Wicked lessons from the Alpha

Not all like David

*Faye*

As the carriage rattles along the cobblestones, my thoughts drift to a forbidden place: Hunter opening his bedchamber door, proudly standing there in his nakedness. I caught a glimpse of the woman in his bed, knowing I hadn't woken him. Still, it seemed wise to play the innocent role, though it leaves me with questions unfit for a young she-wolf to ponder. Yet, those questions persist, and I'm unsure who can provide the answers.

The Alpha of Silverpine defies any statuary I have ever beheld, surpassing even Michelangelo's David. Hunter puts them all to shame. I could have gazed at him endlessly, but I forced my eyes to meet his, concealing my desire to touch him… every part of him. His broad shoulders, his flat stomach, his... masculinity. No, he's nothing like David in that regard.

He was breathtaking. As the memory warms me, I press my cheek against the cool glass.

Fortunately, I found his residence unlocked for the night, suggesting the she-wolf won't be staying. I don't know why relief accompanies that thought. After all, it makes no difference when she's there now.

I was merely seven when I first fell in love with Hunter. Looking back, I know it was nothing more than a childish infatuation, but at the time, it felt like so much more to my young heart.

It was early spring, and my mother had invited the families connected by love, not blood, to Grace Manor… my father's ancestral estate. Some boys teased me about my red hair, comparing me to a carrot.

I had curled up in a corner of the stable, weeping, when Hunter discovered me and knelt beside me. He was sixteen, on the verge of manhood. With gentle thumbs, he wiped away my tears, a touch no boy had ever bestowed upon me. My innocent heart fluttered. In that moment, he could have requested anything, and I would have granted it. He could have called me any name… Freckles, Coppery, Hideous… and I would have considered it poetry. Instead, he stole my heart with his words.

"You are just a bud now," he said. "Buds aren't appreciated, but soon you will blossom into a beauty as radiant as a red rose, outshining all other she-wolves. Now, come on, Little Rose. No more moping. Someday, you will have your revenge, and it will taste incredibly sweet."

Over the years, he has affectionately called me Little Rose. That was, until he got married. After that, he had no time for me, paying me no attention. Deep down, I knew it was how things should be, that my feelings were nothing more than childish affection. Yet, the sting of rejection cut through my yearning heart.

Tonight marked the first time in years that he used that endearment again. And, to my annoyance, my heart did that silly somersault in my chest. I don't want it dancing for him. He has proven to be a letdown. I love him as a friend, a brother. My woman's heart will never love him as anything more than that.

However, he holds the knowledge I need to find happiness. He understands love and the devious ways of men. Who better to assist me? Yet, he doesn't care enough about me to take a break from his sinful ways. I suppose that says it all. His character is not one to be admired.

What a fool I was all those years ago, holding him in such high regard. I can't risk misjudging again, for this time, I will be bound to a man for the rest of my life. I want a good man, an honest man, someone willing to be my hero even when I don't need saving.

Next morning

Seated at the breakfast table the next morning, I can't help but find amusement in the fact that, just as I had predicted, an abundance of flowers begins arriving even before I c***k open my soft-boiled egg.

I suppose I should have been filled with excitement, but I am simply too practical for such frivolity. It must be a result of my upbringing, I speculate, or more accurately, my mother's influence.

It's no secret that Frannie Tempest, now Frannie Grace, Luna of Greywind, grew up on the streets under the care of a kidsman who taught her survival through cunning, thievery, and deception. I have listened to her stories with fascination and, as I've matured, gained immense respect for my mother. I have also developed an unwavering belief in love, having witnessed it firsthand. Against all odds and her troubled beginnings, my mother won the heart of an Alpha.

I long for the kind of love they share: one filled with adoration, respect, and support. For many years, my mother continued to manage the books at the full moon club. She is a partial owner of the gentlemen's club, and her husband takes great pride in her accomplishments and independence.

They work together with a common purpose to improve the lives of orphans. They share goals, triumphs, and failures. Nothing deters them from pursuing what they seek. I am convinced that their success and happiness in all aspects of life are a result of their relationship built on a foundation of love.

