Trapped in the Den of Alphas

Chapter 9

As I get nearer to the top, I realize that my heart is beating a little faster, my senses heightened as I take in the sight in front of me. A long dark corridor with a few closed doors on either side.

This part of the house is completely silent. Isolated from the noise and the hustle and bustle of the busy floors below. My eyes finally settle on the door at the end of the corridor. The largest of them all. I already know that it’s his. Why wouldn’t it be? Clearly, this man holds all of the authority in this place. It would be his prerogative to take whatever the hell he desires, the biggest room included.

I begin walking forward, my light footsteps still causing the old floorboards underneath to creak intermittently. Finally, I reach my destination, and my shoulders drop when I realize there are no dinner plates here for me to take.

I bite my lip nervously, contemplating my next move.

Should I go downstairs and return later or knock on the door and ask if he’s finished eating?

It seems that the latter option fills me with a strange kind of dread, and it’s this fear that pushes me to make my choice. Hurriedly, I begin walking back down the hallway. I am just about to reach the top of the steps when suddenly, my stubborn spirit begins to nag at my insides, taunting me for being too fearful to ask a damn man a simple question.

Is this who I am now? A woman who is afraid and meek?

No! I simply won’t allow it.

I come to an abrupt halt and twist around determinedly, stalking back toward the door and giving it a firm knock before I can change my mind.

The sound of my knuckles hitting the wood reverberates through my tense body, but I stand to attention, waiting for his reply anyway. The sound of his deep voice then carries through the barrier between us, seeping out through the cracks around the doorframe. “Come back later.”

My brows knit together in annoyance, and I rattle the door louder than before. “I am just about to finish cleaning the dishes, so I would prefer to take them now,” I reply stubbornly, holding steady despite my obvious nerves.

After a few seconds of silence, I hear his slow, heavy footsteps heading in my direction. I draw breath as the door opens and stand as still as a statue when I come face-to-face with him.

He rests one hand on the heavy door, staring down at me with a blank, unreadable expression as the light of his softly lit bedroom filters into the corridor all around me.

I clear my throat awkwardly. “Can I—”

He turns away, stepping back to hold the door open for me. I let out a shaky breath before walking through the doorway with all the bravado I can muster. It’s then that I accidentally look up at him as my body passes his, and I see that he is watching me intently. Our eyes connect like magnets, and a strange tingle works its way up from the base of my spine.

Hastily, I turn my attention to the enormous bedroom, its decor in keeping with the rest of the house. Tapestries in rich shades of red, brown and black hang over the mahogany-clad walls. Old, worn, textured materials in the same colors adorn the four-poster bed and other soft furnishings around the room, including the elaborately patterned carpets.

I’m so busy taking it all in that, for a moment, I forget why I’m here.

“They’re on the desk,” he says, breaking me out of my trance.

I nod, walking in the direction of the large wooden desk that is positioned by a roaring fireplace. Thankfully, the crackle and hiss of the glowing, orange flames help to fill the silence between us. I focus on each individual sound in turn as I stack the various dishes on top of one another. I hear him move and then, unable to help myself, glance upward in his direction.

He closes the door as I stand gawping at his large back, clad in a loose-fitting black shirt that rests against his huge frame, pulled in at his waist by a pair of tight-fitting black trousers. My eyes unwittingly settle on his ass as my curiosity gets the better of me, and now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to look away.

Elven men don’t dress in such a way that you can see their bodies. Their forms are usually well-hidden beneath elaborate robes or tunics that signify their wealth and importance. But the men in this house don’t seem to care much about their clothing. Its only intention is to serve a practical purpose. I can’t help but notice how his shirt pulls up at the elbows, displaying his solid and muscular forearms.

I begin to rush the job at hand, and a wayward fork accidentally slips out of my grasp, bouncing against the floorboards with a clang. “s**t,” I groan under my breath, walking across the room to retrieve it. But before I can get there, he lifts it, rising back onto his feet to tower over me. I gulp as he reaches past me to place it back on the table.

“Thank—”

“Are you being treated well?” he interrupts dismissively.

I stare at him with wide eyes.

Is he serious?

“No,” I bark back.

He nods his head, taking a step forward. “You need clothes?”

“I do. As you can see,” I answer, glancing down at my torn dress.

His eyes flick over me, and I swear I see their honey-colored shade darkening in the glow of the roaring flames. “You can have whatever is in the box."

I tear my eyes away from him and look toward the four-poster bed, where I see a small wooden box. “I also need somewhere to bathe. I see there’s a large bathroom downstairs. Perhaps I can—”

“No,” he snaps quickly. I study the look of anger that spreads across his face. The moment takes me by surprise, and I jolt a little in fright. “You’ll bathe here tonight. I’ll be out anyway, so you’ll have privacy,” he states gruffly, gesturing to the door beside the bed. “You’ll find whatever you need in there.”

I shake my head in refusal.

“I’d rather—”

“It’s not up for discussion, elf."

“Eden,” I hit back sharply, lifting my chin to face him directly. “My name is Eden.”

He doesn’t respond at first, and then I see him swallow. His left eye twitching as it did the first time we met. “And tell me, Eden…where do you come from?” he asks in a low, demanding voice.

My mind races with a range of possible answers. Something tells me that in order to protect myself, I must be as vague as possible. I must pretend that my disappearance will be of no consequence to anyone of great importance. If I tell them the truth, it may put a target on my back.

“Azealea,” I answer finally.

A smirk touches his lips. “You’re no wood elf.”

“I can assure you, I am.”

He closes the gap between us, and I step backward.

“And this dress?” he asks. “This is standard wood elf clothing?”

“I...uhh—”

“You were there. The night of The Culling celebration in Morween. Tell me how a mere wood elf gets invited to an event like this? You must run in powerful circles?”

“I do not.”

“You don't know the king and queen? Anyone in the Elven Guard?”

I scoff, attempting to seem convincing as I stare into his eyes. “No, I work in the palace,” I answer, bending the truth to my will.

His face moves closer to mine, and my chest rises and falls quickly. “I know exactly what wood elves are used for in the castle… Are you a palace w***e?”

My temper flares in response to the sheer cheek of the man. I lift my hand and smack him hard across the face, showing him exactly what I think of his damn disrespect. His head dips to the side, but he barely flinches. And I stand there. I stand there in total shock at what I have just done. I must be out of my damn mind!

Fear rises in my chest, but I push past it, squaring my small body up to his. “I’m not a w***e,” I snarl. “You disgusting dog.”

He lifts his hand quickly to grip my chin, holding it firmly as we stare at each other hatefully. Our bodies move against one another under the weight of our heavy breaths. “No…” he mutters almost inaudibly, his nose close to mine. “You’re not a w***e…but you are a liar.”

My wide eyes stare into his, and then his gaze drops to my lips. My body turns weak as a barrage of confusing emotions hits me simultaneously. Fear, anger, and, most worryingly of all...lust. I’ve never had a man look at me so intensely before. It’s wrong. It’s wrong in so many ways, and yet my core throbs unexpectedly in anticipation. I should kick and scream. Fight him off in some kind of way, but my limbs simply refuse to move.

My chin jerks as he lets me go abruptly, releasing his grip to take a step away. “The room is yours for the rest of the night,” he says, pointing to the clock on the fireplace behind me. “Be out of here by midnight.”

I stand rooted to the spot, blinking furiously as he turns, leaving me in the middle of his empty bedroom.