The Alpha's False Mate

CHAPTER 11: The Cost of Falling in Love

Instantly after taking a bath and putting on a new silky long-sleeved nightgown and a pair of fluffy fur-lined slippers, Micah leads my way towards an immaculate dining area at the ground floor. I’m directed to take a seat on a white cushioned, intricately carved gold chair at the end of an eight-seater white marbled, gold table. The crystal chandelier that hangs on the high-ceiling and the floor-to-ceiling glass windows ornate with soft pastel curtains light up the space perfectly. I keep on looking around, admiring how big the area is. If I’m to compare, it’s bigger than my entire apartment room. It's a wonder how many people live here. My stomach grumbles at the time that the foods are laid in front of me by several women who dress like Micah. The mouthwatering smell that has been teasing me since I was on the second floor is too rewarding. What did I do to deserve this? I chortle inwardly. Two different sizes of gold forks are placed on the left side of the ceramic plate and a gold knife and two different sizes of spoons on the right. Back at home, I don’t need to use this variety of cutlery. Just a spoon and a fork or, sometimes, my bare hands are enough to scoop and shove the food into my mouth.

“Please, enjoy your dinner,” says Micah.

My sight moves across the faces of the women who are standing in a straight line at one corner of the area. All of them hold their gazes down low. I turn to Micah who’s the nearest to me and ask,

“Why don’t you guys join me? I won’t be able to finish these.”

Micah chuckles softly which makes the inner corner of my eyebrows raise. I can’t tell which part of what I said was funny. When Micah becomes aware that I find her reaction confusing, she stops chuckling and stands up straight.

“Sorry about that,” she begins. “Omegas are only allowed to eat once everybody has eaten. Also, we have our own dining area. We’re not permitted to use this place.”

The furrow in my brow deepens. Here we are again with these unfamiliar terms that I keep hearing from these werewolves. Unlike earlier when my mind was bone-tired taking in stuff that I never imagined possible, it’s rejuvenated now after a refreshing bath. I’m ready to ask more.

“What’s an omega?”

Micah doesn’t think twice in responding. She says, “An omega is the lowest ranking werewolf of the pack. We’re usually young werewolves that are new to the pack life and still learning but some are werewolves that have been lowered in rank due to wrong actions.”

I bob my head, acknowledging her explanation. If an omega is the lowest rank, then I assume that the alpha is the leader of the pack. What about me? If I really am a werewolf now, what’s my rank then? I’m pretty sure I’d be at the bottom rank coz I'm new to their world, but the way these omegas are treating me only means that I’m not one of them.

“I’m not an omega, right. If so, what am I?” I ask.

“I’ll discuss that to you after you eat and after we eat,” she says.

My lips purse. How did I let that rule fall through the c***k? I don't want them to get hungry so with quickness, I grab the medium-sized spoon and fork and start digging my spoon into the yellow thick soup garnished with croutons. The instant the pumpkin soup and garlic buttery croutons hit my tongue, bursts of flavor celebrate in my mouth. The thick slices of grilled beef tenderloin join the festivity in my mouth too. Foods keep coming out from the kitchen area and I keep devouring them. I only stop eating when I feel full. To my surprise, all the plates and bowls are empty with only stains and residuals of sauce and oil left. I burp with satisfaction.

“I’m that hungry, huh?”

Though what I said is just a whisper to myself, Micah responds to it. She says,

“That’s normal, because your body is still in the process of transitioning.”

I feel a bit embarrass though. I offer to share the food with others, only to eat all of it on my own.

“Thanks for the food,” I say.

Soon after I rise from my seat, Mr. Acsota’s subtle nutmeg scent coated with a sharp peppermint perfume swirls around me. He’s somewhere near. As much as I’d like to see him, I’m reminded of the disgraceful action I did earlier. I don’t wanna do it again, so it’s best to avoid him until I learn to control this strong yet upsetting emotion I have for him. I haven’t had the chance to take a step when another scent lingers in my nose. A sandalwood? These scents combining all at once make me a little dizzy.

