The Alpha's Forbidden Coyote Mate

Chapter Five

I step out of the bathroom, grateful Martha left my clothes from yesterday freshly steamed, carrying the faint sweetness of fabric softener. The scent clings to the fabric like a promise of normalcy, a reminder that someone cared enough to erase the chaos of last night. The woman deserves sainthood. If I had the Vatican’s number, I’d call it myself. I’m fairly certain I threw up on myself, but confirming it would kill me with embarrassment, so I don’t.

The hallway light spills across the floor as I reenter, and the room stills. Their voices—sharp, overlapping, heated—die mid-sentence. Silence presses in, heavy and expectant. Two gazes snap to me: Gaston’s lips curl into a smug smirk, the kind that dares me to laugh at his audacity, while Phantom’s expression tightens, irritation etched into every line of his jaw.

“Tell this i***t you’re not leaving with him. He seems to think you are.” Phantom’s glare slices toward Gaston, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating with restrained fury.

“Well, that’s because I am leaving with him.” Gaston’s tone is casual, but the glint in his eyes is pure provocation.

“Like hell you are! I forbid it!” Phantom’s words c***k like a whip, echoing against the stone walls.

I meet his stare with a death glare of my own, though the Edge potion still rattles in my veins, leaving me with a pounding headache. My temples throb, my vision blurs at the edges, but I refuse to look away. “I think you’ve mistaken me for one of your subjects. In case you haven’t figured it out, I don’t take orders from anyone.”

Phantom exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, the sound more beast than man.

“Um… Maryelle…” Gaston drawls, savoring Phantom’s irritation like fine wine. “You are his subject. He could keep you here against your will if he wanted. In fact, I’m betting he will—because that’s Phantom. A tyrant who steals freedom of choice.”

Phantom’s voice drops into a deadpan, his tone flat but cutting. “Aww, is the poor wittle baby still sad because my sister dumped him? Do you need a hug and some ice cream? Maybe cuddle time with your teddy bear and blankie?”

“Cuddling?” Gaston sneers, his smirk twisting into something cruel. “Oh, you mean cuddling the way your sister did with me before she graduated from PG-thirteen to something more exciting?”

The words ignite a snarl from Phantom. He lunges, fists flying, knuckles cracking against Gaston’s jaw with the sound of bone meeting bone. The air fills with the rhythm of violence—grunts, the dull thud of impact, the scrape of shoes against stone. “I’ll kill you,” he growls, each punch punctuating his fury, “for dating my sister, for being a lousy friend, and for flirting with a girl you know I’m interested in.”

I wedge myself between them, heart hammering, nearly catching a blow to the temple. The heat of their rage radiates off them, suffocating. Before another strike can land, the door slides open with a hiss, and both men freeze, grimacing as if struck by invisible chains.

A girl enters, her arms raised in a defensive posture. The air hums faintly, charged with magic, the kind that prickles against skin and makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

“Vahlia!” Gaston breathes her name like a prayer, reverent. Phantom’s tone is sharp, aggravated, his voice cutting through the charged silence.

“Little sister, must you always barge in without knocking? And is it necessary to use your gifts when there’s no real threat?” His glare meets hers, but her eyes soften the instant they land on Gaston.

She glows. Not metaphorically—literally. Effervescent light clings to her skin, shimmering like starlight caught in motion, making her beauty almost unbearable. Sandy-brown curls spill down her back, frizz-free, catching the light with every movement. Her blue eyes—mirrors of Phantom’s—sparkle as they lock onto Gaston, alive with recognition and longing.

“Gaston! How are you here?” Her voice brightens with hope, trembling at the edges. She flicks her gaze between the two men. “Phantom, did you change your mind? Are you going to let us be together?”

Phantom’s reply is venom. “No. You’re still not allowed anywhere near him. You lost that right the moment you ran off with him and left this castle sick with worry for three weeks. You didn’t even call Mom. And you—” his glare cuts to Gaston, “you went along with her reckless plan without hesitation. I treated you like a brother, and you repaid me with betrayal.”

“I won’t apologize for loving her,” Gaston says, voice steady but eyes shadowed. “But if I could go back, I’d have done things differently. I would have spoken to you first. Would it have changed anything? Would you have accepted us?”

“You lost the right to those answers when you stole her away in the night. You’ll never know now.” Phantom’s words drop like stones, final and merciless.

Vahlia’s eyes brim with tears, shimmering like glass about to shatter. “Do I at least get to say goodbye this time?” Her voice cracks, fragile, and it guts me. Tears always do. They make me reckless, make me want to fix things I can’t.

“No goodbyes. What part of ‘I don’t want you near Gaston’ don’t you understand?” Phantom’s tone is steel, unyielding.

Before I can stop myself, words spill out, reckless and raw. “Vahlia, you can have as much time as you want to say goodbye.”

The room falls silent. The weight of their stares pins me in place, heavy as chains.

“Excuse me?” Phantom’s voice is frigid, his fury barely contained, each syllable sharp enough to cut.

“I’ll owe you big,” I blurt, heat crawling up my neck, the words tasting like fire.

He studies me, eyes gleaming with mischief, the kind that makes my pulse stutter. “No. I don’t want him breathing the same air as my sister. I want him gone. Forever.”

“But you’d be right outside the door. With your supernatural hearing, you’d catch every word. Please—let them say goodbye.” My voice trembles, but I force it steady, meeting his gaze.

He tilts his head, considering, the silence stretching taut. “How big is the favor you’ll owe me? Do I get anything I want?”

The mischief in his gaze deepens, layered with something more dangerous—curiosity, hunger, challenge. My pulse skips, traitorous.

“No. Not anything. Name your terms.”

His smile widens, slow and deliberate, a knowing curve that feels both intimate and dangerous. “A date—with me.”