The Alpha's Protective Mate

30

Charlotte Sanguinite

“You,” I breathe, rooted in place out of fear and shock.

The last time I saw Arabella, she was sneering at me, a kind of viciousness in her eyes that no ten-year-old should have. When it came to her appearance, Arabella inherited our father’s dark looks, her skin a beautiful olive shade, her eyes a sharp green, and her hair black as a raven’s, falling to her waistline like a waterfall. As a child, she was cute, but as an adult, she’s gorgeous. Her cheekbones are sharp, her eyes almost catlike in shape. She has lost all her chubbiness, her figure slim like a model’s.

Compared to her, I look like a frumpy maid, with my hair in disarray, my curvy figure, and the bags under my eyes.

I see the way my sister looks at me, her eyes running up and down my body in a horrid mixture of disdain, disgust, and delight.

“I always thought you died the night Father threw you out.” She giggles, covering her mouth with her perfectly manicured fingers. “I saw you the other day, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I just had to check. I’m so glad that I did. Look at you. How are you more pathetic than you were back then?!”

The sound of her laugh is like soft bells, easy on the ears. Vampires have exaggerated beauty. It’s not talked about, but I have never met an ugly vampire. The stronger the blood, the more striking their looks. However, Arabella’s sharp tongue and the maliciousness in her eyes paint a harsh picture.

I don’t know why she’s here. Her motives worry me.

“I see you’re doing well for yourself,” I murmur, not wanting to agitate her. I know firsthand how she reacts when she doesn’t get her way. And this time, there is nobody here to stop her.

“Of course I am.” She flips her hair with her hand, sneering at me. “Father sent me to one of the top fashion schools in Paris. I have my own clothing line.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Not that I would expect you to know anything about that. You can’t afford even a scrap of clothing from my stores.”

I press my lips together, wanting to retort, but common sense telling me to zip it. I can’t take any risks right now. If Arabella attacks me, I can’t fend her off for long. So, whatever she’s throwing my way, I just have to bear it.

Her brows knit together in irritation when I don’t respond. “What? You lost your tongue, too? You sure seemed to have a lot to say back when you lived in the compound.”

“What’s the point?” I shrug. “We’re both adults. I’m happy you’re thriving.”

She tightens her jaw. “And look at you. A servant. You sure fell a long way. Don’t you have any shame, Charlotte? If I were you, I would have killed myself a long time ago rather than scrub floors on my hands and knees.”

“We all have to work to survive,” I say dully.

Seeing my sister is the kind of blast from the past I don’t need.

“Not all of us,” Arabella sneers. “It’s funny to see you like this. I always knew you didn’t deserve to be part of our clan, a useless, broken creature like you.”

I got so used to those insults that they don’t bother me anymore. But a piece of my heart breaks once again when I look at the beautiful woman before me. She’s the same age as Jazz. There was a time when Arabella used to cling to me. After our mother died, a few months after Arabella was born, I helped raise her. Our father was never interested in childcare, and my mother had loved me. I wanted Arabella to feel some of that love. I did everything for her that a child my age could have done, right down to changing her diapers. She would look up at me with her big, adoring eyes.

When did that adoration turn to hatred?

It’s painful looking at her and knowing that at some point in her life, she decided I was worthless. I have hated Clyde, loathed my father, but I never once hated Arabella. Perhaps because I knew love from her, once upon a time.

A foolish spark of hope ignites in my chest. She came all the way here; perhaps, under the insults, there’s a part of her that wants to reconnect.

“Would you like a coffee?” I ask suddenly. “We’re closed, but I can set up one of the machines for you.”

She scoffs. “Sure.”

The flicker grows bigger. “What kind do you want?”

“Something hot.”

A small smile curves on my lips as I begin to prepare her a cup. “So, Paris, huh? You must’ve excelled in your studies. I can’t believe you’re a designer now. What’s the name of your brand?”

“Rose Tralin,” she says smugly. “And what have you been doing since Father kicked you out? How did you even survive? Clyde and I had a bet going. He said you’d end up a hooker. I was sure you’d be fodder for the animals in the woods. I mean, who would pay to see you naked, right? Guess neither of us won that bet.”

Her words are like barbs, but I brush them off as I froth her milk.

“Fortunately, I survived,” I say quietly.

“But what do you do?” she persists.

Some age-old instinct warns me not to offer too much information. Pushing down the excitement at her curiosity about my life, I shrug. “I work here some days, but that’s it.”

“So, if you didn’t exist, nobody would care, huh?” There is a cruel edge to her laughter, and my smile slips away, my heart throbbing.

“I have friends,” I find myself protesting. “They would care.”

Arabella laughs. “I doubt it. But what’s it to me? Clean toilets all you want.”

I turn around and place the coffee in front of her. “So, how have you—”

My question is cut off with a scream as she opens the lid and throws the piping hot coffee all over my face. Stumbling back in agony, I whimper, my hands hovering over my eyes as Arabella laughs mockingly.

“Did you think this was a sister bonding moment? You think somebody of my status would have anything to do with something as lowly and trash as you?” She leaps across the counter, grabs me by the back of my hair, and slams my head into the counter.

She intends to kill me, I realize, my face burning. She slams my head down again. Survival instincts kicking in, I seize her by the arm, and using all my strength, I toss her to the side. Not expecting me to retaliate, her grip loosens, and she falls to the ground.

Her eyes narrow at me. “You b***h! How dare you?!”

When she flies at me, I try to dodge her attack, but she’s fast, and I’m no match against anything supernatural. She manages to get her claws in my shoulders and slashes down, making me scream in pain as she tears my flesh.

Her laughter is a cruel, mocking sound.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” She grabs me by the neck and hurls me at the tables and chairs. I can feel a snap inside my body as I fall to the ground, and I know I’ve broken something. Still not ready to give up, I grab one of the chairs and position it between us, ready to defend myself to my last breath.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She vaults over the counter, and I reach into my back pocket, my ribs aching. “I’m not going to kill you. What I am going to do is remind you of your worth. What did I tell you? You’re not even good enough to lick the bottom of my shoe. Tell me, Charlotte, why haven’t you killed yourself yet? Nobody wants you. So just die already.”