The Alpha king's worthless mate

Chapter 11: Mine to Bleed For

She pulled away.

Breathless. Blushing. And bold.

Just as Dominic lowered his head again—just as his mouth hovered over the second peak of her breast—

She pushed him back.

Gently.

But firmly.

His body jerked with restraint.

A growl tore from his throat—loud, guttural, feral. The sound of an Alpha denied, not by enemy or prey… but by his own mate.

His eyes flared silver.

Thalia gasped and yanked the torn dress up to cover her chest, her hands trembling, her blush deepening until even her neck glowed red.

She lay back on the bed defiantly—half-hidden beneath the blanket, her head turned toward the wall.

And if looks could kill?

Dominic Dreadmour would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

She didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

That glare said it all:

Mention the court again, and I’ll end you.

Dominic clenched his jaw.

Tight.

Hard.

But… he didn’t speak of it again.

Didn’t dare.

He just stood at the edge of the bed, jaw twitching, fists tight, breathing like a beast on a leash. Then—

He mind-linked Cazriel.

“Send everyone back to their territories. The court is over. Dismissed.”

There was a pause.

His Beta asked nothing. Knew better than to pry.

“As you command, Alpha.”

Dominic ended the link and stared.

Stared at her.

At the way she tried to hide her face in the blankets, still flushed all the way to her ears.

At the way she trembled—not from fear, but from leftover heat.

And damn, he could still feel her mouth on his skin. Still taste the soft moans she’d made when his lips wrapped around her n****e. Still smell the need that had hung thick between them like smoke from a fire they couldn’t put out.

And she’d left him.

Undone.

Powerless.

Dominic Dreadmour—Alpha King of Bloodfang—had been brought to his knees without her even getting fully naked.

No woman had ever done that to him.

No one.

He couldn't stop looking at her.

The soft curve of her hip beneath the blanket.

The way her lips were still kiss-swollen and a little parted.

The memory of her legs wrapped around his waist.

She’d taken charge.

She’d owned him.

And the more he thought about it, the more his pride bled. Not from shame—but from something worse.

Something darker.

Jealousy.

His wolf stirred with a low growl.

Because she hadn’t just been confident.

She’d been skilled.

She knew what to do.

How to touch.

Where to kiss.

How to flip him like a goddess born of sin and silk.

Which meant—

Someone had taught her.

Some man.

Some filthy bastard had touched her before him.

That thought?

That single, foul thought?

It nearly made him lose control.

His stomach churned.

His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

A second, more dangerous growl escaped him—deeper, hotter, more unhinged than before.

Thalia flinched.

She turned to look at him—wide-eyed now. No more smug smirks. No more bold taunts.

Just confusion.

And the beginning of fear.

He took a step forward.

“Who was it?” he growled, voice barely human.

She blinked. “What?”

“Who touched you.”

“I—what are you talking about?”

His jaw flexed as he advanced.

“Who are they?” he repeated, sharper. Darker. “The men you said kissed better than me.”

Thalia’s spine straightened.

Oh, goddess.

The bathroom.

She remembered now.

All the men I've been with kissed better than you, she’d thrown at him like a knife. To insult him. To hurt his ego. To get back at him for dragging her to the court.

But she’d lied.

She’d never kissed anyone before him.

And now?

That lie was about to burn her alive.

“Dominic, I—” she whispered, but the words choked in her throat.

Because he wasn’t looking at her like a man hurt.

He was looking at her like a man who wanted blood.

Maybe hers.

His eyes glowed, mouth tight, shoulders coiled like he was holding back a shift.

“I’m only going to ask once more,” he said coldly. “Who. Was. It.”

She scooted back on the bed slowly.

Not scared.

But careful.

She didn’t recognize this version of him. Didn’t know if he’d lunge or roar or shatter the bed beneath his fists.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

His voice cracked like thunder, shaking the air between them.

Her chest heaved.

But she didn’t break.

Didn’t whimper.

She just stared.

And whispered, “Why do you care?”

That stopped him.

For a second.

A breath.

Then his eyes narrowed.

“Because you’re mine,” he said.

His voice was low now.

But sharp.

Like steel dragged across stone.

“And no one—no one—should’ve tasted you before I did.”

Her lips parted.

She looked down at the blanket, hiding the burn in her cheeks.

She wanted to scream the truth.

It was you, Dominic. You were the first. You were the only.

But she didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Because the moment he knew he’d been her first?

He’d think he owned even that.

And she couldn’t give him that power.

Not yet.

So she stayed silent.

And he—

He stayed deadly.

Watching.

Breathing.

Imagining all the things he’d do to any man who’d dared touch what was his.

But still…

He didn’t ask again.

Didn’t threaten.

Didn’t drag her back to the dungeon.

He just stood there.

Seething.

His possessiveness bleeding into the room like poison.

And his need for her?

Still burning beneath every breath.

Dominic didn’t speak again.

Not right away.

He just stared at her—jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides, rage simmering in his blood like lava threatening to spill. She sat frozen on the bed, clutching the blanket over her chest, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Why do you care? she'd asked.

A question that haunted the space between them like smoke in a burning room.

Dominic’s wolf paced behind his eyes.

Wild.

Restless.

Jealous.

So violently jealous it tasted like blood in his mouth.

He imagined them—those other men. Touching her. Kissing her. Seeing what only he had seen.

Even if it was a lie.

Even if she’d said it to wound him.

The images wouldn’t leave.

And that drove him mad.

She should’ve been mine from the beginning.

Every kiss. Every moan. Every breath of pleasure.

Mine.

He took another step toward the bed.

Thalia didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

But her fingers curled tighter around the blanket—like it was the only shield between her and the storm brewing in his chest.