Although I may have considered asking my parents for help in determining if a gentleman truly loves me, neither of them believes any man is worthy of me.

"Another morning filled with flowers, I see," muses my father as he enters the breakfast dining room and heads toward the sideboard, where an assortment of Cook's finest dishes awaits him.

I only recently discovered his failing eyesight, though it seems to have plagued him for years. He had hoped to keep it a secret from his children for much longer, but as he increasingly relies on our mother, takes more cautious steps, and squints more often, it becomes evident that his world is slowly fading into darkness.

I want to marry before his sight is completely gone. It may seem like a silly reason, but I want him to witness my unbridled happiness.

"Do you think I should make it known that I prefer a gentleman to make a donation to a children's home?" I respond to his comment about the flowers. "It doesn't have to be one of ours necessarily."

My parents have constructed three homes for orphans and one for unwed mothers. I have always been aware of the less fortunate, and I was raised to believe that I have a responsibility and duty to help where I can. I want a husband who also believes in charitable deeds, not one who will squander my dowry. I don't think I'm asking for too much, am I?

My father joins me at the table, taking his usual place at the head, while I settle into the chair to his right. "Those involved in the flower trade have bills to pay as well."

"I suppose that's true. It's just that flowers wither; they don't last."

"So we must savor them while we can."

My stomach tightens as I realize that soon he will only be able to enjoy their fragrance, not their vibrant colors or the intricate shapes of their petals.

"Most girls would be thrilled to have a man shower them with flowers as a way of showing attention," my father remarks.

"But I am not like most girls."

He smiles. "As I'm sure the gentlemen are beginning to realize. How was the ball? Did anyone catch your eye?"

My parents rarely attend social gatherings anymore, as my father can no longer tolerate crowds. He has too much pride to be caught bumping into someone he can't see.

"A few gentlemen engaged me in intriguing conversations. Alpha Somerdale is quite fascinated by the pollination capabilities of bees. It's a tedious process."

"Equally tedious to listen to, I suppose."

I let out a laugh. "Exceedingly tedious. Alpha Amber's bones creak when the cold weather sets in. He resides in the North, which means I would constantly be hearing his bones creak. Not very appealing, I must say."

"No," my father furrows his brow. "You are referring to the fifth Alpha Amber."

"No, unfortunately. The fourth."

"I thought he had passed away years ago."

"Not quite." With white hair, he held a horn-shaped instrument up to his ear to aid his hearing. He didn't dance, merely shuffled about. "He doesn't need an heir. I believe he's just lonely."

"Well, you can certainly cross him off your list. The whole purpose of providing you with a generous dowry was so that you would have plenty of choices and not have to settle."

"I fear it has given me too many suitors. It's becoming difficult to distinguish the sincere ones from the insincere."

"Trust your heart."

I begin spreading butter on my toast. "Yes, that's what Alpha Silverpine said."

Not that his advice has been of any help at all.

My father freezes, his teacup hovering in front of his mouth. "When did you see him?"

I shrug. "Oh, our paths crossed recently."

"Last night, perhaps?"

Now it's my turn to freeze, my lungs refusing to draw in air.

Before I can deny it, he continues. "Your maid returned to the residence at half past eleven. You didn't seem to be around."

I should have known he would notice my absence. I'm surprised he wasn't waiting in the foyer when I finally arrived home. But then again, my father is accustomed to me spending nights at the foundling homes.

"I went to see him, yes, to seek his opinion on some of the gentlemen pursuing me."

"Faye, a young she-wolf does not visit a bachelor's residence at all hours of the night."

"It wasn't all hours. It was only one: midnight. He was unhelpful, and I promptly left."

"You're missing my point."

"You know Alpha Silverpine wouldn't take advantage. He sees me as a sister." I hate the touch of disgust that taints my voice with those last words.

"And you wish he saw you as more?"

It appears that my father can see more with his limited vision than most people can with perfect eyesight.