“Are you okay?” Micah asks.

“Can I go get some fresh air outside?”

I force a faint smile while nodding so I won’t worry her. I’m sure what’s happening is also a part of the process of coping up with my new self. At the same time when we reach the end of the hallway which is feet away from the living area, Mr. Acosta, together with his bodyguards, and an old but robust looking man in a long white blazer come through the huge double door. Mr. Acosta glances at my direction, avoiding my eyes. That hurts! Not only does he declined to kiss me, but he’s also refusing to look at me. I’m uncomfortable at best.

“Miss Cloette?” Micah asks as she goes back a few steps to get closer to me.

I’m not very good at hiding my thoughts since changing or transitioning or whatever you wanna call it. My eyes are stuck on the two men, now occupying the high-backed antique-looking sofa and couch.

“Who’s the white-sleeked haired man?” I ask.

“That’s Alpha Lavine’s father, Alpha Rusell or Don Rusell Acosta as what humans call him,” Micah replies.

In my peripheral vision, Micah is gawking at me. So, I whisper,

“You know what, I’ll head back to my room on my own. You can join the others for dinner.”

Micah’s eyes glisten as she giggles.

“Really!? How nice of you!” she says then asks, “Are you not gonna be lost finding your bedroom? This mansion is massive.”

I shake my head then answer, “I can trace my own scent back to the bedroom I used.”

“That’s my girl!”

Her excitement is uncontrolled which causes Mr. Acosta and his father to glance at our way, interrupted with whatever they’re about to do or discuss. Both Micah and I tilt our heads as a form of an apology to them, then hide ourselves behind the white wall of the hallway.

“Go on. You can have your dinner now,” I say.

After whispering ‘thank you’, Micah walks through the glass sliding door along the hallway and disappears into the garden. Just when I’m about to walk away too, a low throaty voice speaks.

“I was about to visit you in your suite but I was told that you’re here, which is a surprise. So I thought that maybe your luna is here that’s why you’re here too.”

The mention of the word ‘luna’ ceases my movement. My chest generates a harsh rattling sound that’s prodding my ears. The voice, whom I presume belongs to Don Rusell, continues.

“So, is she here?”

It takes a moment before Mr. Acosta replies, “She isn’t.”

His answer is emotionless and short but sufficient for an abrupt silence to fall in the air. Though I don’t see their faces, I sense the tangible awkwardness around them. Soon, that silence is dulled by Mr. Acosta when he adds,

“Didn’t I promise that I’ll bring her on your birthday?”

Don Rusell laughs but Mr. Acosta remains quiet at his father’s reaction. I’m proud and blessed to have this new found ability to hear sounds at a long distance. It’s not really my thing to eavesdrop on people, but when it comes to knowing Mr. Acosta, I’d gladly do it.

The volume of the laugh reduces, then Don Rusell says, “Remember son, you can’t be the main alpha of the pack without…

“I know!”

I jolt at that response from Mr. Acosta. His father successfully cracks his always coolheaded demeanor like a breeze. Despite that, Don Rusell doesn’t restrain himself from twisting the dagger deeper into his son.

He continues, “Not only that, but the rest of the family will choose Stephen to inherit my rank. Just now, they’re asking him to find a mate. If he does that ahead of you and before the next Blood Moon, then I’m afraid but I have to pass the succession to him. Do what you gotta do. Don’t surrender what’s rightfully yours.”

Silence unfolds. This time, it’s a long one. A surge of sadness for Lavine and sympathy for his father prowls through me, pushing me to step away from them. My sympathetic heart no longer wants to hear their conversation. But no matter how much I wanna get out of the hallway, I realize that the grandiose staircase is at the perfect view of the living area where Mr. Lavine and his father are. S.hit! How can I go to my bedroom without them noticing me? There are only two options I’ve got to get out of here. It’s either I’ll go back to the dining area or outside to the garden. I’m already done eating and I’ll probably eat more if I choose the dining area, so for now, the garden is the better option.

