. When she finally had a good view of his expression, she noted that those hazel eyes were unfocused. A dark green bottle dangled limply in his grasp as he tapped his palm against her door for the third time.

     The man was drunk.

     She was momentarily struck speechless.

     Did he lose himself on his way to his room?

     She took a quick glimpse of her clothes, slightly horrified that she had only donned on a pale yellow singlet that did wonders to her boobs and plain underwear. "Uh, one second." She called out, sprinting to her suitcase. Mason may have said something but she had already rushed off to grab some decent things to don. She yanked out a robe, pulling it over her shoulders before sliding into a pair of dark leggings.

     It didn't matter that she looked like a fashion disaster. She was more focused on the drunk Alpha dawdling outside her door, looking like a lost puppy.

     When she unlocked the door and tugged it open, the man's gaze instantly swung her way.

     She noted that he was still dressed in the clothes that he must have worn to the burial.

     That lethal body was covered in a classic solid black suit and crisp white shirt. He wore no tie but there was a piece of black folded material poking up from the breast pocket. His hair was slicked neatly to the side and his wrist shined with a metallic glint from the thick watch he wore. Outwardly, he seemed fine but those red-rimmed eyes said otherwise.