The untamed Alpha and his human mate

Chapter 4: Alpha

Amaya

After I’d cooked our breakfast and we had eaten, I got dressed in my now clean leggings and top. Outside, the sky hung low and heavy, grey clouds pressing down like a weight over the forest.

A light drizzle fell steadily, coating everything in a fine sheen of silver. The air was cold, sharp enough to bite, and I didn’t have a coat, but Clayton didn’t care, I guess his kindness only extended so far.

We left the castle and made our way over to his car. I went to climb in the passenger seat, but he said, “nope, backseat. I’m not having a human sit beside me.”

I got in the back, and he started the engine and drove. The forest slowly thinned, giving way to damp roads and scattered buildings that appeared the closer we got to town.

Rain tapped lightly against the windows, steady and almost hypnotic, which was soothing. When we reached the town, everything changed, suddenly there was noise, movement, people. It was busy in the day, Jackie never allowed me to leave the pub.

Seeing all these people made me anxious, I wrung my hands nervously in my lap, too afraid to even look outside the window. I didn’t want to get out, especially now I’d seen my face. People could be so cruel, and I didn’t want anyone to make cruel jokes or comments.

Clayton parked up, and turned in his seat to look back at me. “Outside call me Aiden if you decide to speak.” I nodded. So I was right, he went around under another name. That was easy enough, I suppose ,seeing as no one had really seen him in person before, just heard the horror stories.

We climbed out, and the world seemed to shift. Immediately people were drawn to Clayton, women especially, their eyes traveled over him openly, shamelessly, both hungry and lingering. Conversations faltered as people passed by, heads turned, whispers stirred. I knew he knew they were looking because he had a hint of a smirk on his lips. Arrogant. Confident. Untouchable.

I tried not to look like everybody else but failed. He was wearing black leather trousers, fitted and detailed with big pockets, making me wonder if he had any weapons hidden in them.

He wore the same black combat boots and the same leather jacket that hung open over a muscle-fit v-neck white t-shirt with the same silver necklace he’d been wearing last night. I peered closer at it and saw it was a wolf’s head.

My eyes fell to his right hand and saw he was wearing a silver ring on his index finger—no, two rings actually. One was a silver ring with a black band around the middle, and the other was a silver ring shaped like a crown. Pfft, made sense with him being a werewolf king or god. Everything about him seemed deliberate, controlled, dangerous.

I don’t know why I was tutting inside my head at the women staring at such an arrogant man when I was no better, I couldn’t stop myself from watching him run his hand through his jet black, wavy, tousled hair that fell into those stunning blue eyes, so bright they almost looked lilac. This close up to him, I think it was possible they actually were a little lilac.

He opened the car door for me, and I climbed out. Suddenly people’s attentions turned to me. Clayton led me through the crowd, somehow managing to never make contact with anyone, as if they made his skin crawl. As we walked, I could hear the gasps, murmurs, snickers of laughter. I didn’t dare look up, I knew what I’d see, disgust, pity, dirty looks, and stares. I followed closely behind, afraid to lose him, because as terrifying as he was, he was safer than them, at least for now.

I followed Clayton inside a shop and let him lead me around. It was warm inside, a stark contrast to the cold drizzle outside. Soft lighting reflected off polished floors, racks of neatly arranged clothes filling the space with colour.

He looked at some clothes for a while, scanning them quietly, and then he went and found a staff member. The lady was young, blonde, beautiful, everything I wasn’t. She lit up the moment she saw him and was tripping over herself in her haste to please him. She kept batting her eyes at him but he seemed oblivious and said, “can you measure this woman for me? Find her correct size.”

Oh my god, I wanted the ground to swallow me up. It was one thing being an overweight woman, but it was another having him know my actual size!

“Of course,” the perfectly slim blonde smiled. Great, just great.

Clayton sat down on one of the waiting chairs and watched while the lady measured me.

Her touch was careful and professional. She tried not to stare at my face, but every so often her eyes would travel back to my burns and scars. Thankfully, she wasn’t horrible, she tried to be polite about it, but then maybe she was only trying for Clayton’s sake, to impress him.

When she was done measuring me, she grabbed some outfits for me that she thought would look nice and complimentary. When she came back with some short-sleeved tops, I shook my head at her.

“You don’t like them?” She asked.

I gestured as best I could towards the sleeve area, and she understood. “You want long sleeve?”

I nodded, and she went to go find some, but Clayton stood up and said, “what you’ve chosen is fine, she’ll take those.”

“Oh, uh, well, ok, if you’re sure?”

“I am. Thank you,” he replied curtly while his eyes stayed on me. She went to go scan the clothes, and he asked, “what’s wrong with short sleeve?”

I shook my head and looked down at the floor. He stepped forward, close, his fingers tilted my chin up to meet his eyes, and I was surprised at how hot to the touch he was. “Use your one word now,” he said.

Desperation had helped me speak back at the pub, but now I struggled, my tongue felt too thick, my mouth too dry. I stumbled and stuttered over the word, but finally I got out, “fat.”

He frowned at me and said, “so?”

I raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a knowing look, and he answered, “ah, you feel ugly?”