"Once," I admit. "When I was a young girl, I was infatuated with him, but now he just angers me. He no longer participates in pack Society, and I have heard the rumors about what a careless person he has become. It's incredibly disappointing and sets such a bad example. Still, I must confess that I had hoped, when he saw me in my evening attire, he would no longer view me as a child."

My father places his hand over mine. "I don't think anyone would mistake you for a child. You have grown into an extraordinary woman. You deserve a man who will love and appreciate you. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't believe he is capable of loving or appreciating anyone anymore."

"I'm afraid you're right. He's breaking his mother's heart."

"Olivia can take care of herself. And I won't let him break yours. Now..." He returns his attention to his breakfast. "No more late-night excursions. I don't want to have to lock you in your room."

I give him a mischievous grin. "As if you ever would."

"I will do whatever is necessary to ensure your safety and happiness."

"Well, today, happiness comes in the form of a new gown." I rise from my chair, bend down, and kiss his cheek. "I love you, Papa."

"Someday, when you least expect it, sweetheart, love will come, and it will be nothing like you imagined."

"Is that how it happened for you?"

"It's so much more."

I take my seat again, intertwine my fingers with his, and give them a gentle squeeze. "But when should I reveal the truth about my... situation?"

I can see the sadness and sorrow hidden in the depths of his blue eyes.

"You leave that to me. I'll handle it when they ask for your hand."

"While I appreciate your willingness to be my advocate, I strongly believe that the news should come from me. Sometimes I think I should place an advertisement. 'Beware! Miss Faye Grace may come with a substantial dowry, but she is far from perfect.'"

"I am far from perfect. However, that didn't stop your mother from loving me."

"But I believe it will take an exceptionally special man to accept my imperfections."

"Not as special as you might think."

*Hunter*

I navigate the city streets with the carriage’s shades drawn. There is a throbbing ache behind my eyes from excessive liquor and the smoke of too many cigars.

The drawback of playing cards in a windowless room is the inability to witness the transition from night to day.

After Faye left last night, I dismissed the she-wolf in my bed with a generous pouch of coins, while I sought solace in alcohol and gambling. The regulars I play with are highly skilled, and beating them requires utmost concentration, which I hoped would provide enough distraction.

Yet, Faye's presence lingered in my thoughts. She deserves love. I can think of no one more deserving. But I can't quite grasp her predicament. She is intelligent, clever, and spirited. Surely, she can discern if a man's affections are genuine. Something is amiss, but I can't pinpoint what it is.

Besides, it would be foolish for any man to deceive her. It's no secret that her parents, friends, and their family members would defend her fiercely. She could have sought help from anyone. Truth be told, anyone would have been a better choice, as I no longer engage in pack Society and avoid social gatherings like the plague.

The carriage comes to a halt. A servant hastily opens the door. Sunlight scalds my eyes, but I squint against it as I step out. I yearn for a bath and then a bed.

I ascend the steps. Another servant opens the grand, sturdy wooden door for me. I stride through and am overwhelmed by the heavy scent of flowers. It's no surprise, considering the excessive number of blossoms adorning the entryway.

All colors, varieties, shapes, and sizes. An overwhelmingly sweet scent fills the air.

"Welcome home, My Alpha," my butler, Barrow, says, emerging from a hallway.

"What is the meaning of all this?" I inquire.

"They arrived an hour ago, along with this missive." Barrow extends a folded parchment towards me. Despite my pounding headache, I accept the paper, unfold it, and narrow my eyes at the words.

'This morning's arrival. However is a she-wolf to decide?'

I scoff. Faye, persistent in her pursuit of my assistance, it seems. Just like the stubborn little minx.

"What should I do with them, sir?" Barrow inquires.

"Send them back to Alpha Greywind's residence with a message that simply says, 'No'." I begin climbing the stairs, then pause. "On second thought, send them to a hospital or somewhere that could use a bit of cheer." The battle is already won. There's no need to continue the conflict. I don't want Faye to get hurt. She will understand my message soon enough when she realizes I am ignoring hers.

I have ascended three more steps when I abruptly change direction and descend back down. Barrow remains at attention, as if he knew I wasn't quite finished yet.

"I will be sending a missive to miss Faye Grace."