The Alpha’s Secret Mate

4.

Min shoves a stray lock of her red hair behind her ear. “He’s hardly going to assassinate his wife, now is he?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

She hesitates.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll be back in an hour.” I kiss my friend on the head and make my way out of the room, taking care not to be aggressive with the door this time. I’ll preserve my energy for the walk. I don’t bother with shoes; I’ll be shifting into my wolf the moment my feet touch the grass anyway.

No one bats an eyelid as they see me race down the stairs and out the front door. I sprint toward the thick wooded area just beyond the landscaped lawn, and for the first time all day I feel like I can breathe. The cool breeze against my skin feels incredible but is soon replaced by a rush of heat as my skin tingles. Hair erupts over my body, and I crouch, relishing in the euphoria as I shift into my wolf. Not wasting a moment of the incredible feeling, I take off into the woods and give over to my wolf.

When I arrive back, Min is lying on the couch, reading a book. “Did the run help any?”

Good question. When I usually shift, I either remain completely in control, or I split control with my wolf, but this time I didn’t want to think or feel anything, so I handed full control over to her. I give myself a second to get my breath back, and then I take stock of how I feel. Thankfully, the urge to break everything in sight has gone, but now I have to fight back tears of frustration and grief for the life I will never have. Although I’m not the kind of girl who planned her wedding and life down to the tiniest detail, the life I did envision consisted of freedom and choices. The freedom to choose who I want to marry and what life I want.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I don’t have the words for the emptiness I feel at the thought of my future with Marcus.

She nods as if she expected my response and walks over to the closet to take out my dinner outfit. I stare at it with disdain. Who am I trying to kid? I don’t have a whole bunch of control over my life as it is anyway. I have my own place, but here I am, staying over at my parents’ home the night I find myself betrothed, about to get dressed in one of the outfits my mother bought for me. “Really? Pink?”

“Your mother bought this for you a year ago and you haven’t worn it yet.”

“There’s a reason for that. I’m going to look like a giant v****a in that color and with all the ruffles.”

“It’s wearing this now, or later when you have to meet Marcus. I overheard your mother telling Samara that it would be the perfect outfit to meet him in.”

I huff out a breath and take the dress. Samara is my mother’s best friend, and once the two of them have made up their minds, it’s easier to tame a wood sprite than argue with them.

“What those two seem to forget is that I have met Marcus, and I don’t give a s**t about impressing him.”

“Well, then you should wear the v****a dress. You definitely won’t impress him in that.”

I roll my eyes, but her words linger. Maybe—just maybe—there’s a tiny part of me that wants to knock Marcus’s socks off when we meet again. Shake him up a little, throw him off his game... then move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course. Unless...

“Hair up or down?”

This is one task I don’t mind Minerva helping me with. She has skills I could only dream of having when it comes to hair. The best I can do is a braid for when I go riding. “Do you think you’ll be able to tame this enough so we can leave it down?”

I tug on the thick black waves cascading down my back, wincing as my fingers catch on what feels like a hundred knots—courtesy of all the times I’ve run my hands through it or yanked at it today. Minerva’s going to have her work cut out detangling this mess. I should bill Marcus for her time.

His perfectly sleek hair comes to mind, not a strand out of place. Has he ever had a bad hair day? The thought drifts further, and I catch myself wondering how his hair would look after s*x. I scoff. Perfect, no doubt. He’d probably insist on being on the bottom—heaven forbid he break a sweat trying to satisfy a woman.

“Sit. Let’s see what we can do, and you can tell me what’s put that smile on your face.”

Despite Minerva being my best friend, there’s no way I’m admitting I was thinking about Marcus—and s*x. Especially since the scenario in my head ended with a less-than-satisfactory outcome.

“I was just thinking about you doing my hair,” I say instead, forcing a casual shrug as I sit and face the mirror.

“You know, you could just say you don’t want to talk about it. Sometimes I think you forget I’m a wolf—I can sniff out a lie better than anyone.”

Hurt flashes across Min’s face, and guilt twists in my chest. I swivel to face her, grabbing her hand. “Min, I’m so sorry. I’m in a mood, and I didn’t think.”

She reaches for the brush and smiles sadly. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’m a jerk and I’m sorry. Go at it with my hair. Do your worst.”

“You’ll have to turn around first.”

When I do, she continues brushing, gentle as always. Sometimes I forget that despite her bravado, she’s sensitive.

Ten minutes later, I look like I’ve stepped out of a salon. I’m dressed in the pink monstrosity, and as I apply a swipe of gloss to my lips, I take a huge breath. Even though it fills my lungs, I still feel as if I’m starved of oxygen.

“Come, let’s get you down before the soup gets cold and your mother has an apoplexy.”

When we reach the bottom of the opulent staircase, Minerva takes a left to head toward the servants’ lounge while I take a right to the dining room. I’m surprised to see my mother isn’t seated at the table.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask my father.

His brilliant green eyes look a little duller tonight. “She’ll be here in a minute. She isn’t taking this very well.”

“I’m here, and I’m fine.” My mother glides into the dining room, her movements graceful and deliberate as she heads straight for my father’s chair. Without hesitation, he pulls her into his lap. Silent communication passes between them as he gently strokes her cheek and stares into her eyes.