Alpha's Chosen Mate

10

He says such vile things, and Goddess forgive me for liking them.

“You’re close,” he says, and his fingers touch the back of my throat when I don’t respond. On reflex, I bite him. I should have known better. Wanting to hurt him never goes my way. He exhales sharply, and when I see the bulge in his pants growing, I know that my defiance and bouts of violence turn him on way more than my obedience.

That cripples me with fear, and his nostrils flare at the new scent in the air. He smiles. It is mischievous, wicked, and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Raise your skirts for me, wife.”

My hands move of their own accord, and my skirt is bunched around my waist in no time. I have no underwear underneath, and Asher’s eyes darken at the sight of me, bare against him, my arousal a dark stain on his trousers. “Touch yourself,” he murmurs hoarsely, his fingers pumping harder and faster in my mouth. A sound climbs up my throat, a plea— but I have no idea what I’m begging for. Do I want more from him, or nothing?

My fingers brush against his thigh, and he stiffens as I push a finger into myself. My eyes shut and I moan around his fingers. I think of his c**k thrusting deep inside me and I push another finger in, panting. My world narrows down to his knee against my c******s, my fingers buried as deep as they can go, and his fingers f*****g my mouth.

When I find release, it’s with a sharp cry. Something snaps inside me, and the white-hot surge of pleasure threatens to take me apart. I reach forward to grasp something, anything at all, to save me. I fist Asher’s shirt, pulling him into me and holding on for dear life.

He cradles the back of my head gently as his lips brush the top of my head, my temple, behind my ear. His tenderness is almost loving, and I let myself fall into it.

But that’s a mistake.

Agony tears through my neck as his razor-sharp canines sink through flesh and muscles. A strangled cry erupts from my throat as a fire that obliterates everything in its path burns through my body. If I hadn’t felt this before, I’d think I was dying. For a moment, I can’t breathe, and darkness overwhelms my vision. The world ceases to exist and my heartbeat accelerates until I think it might explode out of my chest.

I jerk, my fingers digging into Asher’s skin as the fire morphs into something else: inexplicable, insuppressible want.

My eyes open to streams of sunlight, and my throat is dry and hoarse, like I’ve been screaming all night long. It was just another dream, like all the others I’ve had since the wedding. They’ve all been so vivid and perverted that I think being in the Dark Moon Pack is filling me with the same darkness that Asher exudes.

My legs tremble as I get out of bed and grab the plastic water jug on the nightstand—Goddess forbid they give me a glass, lest I break it and stab Asher or Enya with its shards. Pain shoots from my neck and down my arm. The jug slips through my fingers, warm water splashing on my bare toes, and I fall into the puddle, clutching my shoulder.

My fingers come away wet and sticky as I trace the outline of what feels like a bite on the hollow between my neck and shoulder. I freeze, cold fear numbing me as I stare at my bloody fingers. My head snaps back to the sheets. They’re stained with drops of blood. My heart stops completely when I see my panties on the floor. They’re ripped at the side.

Eyes wide, I touch my skin, my hair, my lips, my neck, my throat. Surely, I would know if…

I lift my dress, praying to the Goddess that I don’t find bruises from his hands clamping around my thighs. I find nothing, but that doesn’t even start to calm me. His scent is on my sheets, my skin, my very intact nightdress, and when I reach for my panties, they smell like him, too.

He was here.

Asher was in my room, and the bastard f*****g marked me.

That begs the question: were either of my dreams real? Which one of them actually happened? Did Asher and I…have s*x?

CHAPTER 5

LEILANI

N

o, we didn’t.

I’ve repeated those words to myself for the past hour since a handful of maids stormed into my room to prepare me for an event they won’t tell me s**t about. They yank my hair in different directions, pluck my skin free of hair, dust my face with powder and makeup, and now I can’t f*****g breathe because a corset is digging into my ribs.

“Watch it,” I hiss when Enya pulls the tie so harshly that my belly cramps. “Is this even necessary?”

"You’re the luna," Enya says, like that’s stupid question. I yelp when the teeth of a comb dig too deeply into my scalp. “You must look your best.”

“No one even wears corsets anymore! And my hair looks better when it’s straight!”

“There’s not much difference between this one and a wild boar,” Enya says under her breath, and the maids chuckle. My retort is cut off as she wrenches the last tie closed, bringing the dress together.

I won’t deny it. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. I hate that my fingers run along the silver embroidery adorning silk so black it seems to absorb light. My waist is nearly nonexistent, but I appreciate how the corset defines the flare of my hips and adds more cleavage to my smaller-than-average breasts.

Most werewolves are built tall, lean, and lithe. I’m different. Men turn their heads when I walk by because they’re trying to decide where to look: my face, my too-slim waist, or my ass. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Asher had this dress tailor-made after seeing me naked, to emphasize every dip and curve I’ve hidden under baggy slacks and tops over the years. The neckline is a daring plunge framed by stunning black lace that caresses the swell of my breasts.

The skirts of the gown are even more dramatic, cascading in soft layers to the floor. I’ve never worn anything like this. I look regal…royal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as a lock of my hair falls against my cheek, curled beautifully like the rest. I watch Enya scowl as she fixes the rest of my mane into a classic updo that I would have considered too extravagant for a wedding.

I meet Enya’s gaze in the mirror. “We must have important guests. Care to tell me who Asher wants me looking this way for?”

Again, she shoots me a look that makes me feel stupid. “Things are different here, luna.” When Enya calls me luna, it’s with open mockery, like I don’t deserve the title. Frankly, I agree with her. Goddess knows the more I stare at myself, I don’t even think I deserve to wear the black earrings that look as expensive as my entire inheritance. “The Dark Moon Pack is by far the biggest and most affluent, with more connections to the humans and the riches that come with such connections. These things you consider too lavish don’t even make a dent in the alpha’s wealth. Nothing we do here is simple.”

She stands in front of me as she focuses on painting my lips a temptingly dark shade of red. “Don’t worry. You’ll understand when you attend dinner.” Her gaze meets mine and she smiles ruefully, looking pleased with her work. “You look less...wretched. He’ll be pleased.”

Coming from Enya, that’s a huge compliment.

My fingers touch the dress once more. I can’t help it. It’s so beautiful. “Asher...” I say breathlessly. “He likes this?”

Enya eyes me with disdain. “Not you, I promise. He likes his women blonde and reserved.”