The Alpha's Marked Mate

Dinner(Stefan)

The concept of this family is bizarre, to say the least. You murder your sister after she gives back to your children. You want the female Alpha to focus solely on your Pack, but you diminish women’s rights by forced pregnancies. This brazen idea was developed less than two hundred years ago, not even a tradition. Someone needs to put an end to this foolishness. Emma is mine.

Personal disdain prevented me from meeting her before today. Over the years, I caught glimpse of her lustrous dark hair. I made my disgust of her life made known to my pack and hers. The whole idea is an abomination.

As she stood by the French doors in the library with dark clouds as a natural backdrop; I knew she was mine. A sense of protectiveness enveloped me. Her every heartbeat timed with mine. Her deep dark blue eyes glanced at obvious rudeness, which I would never tolerate from anyone. Did she feel our connection? Was her tantrum truly over a few Canapés? Was she overwhelmed by the reality of our connection?

Impulsively, I invited myself to dinner. They didn’t need to fix anything fancy. Nobody ever needs a constant stream of heavy foods in their bodies. I wanted to spend time with Emma. Just talking. What are her likes? Dislikes? Does she agree with her former life plan? Her life is about to change. She was not giving birth to anyone’s children except mine as my permanent mate.

Who thought the mini sheer white dress was a good idea for a family dinner? I assumed a bridge of hovering attendants selected Emma’s clothing. A look of dismay covered her face after I frowned my displeasure at Emma’s arrival. A lovely summer dress would have been nice. Shorts and a tank top would have been a better choice than a blatant attempt to strike my desire. My desire isn’t lustful. I want to know her.

As I rose to my feet to greet Emma, she raised an eyebrow mockingly. Flashing a respectful smile, I offered her a seat beside me. It was on the tip of my tongue to inquiry about her day when her mother-aunt started chatting. Someone gently placed a hefty slice of rare prime rib proudly before me as if this family dinner couldn’t possibly have any worse qualities. They do know my tastes. They placed a garden salad with a few sprinklings of meat in front of Emma. She stared down silently at her plate as she c****d her head in amusement. Deft, I sliced half of my Prime Rib in half.

“I hope you don’t mind rare,” I murmured.

“I ama werewolf like you. Rare is the best,” she replied quietly.

Her sister and guardian exchanged surprised looks. I am going to need wine, lots of wine, to make it through this night.