He leaned forward just enough to trap her in his shadow.

“Did they moan like I did?” he whispered. “When you touched them?”

Thalia’s mouth parted, but no words came.

His voice darkened.

“Did they beg?”

Her brows furrowed.

“Did you let them suck your n*****s the way I did?” he hissed. “Or was that just for me?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “You’re insane.”

“I am,” he growled. “Because you made me that way.”

Then—

A knock.

Hard.

Sharp.

Interrupting the heat with a slap of reality.

Dominic stiffened.

His silver gaze cut toward the door, a snarl rising in his throat.

Thalia exhaled—barely.

Saved.

But not for long.

Cazriel's voice came through the door. “Alpha. We have a situation.”

Dominic didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

“Alpha,”Cazriel tried again, more urgent now, “It’s your cousin. Alpha Aramis just crossed into our border with three of his wolves. Uninvited.”

Dominic’s entire body shifted.

Energy snapped through the room like lightning through a clear sky.

His lips peeled back in a snarl.

“Tell him to wait in the war chamber. I’ll be down shortly.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Silence returned.

But it wasn’t calm.

It was the kind of silence that sat on a blade’s edge—too sharp, too tight.

Dominic looked down at her one last time.

“You’re lucky,” he muttered. “They interrupted your confession.”

Thalia glared. “I have nothing to confess.”

He smiled—but it was cruel.

Cold.

Like he could see every lie she didn’t say.

And it drove him insane that he couldn’t taste the truth on her skin.

Yet.

He turned to leave.

But then her voice rang out behind him, soft but deliberate:

“Maybe the reason I kiss so well… is because I enjoy it more than your past whores did.”

He stopped.

Dead.

Didn’t turn.

Didn’t speak.

But his fists clenched again.

He left the room without another word.

But as the door slammed shut—

Thalia smiled.

A slow, wicked curl of her lips.

Because for once…

She had him unraveling.

And she didn’t need to be a virgin—or a trained seductress—to do it.

Just herself.

Dominic descended the steps of the fortress like thunder in motion.

Cazriel stood waiting at the war chamber entrance—tense, alert, every inch of him radiating caution. “He’s inside,” the Beta said. “Didn’t wait for permission. Just walked in.”

Dominic’s jaw ticked. “Of course he did.”

He shoved open the chamber doors.

And there he was.

Aramis Dreadmour.

Dominic’s cousin by blood.

Rival by nature.

And poison in every sense of the word.

Aramis lounged in Dominic’s chair like he owned it—long limbs draped lazily, wolfish smirk carved across his chiseled face. His golden hair was slicked back, eyes like molten copper, and beside him stood three lean warriors in silver-trimmed cloaks, their armor untouched by dirt—as if they’d come not for war, but for theatre.

“Dominic,” Aramis drawled, rising with a flourish. “You look well. Stressed, perhaps. Tamed?”

Dominic didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

“Get out of my seat.”

Aramis chuckled. “So territorial. No wonder the court’s talking.”

A flicker of silver fury passed through Dominic’s eyes. “They talk because they fear me. You’d do well to remember why.”

“I didn’t come to trade threats,” Aramis said, stepping forward. “I came to see it.”

Dominic didn’t move. “See what?”

“That thing you’ve been hiding. The omega.”

Cazriel growled behind him, but Aramis ignored it.

“The she-wolf you pulled from chains. The one who bit you in front of the entire tribunal and yet still shares your bed.”

Dominic’s voice dropped. “Tread carefully, cousin.”

Aramis’s grin sharpened.

“Oh, I plan to.”

He circled slowly, eyes flicking around the room as if inspecting a kingdom he’d one day inherit. “Word is… she’s soft. Fragile. But has teeth sharp enough to make you bleed.”

Dominic’s silence was answer enough.

And that silence—it only made Aramis bolder.

“Must be something special. To make the great Dominic Dreadmour change the rules.” His gaze narrowed. “Or maybe you’re slipping.”

Cazriel stepped forward. “You weren’t invited. You’ll leave now.”

But Aramis only raised a hand, lazy and amused. “Soon. But first—I’ll need to see her for myself.”

Dominic’s head tilted slightly.

Not in confusion.

In warning.

“You won’t lay eyes on her.”

“Oh, come now,” Aramis mocked. “You expect the court to believe this bond of yours is real if you keep her locked away like a secret? Or is it because you’re ashamed she’s not what they expected?”

The last thread of Dominic’s patience snapped.

He closed the space between them in a heartbeat—one hand fisting Aramis’s cloak, the other braced against his throat.

“She’s mine,” Dominic growled low, deadly. “And if you so much as breathe near her door, I’ll snap your spine before your wolves can blink.”

Aramis didn’t fight.

Didn’t flinch.

But there was something dark behind his eyes now—less amusement. More calculation.

“She’s already weakening you, cousin,” he whispered. “And the others will see it soon.”

Dominic shoved him back with enough force to rattle the war table.

Cazriel stepped in. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Aramis adjusted his collar with a smirk, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be around. Don’t worry. I plan to stay for a while.”

He paused just before crossing the threshold.

Then turned, eyes gleaming with threat.

“And next time, bring your omega out of hiding. I’d hate to think you’re afraid of what she might say in front of the rest of us.”

He was gone a moment later.

But the poison he left behind lingered like smoke.

Cazriel turned. “He’s trying to bait you.”

Dominic’s jaw flexed. “Let him try.”

But deep in his chest…

That jealousy?

That possessive rage?

It had taken a new shape now.

Fear.

Not that he’d lose Thalia.

But that someone like Aramis might realize what Dominic hadn’t yet dared admit:

That the omega wasn’t breaking under his rule.

She was surviving it.

And somehow…

Still turning his world upside down.