Alpha's Stolen Mate

Chapter 11

Emric would've given anything to make her sit next to him, look at him with those tentalizing eyes of hers, and smile at him with that irresistible smile of hers. Her eyes were the colour of honey, irises swirling like the sweet nectar. Oh boy, she had a smile like spring, but her eyes were autumn with a hint of passing summer, drawing him in every passing millisecond.

He could have given his soul just to have her delicate, slender hands all over his hands.

But he couldn't do anything. He sat there, his heart aching. He'd never experienced yearning like this, so strong it threatened to consume him. He sat there trying to divert his eyes at anything but the young couple until he couldn't take the torment any longer, and he had to excuse himself. What was it about Dorothea that captivated him so. What was it about her that he couldn't stop thinking about her. What was it about her that made him want her so much. Why was fate doing this to him again? Desiring someone he couldn't have?

He knew how it felt like to long for someone's presence. He knew how it felt like to yearn for someone's touch. He knew how it felt like to crave for someone. Yet you do nothing about it.

You merely exist. Letting the torture rip you apart.

He watched her being lovey-dovey with his son. And he knew it was a sin to have romantic fantasies of another wolf's mate, but he couldn't control it. And besides, what was the worst thing that could happen? As it was, he was already feeling like a fractured mirror deep inside his entire being. And before it could cause him further emotional agony, he had to take action.

He waited until everyone finished before he could summon Nate. It wasn't supposed to be an official meeting, but Nate had come along Theo, Mark, and Aron. This wasn't something he wished to tell the whole pack, but Nate couldn't know now. Could he? And he wasn't about to dismiss the rest of his betas. It wouldn't look good. And such mistakes as secret meetings could cause division among his family, and he wasn't going to let that happen. Emric needed all his men more than he needed to keep what he was about to tell them a secret.

"So, what's going on, Ric?" Nate asked, throwing some cashew nuts in his mouth as he pulled out his armchair that was a character of graceful curves, ornate carvings, and luxurious upholstery.

Emric watched them as they took their respective seats. He watched them, and for the very first time, maybe, seen how relaxed, calmed, content, and earnest they all seemed. Maybe it was the anguish in him that had opened his eyes to see more clearly. To see everything more plainly.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, clenched his jaws, and then opened them again. Everyone in the room had their eyes on him, and he could feel all that they were feeling. Concern. Fear. Anxious. Nervous. Restless. Impatient. And they had no idea what was going on with him. Except for what they could feel through the pack bond they all shared.

His fingers rested against the armrest, unmoving.

Ireland rose unbidden in his mind.

The cold stone hall of the Ashford estate rose in his mind, sharp and unwelcome. Torches had burned along the walls, their light flickering over the faces of clan men who had watched him with open doubt.

He’s too young.

The title should have gone to someone stronger.

Too soft.

Too sentimental.

An Alpha who hesitates is no Alpha at all.

Emric remembered standing at the center of the hall, shoulders squared, his father’s ring heavy on his finger. His hand had clenched at his side while the older wolves studied him like he was something unfinished.

Unworthy.

His jaw tightened in the present.

The memory shifted again—another night, another confrontation. Voices raised. The scent of challenge thick in the air.

You carry the name, one of the elders had told him, eyes hard and unimpressed. But a name doesn’t make a leader.

You feel too much, one of the elders had said, his voice carrying through the hall. An Alpha cannot afford that weakness.

Sentiment will destroy a pack.

Emric’s jaw tightened.

He remembered the way the clan men had watched him then—measuring him, dissecting every decision he made. To them, strength meant ruthlessness. Mercy meant weakness. And every time he chose restraint instead of bloodshed, their doubts grew louder.

Not worthy of the title.

The words had followed him like a shadow.

A chair scraped faintly in the present.

Emric blinked once, the memory dissolving as the meeting room returned. The ocean air of Swakopmund hung faintly in the room, salt carried inland by the wind. This place was far from the stone halls of Ireland—far from the clan that had watched him like a trial waiting to happen.

And yet he knew it was his heart that made him brutish. He rose to this power and status purely through the strength of his character by virtue, and by the sheer force of his own will alone. And he wouldn't be able to achieve all that he'd achieved so far with a greedy heart.

Thirty-five wolves had followed him here.

Not out of obligation.

Out of loyalty.

His gaze shifted across the table to the betas speaking, their voices steady, their postures relaxed in his presence. None of them looked at him with the suspicion he remembered so well. He knew they were proud of him. He was purebred and he was proud of himself too. Or rather in most cases he was. Right in this moment? Not so much. Because rarely he was one Alpha that couldn't control his emotions. He couldn't conceal his vulnerabilities.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He remained standing, contemplating, calculating as to how to start the conversation. But it seemed the longer he stalled, the more confused everyone was becoming.

He cleared his throat. "I have something to-"

Footsteps coming up the stairs alerted everyone in the room. Unfamiliar footsteps coming up to the most secluded part of the house.

"Is that part of the reason why we are here?" Mark asked, resting his hands on the table.

Emric gripped the arm of the chair he had been leaning on since he came into the meeting room.

He shook his head, furrowing his brows in an attempt to figure out who was coming. He couldn't tell if this was a good riddance or if it was something even more dangerous than confessing to his betas that he had feelings for his son's girlfriend and wanted-no needed help changing her field of study to something that didn't include history.

The footsteps become faint as they reached the anteroom. Soft, measured footsteps, but impossible for Emric to miss. His fingers loosened against the chair, the whitened knuckles gaining their color finally. He listened, shoulders tense, every muscle drawn tight as his senses stretched outward.

Another step. Then another.

His gaze sharpened, fixed on the door as if he could see through the thick wood. He could smell the scent of a female. A werewolf. He could also smell blood.

"She's injured." Theo whispered, stating the obvious.

Emrix raised a hand, and everyone held their tongues. The faint scraped of a shoe against the floor echoed in his ears, each sound clean and deliberate. His jaw loosened slightly, his heartbeat slowed, steadied, the room's air finally feeling- lighter.

"Do you know her?" Nate asked, creasing his forehead.

Emric nodded, eyes narrowing, and signalled everyone to follow him outside.