The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 63

Morgan’s POV

“You’re staring at that egg like it personally offended you.” Zane’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, pulling me back to the kitchen table.

The scrambled eggs on my plate have gone cold while I pushed them around with my fork, creating patterns that mean nothing and solve less.

“The egg didn’t do anything wrong,” I admit, finally lifting my gaze to meet his. “I’m just not particularly hungry this morning.”

Zane leans back in his chair, coffee cup cradled between his palms, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern.

The morning light catches the planes of his face, softening the sharp edges that emerged during our confrontation yesterday, and I find myself cataloguing the differences between this version of him and the desperate, possessive man who pinned me against the woodpile.

Both versions are real. Both versions are mine, if I’m willing to claim them.

“You need to eat,” he says, pushing the plate closer. “The baby requires nutrients, and your body deserves better than that, even if your mind hasn’t caught up yet.”

The mention of the baby sends warmth spreading through my chest, complicated and tender in equal measure. I take a bite of the eggs to appease him, and the protein settles into my stomach with unexpected gratitude.

“When did you become so domestic?” I ask, gesturing at the breakfast spread he’s arranged across the table.

Toast cut into triangles, fresh fruit arranged in a ceramic bowl, orange juice poured into glasses that catch the light like liquid sunshine.

Zane’s mouth curves into a smile that does complicated things to my pulse. “I’ve always been domestic. You just never had the opportunity to witness it because we were too busy pretending we didn’t want to tear each other’s clothes off.”

The bluntness of the observation makes heat rise to my cheeks, and I busy myself with another bite of eggs to avoid meeting his eyes directly.

The memories of last night hover between us like smoke—impossible to ignore, difficult to address, transforming the air into something charged with significance.

‘Say what you’re thinking,’ Nireya urges, her presence stirring with impatience. ‘The silence is doing neither of you any favors, and I’m tired of watching you dance around the obvious.’

Zane sets down his coffee cup with a click against the wooden table, and the sound signals a shift in the conversation that I should have anticipated.

“I wanted to mark you last night,” he says, and his voice carries a steadiness that suggests he’s been rehearsing this moment since I came downstairs. “When we were together, I came so close to biting down and making you mine permanently.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” I say quietly.

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. “Why not?”

I remember my sensations—Zane’s teeth grazing the junction of my neck and shoulder, the primal urge rising through my blood like wildfire, Nireya’s howl of mate, mate, mate echoing through my consciousness.

Every instinct I possess demanded that I let him complete the bite, that I surrender to the bond pulsing between us with such ferocious certainty.

The refusal cost me more than I want to admit, and the memory of denying both of us still aches somewhere deep in my chest.

“I’m not ready,” I say finally. “The timing felt wrong.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt, and I’m grateful for the space to find the right words.

“My wolf wanted you to mark her,” I continue, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “She was howling for it. But I couldn’t let you bind us permanently when I hadn’t even processed what it means to have two mates.”

Zane’s expression shifts, curiosity replacing the hurt I glimpsed moments before. “What does it mean to you? Having two mates?”

“Fourteen.” The number sounds excessive when I say it aloud, but the circumstances justify the desperation.

“I’ve apologized, I’ve explained, I’ve begged her to let me know she’s safe, and the only response I’ve received is silence. Ricky doesn’t do silence, Zane.”

“Maybe she just needs more time,” Zane offers, but the uncertainty in his voice suggests he doesn’t entirely believe his own reassurance. “Finding out that your closest friend transforms into a wolf isn’t exactly information that processes quickly.”

“She’s had days to process,” I counter, and the fear threads through my voice like poison. “This is not like her, Zane, I am telling you.”

Before Zane can respond, his phone rings with a sharp tone that cuts through the kitchen.

He pulls the device from his pocket and glances at the screen, his expression shifting into something more serious as he reads the caller information. “It’s Paul.”

My pulse quickens, anxiety and anticipation tangling together in my chest as Zane answers the call and presses the phone to his ear.

The conversation is brief, one-sided from my perspective, and I watch his face for clues about whatever information Paul is delivering.

His jaw tightens. His shoulders draw back with the particular tension of receiving orders.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

Zane meets my eyes with urgency. “Paul says we need to come back to the packhouse. Now.”

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