I nodded.

His gaze lingered on me.

“But you did it to yourself.”

The words stung even though he was right.

When I widened my eyes, he said, “you made yourself end up like this, whether intentional or not does not matter. You did it, now you need to embrace it.”

I shook my head no, and he frowned at me. “No? Alright, fine.” He paid for the clothes, and I followed him outside and shivered when the cold wind hit my skin, it felt colder after being in the warm shop. He pulled out a plain beige hooded Parka from the bag and shoved it in my hands.

“It’s lunch, we may as well eat now,” he said.

I followed him through the crowd and wondered how he managed to avoid any contact. I felt better with the coat on, warm, more covered, and I pulled the hood up to hide my face even though it was barely even drizzling with rain now.

I followed him inside a restaurant that was painted red on the outside and called ‘Fabled Light Kitchen.’

It wasn’t too busy inside, there was soft chatter, warm lighting. Wooden tables were polished to a gentle shine. The smell of fresh food and coffee filled the air. A waitress showed us to our seats at the back, she couldn’t stop staring at Clayton any more than the rest of the female race, it seemed. He asked for two fresh orange juices, and she went to get them while he looked at the menu.

When the waitress returned with our drinks, Clayton ordered us both a chicken salad, and she left us alone. He caught my frown and, voice still cold, answered, “yes, a boring meal to order at a restaurant, but you don’t like your weight, so let’s change it, unless you would rather stay as you are? I don’t care either way as long as you’re healthy enough to work for me.”

I shook my head.

“Then chicken salad it is.”

He was a confusing man, he was so cold and closed off. He hadn’t shown any emotion besides this cold personality and a flare of anger here and there, yet he seemed to be taking care of me so far, right? Allowing me to wash which was more than Jackie allowed unless she had an auction coming up.

Now he had bought me new clothes, and it seemed he was going to help me lose weight too? Why would he care about any of those things? Maybe his words were true, and he simply wanted a clean and healthy housekeeper.

I sat quietly at the table with my head down when he leaned over and yanked my hood down. “You don’t need that on in here.”

I ducked my head low down, my eyes flitting back and forth between the two older ladies giving me dirty looks from their table across from ours. Clayton followed my gaze and leaned his elbow on the back of his chair as he looked over at them. “Is there a problem?” He asked.

One of them said, “not with you, but must you bring in someone so…unappealing to look at while I’m eating?”

I kept my head down, ignoring the urge to cry but failing as a tear escaped me anyway.

“I find you rather repulsive myself, but I’m not complaining, am I? Perhaps you should do the same.” He gave her a sarcastic smile, and she blushed bright red. Her friend must have felt protective because she snapped, “don’t pretend you want that whale. There’s no way you’ve had s*x with her. I bet this will be a first and last date between the two of you.”

If she couldn’t smell what I was, then maybe they were witches? A wereanimal would have known I was human by scent alone, and supernaturals didn’t date humans.

I don’t know what word had angered Clayton, but he flew into a rage and, standing up, stormed over to her. She tried casting a spell, which meant I was correct— they were witches—but she looked shocked when nothing happened. He reached her and grabbed her around the throat, dragging her to her feet, and snarled, “your spells don’t work on me, witch.”

The restaurant fell silent, fear spread like wildfire as they watched, and the lady’s friend, who was still seated, tried casting a spell of her own at him, but again nothing happened, and she whispered, “the only thing our spells don’t work on are the gods, and by the pendant on your necklace, I’m going to say you are the god of werewolves?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her, he was too busy staring at the woman he still had gripped around the throat with one hand. Someone else answered and said, “Clayton Blackthorn.”

Gasps rang out across the room, and people started gathering their things and rushing for the exit, chairs scraping in their haste. When the witch, who was still seated, tried to stand up, he grabbed her by the throat too and met her eyes. “I can’t decide which one of you I should eat first.”

I sat there frozen in fear. Was it just a threat to scare them, or did he mean it? I watched as one of his arms and hands turned into something. I couldn’t make sense of it at first, but I racked my brain for images I’d seen in movies and books— a lycan! His hand and arm looked just like a lycan’s, claws formed, ok, yep, he was deadly serious about the threat.

I sat there wondering if this would be my first time seeing a werewolf eat a person when two people came through the door. I guess the owner of the restaurant had called for help because the two men walked over to Clayton, and the older, sophisticated one calmly said, “let go of the ladies, Clayton.”

He didn’t break eye contact with the women when he gave a lighthearted laugh and answered, “ah, come on, we were only having a laugh, weren’t we, ladies?”

They both quickly shook their heads as much as they could in his grip, and the younger-looking man with brown curly hair stepped closer to Clayton. “Come on, this is why you aren’t supposed to be roaming about outside of your territory, Clayton. You can’t be trusted, and you only further our point in our punishments for you.”

Woah, so these were council members, which meant they were gods too, I wondered what gods they were.

Clayton sighed dramatically like it was all one big joke, and rolling his eyes, he muttered, “you guys are no fun. Fine.”

He shifted his arm back to human form and let them both go so suddenly they fell to the floor.