Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 246

Chapter 246: Chapter 246

Jacob’s Perspective

The days that followed flowed like honey left to warm in the sun—slow, thick, and sweet enough to make a person feel lightheaded. Assuming, of course, you weren’t the type to gag on sappy metaphors.

The hangover crew didn’t start dragging themselves off the floor and out of chairs until well past noon the next day, groaning, clutching their heads, and cursing as they hunted for water. Lily’s eyes were still hazy when she spotted me, but they sharpened quickly, darting between Celena and me before her mouth stretched into a knowing grin.

I ignored her, shoving a mug of strong black coffee into her hands to shut her up.

Celena’s condition improved visibly, day by day. It wasn’t a forced, put-on cheerfulness, but a slow, steady resurgence of life from the inside out. In the mornings, she’d wake with me—not jolted from a nightmare, but naturally, to the sound of birdsong. Sometimes I’d wake first and just watch her sleep, the early light tracing her eyelashes in gold, her breathing even and calm.

We didn’t talk much about that night in the woods. Some things just *are* after they happen, etched deeper than words into your bones. But the atmosphere between us shifted. More intimate. More relaxed. More... *right*.

She’d pull up a stool beside me while I worked on the old Ford, a book in her lap or just a steaming mug of tea loaded with sugar and milk—her sweet tooth was as persistent as a kid’s. The smell of motor oil and metal mixed with her warm, sweet scent became my new, ridiculously distracting background noise. When I’d slide out from under the truck, face and hands smeared with grease, she’d wordlessly pass me a clean rag, her fingers sometimes brushing the back of my hand, sparking a tiny, insignificant current that went straight to my core.

"Here," she’d say, pointing to a complicated diagram in the open repair manual, her brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement. "Why is this part designed this way? It doesn’t seem efficient." Her questions could be surprisingly technical.

"Because the engineer who designed it was probably an idiot. Or drunk," was my usual reply, taking the manual and trying to explain leverage or hydraulics in terms she’d understand. Her eyes would follow my moving finger with intense focus, a nod here and there, a strand of brown hair slipping from behind her ear to brush her cheek. I couldn’t resist then, using a relatively clean part of my wrist to tuck it back. My fingertips would graze the warm shell of her ear, and her cheeks would pinken, but she never pulled away.

Time vanished during moments like that. Pack business, border patrols—all of it got temporarily muted. All that existed was the occasional soft sound of her laughter and the brief, warm pressure where our knees touched.

Of course, it wasn’t just the two of us. This was a pack. A loud, messy family.

Lily appointed herself the most annoying—no, the most *enthusiastic*—observer. She seemed to take "ensuring Celena’s genuine happiness" as her new personal mission. She’d pop up out of nowhere, dragging Celena to the kitchen under the pretense of "teaching you my grandma’s secret stew recipe that makes grown men weak in the knees." Celena would tie on an apron, clumsy but utterly earnest, her eyes watering from chopping onions in a way that made me want to laugh and simultaneously pull her out of there. Lily would stand by, hands on her hips, loudly heckling me for lurking in the doorway.

"Look at him, pathetic!" Lily’s voice carried through half the house. "Celena, remember, the simmering time is key! And don’t you dare let him taste it early. Make him wait!"

Celena would glance over her shoulder, giving me a smile that was a little harried from the steam and smoke but blindingly bright. It hit me square in the chest, turning everything inside to mush. I’d grunt and pretend to walk away impatiently, ears still tuned to the sound of their laughter from inside.

The twins weren’t idle either. They’d "happen" to bring back the freshest wild berries from the woods or a still-flopping trout from the stream, dumping them unceremoniously at Celena’s feet.

"For you!" Dave would grin, all white teeth. "Bet Jacob never told you fish is his favorite."

Jim would sidle up to me, dropping his voice to a stage whisper everyone could hear. "So, bro, what’s the progress? Need us to clear out? We can make ourselves scarce all night, guaranteed."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify