After One Night with the Alpha Chapter 137

Elle's POV

I stared at Brad, holding that ridiculous yellow rubber chicken, waiting for his answer. The way his ears turned red told me everything I needed to know, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice gruff with embarrassment. "So... are you still pissed at me?"

My heart did this weird little skip. Here was this powerful Alpha werewolf, looking like a nervous teenager asking someone to prom. The contrast between his usual commanding presence and this awkward vulnerability was so unexpected that I couldn't help but smile.

"You're serious?" I asked, looking down at the wallet he'd literally shoved into my hands. The leather was soft and expensive, and I could smell his scent on it. "This is actually a date?"

"Of course it's a fucking date," he muttered, then seemed to realize he'd cursed and cleared his throat. "I mean... yes. It's a date."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

"Well then," I said, testing the waters, "if this is a date, that means I can eat whatever I want, right? Do whatever I want?"

Brad nodded immediately, so eager it was almost comical. "Anything."

"Whatever makes you happy."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight.

I looked at him—really looked at him. His dark hair was slightly messed up, like he'd been running his fingers through it. There was tension in his shoulders, and I realized he was genuinely nervous about this. About us.

"Okay," I said softly. "Let's go on a date."

The relief that crossed his features was so obvious that I couldn't help but laugh. And for the first time in days, it felt real.

---

As we walked through the shopping district, I caught sight of Alex in the distance, trying very hard to look like he wasn't following us.

"Ice cream first?" Brad asked, gesturing toward a colorful cart.

"Definitely."

He ordered for both of us, and I watched as he handed the vendor cash without even checking the price. The simple vanilla cone he gave me tasted like pure joy—or maybe that was just my mood lifting for the first time in days.

"This is good," I said, licking the dripping edges.

Brad was watching me eat with an intensity that should have been creepy but somehow wasn't. "You're smiling," he observed.

"Yeah, well, ice cream tends to do that." I caught a drip with my tongue.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer and took my hand.

His fingers interlaced with mine, warm and solid. I looked up at him in surprise.

"Couples hold hands," he said matter-of-factly, but there was uncertainty in his voice. "Right?"

I squeezed his fingers gently. "Right."

---

Apparently, word had spread quickly that Alpha Brad Rayne was walking around holding hands with a human girl. By the time we'd made it through half the shopping district, I noticed people starting to stare.

At first it was subtle—sideways glances, whispered conversations. But as we continued walking, the attention became more obvious. People were openly pulling out their phones to take pictures.

"Brad," I said nervously, "maybe we should—"

"No." His grip on my hand tightened. "Let them look."

A group of young werewolf women had stopped directly in our path, phones raised, giggling as they snapped photos. I tried to tug Brad toward a different route, but he didn't budge.

"But everyone's staring," I protested.

Brad stopped walking and turned to face me fully. His amber eyes were intense, serious.

"Good," he said, his voice carrying that Alpha authority that always made my knees weak. "I want everyone to see us together."

Before I could respond, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to my knuckles. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender, so publicly intimate, that I felt my breath catch.

The group of werewolf girls let out a collective gasp, and I heard someone mutter "Lucky bitch" with obvious envy.

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. The way Brad was looking at me, like I was the only person in the world who mattered—it was overwhelming.

"You're mine," he repeated quietly, just for me. "And I don't care who knows it."

By lunchtime, we'd eaten our way through half the food carts in the area. My phone was buzzing with notifications—apparently photos of our "date" were already circulating on social media.

"Movie?" he asked as we finished sharing a bag of kettle corn.

"Yeah."

"What kind of movie?"

"Surprise me," I said.

The look he gave me was almost vulnerable. "What if you don't like it?"

"Then we'll leave and find something else to do." I stood on my tiptoes and, before I could lose my nerve, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "It's about spending time together, not about the perfect activity."

The movie he chose was some romantic drama about a regular girl who falls for a guy from a completely different world. The parallels to our situation weren't lost on me, and I wondered if that had been intentional.

The theater was packed, mostly with couples, and I could feel curious eyes on us throughout the previews. Brad seemed tense beside me.

"You okay?" I whispered.

"Too many people," he murmured back. "Too many scents."

I realized this was probably his first time in a crowded space like this.

"We can leave," I offered.

"No." His hand found mine in the darkness. "I can handle it if you're here."

The movie started, and I tried to focus on the screen, but I was hyperaware of Brad beside me. The warmth of his hand, the way he kept glancing at me instead of watching the film, the tension in his shoulders gradually relaxing as he got used to the environment.

About halfway through, during a particularly emotional scene where the female lead was crying over the impossibility of her situation, I felt my own eyes start to water. The character's pain felt too familiar—loving someone who came from a world that would never fully accept you, never sure if their feelings were real or just circumstance.

"Elle." Brad's voice was soft beside me. "You're crying."

I wiped my eyes quickly. "It's just the movie."

Brad was quiet for a moment, watching the screen where the male lead was trying to convince the girl that he chose her, not his expected life.

"You're better than her," he said finally.

I looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"The actress. The character." His eyes met mine in the dim theater light. "You're stronger. Braver. More..." He seemed to struggle for the word. "More worthy of being fought for."

My heart stopped. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

"Is that your way of telling me you're falling for me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light despite the way my heart was hammering.

The smile that spread across his face was slow and devastating.

"That's my way of telling you I already fell."