Exiting the dimly lit storeroom, I reenter the kitchen. A loud thump reverberates from the dining area as I meticulously put the final touches on the platter. I can't help but feel relieved that I'm in the kitchen and not out there in the dining area amid the commotion.
I draw my hood up to conceal my bruised eye, but I know it won't hide my split lip. I plan to discreetly bite over it when necessary, a silent way to hide the evidence of my ordeal. With cautious steps, I approach the counter, ready to take the guests' orders. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact. They all speak to me gruffly and intimidatingly, as though I have unwittingly ruined their day.
Jim approaches me, his voice low and strained. 'Alpha... I mean, Ryker over there would like a vanilla milkshake with some cookies,' he informs me.
Nodding in response, I jot down the order, carefully avoiding any mistakes. With practised efficiency, I make my way to the coffee machine, expertly preparing lattes, hot chocolates, and plain coffees. I call out the drinks and place them on the counter, allowing the men to retrieve their orders.
I’ve now finished all the orders except for Rykers, and then I realize I haven't brought the platter of biscuits, dips, and meats out. Panic courses through me as I attempt to lift the large platter, but a small whimper escapes my lips, the weight unbearable against my broken ribs. Alpha Ryker's intense gaze darts toward me.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I draw a deep breath, determined to bear the pain. Slowly, I carry the platter towards the table, placing it before the men, furthest away from Ryker.
Ryker’s eyes are still on me, and I don’t like any of this one bit. I feel so uncomfortable that I long to escape, retreat to the storeroom, and hide among the bags of rice like a timid mouse.
Returning to the kitchen, I release my breath with a sigh of relief, gingerly pressing my hand against the throbbing ache in my ribs. But then it hits me like a sudden wave—Ryker's drink and cookies. Panic surges through my veins, my heart pounding as I dash around the kitchen, frantically preparing his beverage and arranging two cookies on a plate. My eyes remain downcast as I nervously approach Ryker again, his intense gaze never leaving me. Has he been watching me this entire time? With a cautious glance upward, I notice him squinting as if attempting to peer beneath the concealing shadows of my hood.
In the background, the other men are shouting over one another, voices raised in heated discussion about someone named Zenith and a town called Shady Crest. They mention rogues, a familiar term I recognize, for Jim referred to me as a rogue earlier. A map lies before Ryker, and the men huddle around it, drawing circles and squiggly lines and discussing plans for setting up watch posts here and there. My nerves intensify as the diner falls into an eerie silence; all eyes are now trained on me. I don't need to look up to feel the weight of their scrutiny.
With a trembling hand, I place the milkshake and the plate of cookies on the table in front of Ryker. 'Here is your order, sir,' I murmur to him, my voice barely above a whisper, and I turn to leave. But then, in a low and authoritative tone that sends a shiver down my spine, Ryker speaks again, making me jump. 'Wait,' he commands. 'What is wrong with your ribs?' His question hangs in the air, and I wonder how he even knew I was in pain.
Slowly, I turn to face him, my eyes still downcast. 'N-nothing is wrong…’ I stammer, my words trailing off. How could he have noticed?
'You struggled to lift the platter. It caused you a lot of pain,' he observes, his voice carrying a disconcerting certainty. 'And why do you smell so strongly of vanilla and cookies?' He inquires unrelentingly.
'I-I um, I just made it for you. Perhaps that is why?' I reply, the words escaping me in a nervous jumble as I hurriedly turn to make my escape back to the safety of the kitchen.
But his command stops me in my tracks. 'Stop,' he orders, his voice echoing. 'Remove your hood, rogue.'
Frozen in place, I find myself halfway to the kitchen, my heart pounding. Desperation leads me to turn and glance at Jim, silently seeking his help.
'Astrid, go and have your break, dear,' Jim intervenes, his tone gentle and fatherly.
I nod gratefully, my eyes conveying my silent thanks, before turning to flee through the kitchen and out the back door into the cool embrace of the evening air.
Meanwhile in the diner, Alpha Ryker's piercing gaze remains locked on Jim as he growls, his voice low and filled with suspicion. 'You said she's a rogue?'
Jim stands his ground. 'Yes, she is,' he asserts firmly.
Ryker's brows furrow deeply as he questions, 'Then how come she smells so sweet?' His voice is filled with incredulity.
Jim chuckles lightly in response. 'As Astrid says, she just made it for you,' he explains, shaking his head in disbelief at Ryker's apparent confusion.
But Ryker's agitation persists, and he glares at Jim, pressing a hand against his chest in an effort to calm his restless wolf. 'I could smell it before she made it for me, and my wolf has been extremely restless since I got here. Even now, I'm struggling to keep him back,' he confesses, his voice filled with frustration.
The entire diner falls into stunned silence as the men exchange bewildered glances, all eyes trained on Alpha Ryker. Seth, his beta, steps forward, voicing the obvious question. 'Alpha, you don't possibly think that rogue could be your mate, do you?'
Ryker's response is immediate and laced with laughter. 'I could never have a rogue as my mate, Seth. I'm an Alpha. It's unheard of for the moon goddess to match an Alpha with a rogue,' he states confidently, dismissing the notion entirely.