The chilly breath of wind caresses my face and drifts my untied hair. The earthiness of the full-grown orange-leafed trees and the vibrantly green lawn is enlivening. And the beautiful lucid night sky cast dim shadows across the area. Even if I own this magnificent mansion with billions of pesos in banks, I’d never be happy, knowing that my father will force me to do things that are beyond me. Sure, both our fathers are pressuring us but the difference is, his father is aware of the infliction he’s causing his son and my father is not. So, I’m still luckier than him in that aspect.

Minutes have gone by. A car’s engine vibrates through the air and, in a few seconds, it’s gone and so does the sandalwood scent. I get inside the mansion, expecting that I can already ascend to the second floor without my nerves flailing underneath my skin. Though I can still smell Mr. Acosta’s scent, I’m pretty sure he would just ignore me and that would make it trouble-free for me to ignore him too. As I move from the hallway across the stairs, I can’t resist glancing at him. He’s alone. His father is gone and his bodyguards are nowhere near too. My shoulders rise a bit when he suddenly glances at me over his shoulder. As I anticipate, he looks away as if he doesn’t see me. The drive to talk to him knocks on me. He helped me and continue helping me without asking for anything in return. Perhaps this is the right time to return the favor. Nervousness undulates through my blood. However, my intention to help him anchors that nervousness in place. I thrust my legs forward until I stand behind the couch he’s sitting on. Without glancing to me, he asks,

“What do you want this time?”

His tone is firm and cold. It’s not gonna be a revelation if he aims his stress at me. I’m prepared for it. I’ve bothered him several times before and I don’t wanna keep accepting his kindness then do nothing to give it back.

“Can we talk?”

My voice hitches at the back of my throat.

Again, he doesn’t look or even glance at me and just says, “Sit.”

I occupy the sofa adjacent to him then say with a tint of uncertainty, “I heard what you and your father talked about.”

At long last, he levels his gaze to mine, but it’s full of dismay and… anger? I can’t really tell. But whatever he’s thinking about me, it’s absolutely not something positive. The redness of his eyes darkens.

“Who gave you the permission to do that?” he asks, icily.

I exert an effort to maintain my composure coz I don’t plan to end this conversation like the last one we had back at the bedroom where I stayed.

“Hear me out first,” I say.

His hair-raising stare doesn’t fall off one bit. I swallow, tranquilizing the tension in me before releasing the idea that might help him.

“If you don’t have a mate yet, I can be…”

“I have a mate!” he interrupts.

It’s not a shout but his voice is louder than usual. He departs his back from the backrest of the couch then rests his veiny arms on his lap and says, “If you think that you can be my mate, you’re dreaming. Don’t get me wrong. I’m only helping you out of pity, no more, no less.”

His words are so harsh that it’s ripping my effortful calm persona apart. Subsequently, a raging fire in my chest explodes through my entire body. I can’t breathe. My palm kneads my chest area, hoping that it would soothe the pain but to no avail. The indescribable sensation is plundering all my senses from me. My eyes blur with tears. Then, in the most unforgiving tone, Mr. Acosta says,

“Don’t worry. You won’t die. That pain will soon subside.”

“W-what is t-this?” I ask while wheezing for air.

“That’s a normal feeling once a werewolf gets rejected by his or her chosen mate.”

Rejected? He’s rejecting my love for him and he doesn’t seem to care? He just stares, banking on the fact that this isn’t fatal. Did I just slip his mask off him? Is this the real Lavine Acosta’s true nature? Fogs shroud my vision. The heat that started from my chest is now on my head. It’s burning me. I wheeze but the air seems too dense to enter my body. In a few more seconds,... it’s darkness.