Alpha's Chosen Mate

12

Lowering my head and squashing my pride, I do his bidding. I know that if he aimed for my father’s head, he’d be suffering worse than just a scratch. Fists clenched, I take a headcount of the guards here, separating my father’s pack from Asher’s, and it’s a ratio of one to ten. If Asher wants my father dead, all he needs to do is give the order. Provoking him won’t work in my favor.

I force one foot in front of the other until I’m by his side. He stares up at me with a quirked eyebrow, like he didn’t just throw a knife at my father. I swallow every ugly remark and push down every violent, intrusive thought that comes to mind—like breaking his glass and slashing his throat open with a shard.

He reaches up to grab my waist, and his knuckles brush against mine. The contact fries a major part of my brain, and I don’t have it in me to fight as he pulls me onto his thigh, hard and sturdy under my ass. He clamps a possessive arm under my breasts, where everyone—my father, my pack, and his guests—can see, humiliating me, and I see the disappointment in my family’s eyes shifting into resentment. We fight to the death for our own. They came into enemy territory to get me back, possibly fight to that end, but me? I’m a f*****g coward.

My head hangs in shame and I refuse to look at my father. Or Madeline. Or Morris. Or anyone else.

Asher gives a curt nod and everyone digs into their food. Dinner has officially begun.

“We’ve taken such good care of your daughter, Mardoc,” Asher says, breaking the tense silence, and my body goes rigid. “I understand your skepticism, but you have nothing to worry about.”

Dad abandons his food and glowers across the room. “You crossed into my territory and stole my daughter. You should be grateful I don’t take that as an act of war.”

Asher merely cuts off a piece of lamb, stabs it with his fork, and brings it close to my lips, all while staring at my father, watching his rage simmer. When I refuse to open my mouth, his hand on my thigh inches toward the knife by his plate. Another threat. I part my lips, and he pushes in a generous amount of mouthwatering meat.

But it tastes like ash. I have to force myself to chew.

Satisfied by my display of obedience, he responds to my father. “I didn’t steal her. She offered herself to me in exchange for being saved from...” He glances at Beta Manuel, and there’s a hostility in his eyes that I don’t think has anything to do with how Beta Manuel groped my ass. “That.”

The older man’s lips curl into an ugly sneer. “She was my bride. There are laws in place, and you broke them. I demand retribution.”

Asher smirks. “And what would that be, Manuel?”

I chew in the blistering silence, swallowing even if it takes three tries for the food to go down. Which is better? Going back with Beta Manuel and dying slowly, or staying with Asher until he murders me? My life sucks.

My heartbeat accelerates when Beta Manuel says, “You’ve tainted her. I’d rather die than bed one of your whores.” His beady eyes run along the women at the table and land on the youngest. Her skin is white as snow, and she has raven-black hair like Asher’s. “Your cousin will do.”

He has a cousin?

Asher’s stare is filled with dry amusement. “Jules, what do you think?”

The woman—girl? I can’t be sure; she barely looks eighteen—shrugs, downing the last of her wine. She licks her lips as she sets the glass down. “Sorry, Ash. He’s really not my type.”

Manuel snarls, and though my father growls in warning, he ignores it. He jumps to his feet, the entitled fool. I could have warned him that Asher is dangerous, but it’s too late to save him. It was over from the moment he insinuated he wanted to bed Asher’s cousin—a child.

This time, Asher doesn’t throw a knife. He hurls his fork across the table instead, and I don’t scream when the sharp tines lodge in Manuel’s throat. But Madeline does, as blood sprays on her blue dress. My father’s guards rush to Manuel’s aid, and I watch him thrash on the floor and bleed. A fork to the throat won’t kill a werewolf, but it sure as hell will make him sore for a while.

Maybe I should feel bad, but I don’t. It’s satisfying to watch a man with pedophilic tendencies choke on his own blood.

The guests at the table keep eating their meals like this is just a typical night. Maybe they’ve seen much worse. It makes me wonder what normally happens at these dinners—what I have to look forward to—and the food in my stomach turns to lead.

“Alpha Asher,” my father says, his voice cracking as he looks from me to Manuel, who’s still gurgling pitifully on the floor. “Let Leilani go. She had nothing to do with that night. Your fight is with me.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine. That night? What the hell is he talking about? “Dad⁠—”"

Asher chuckles, and it’s a sound I’m starting to hate, because it means he’s toying with me—with us. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“What do you want?”

Asher stills, and just like that, I’m nothing more than a doll perched on his arm—insignificant, worth only as much as my father is willing to give. He drags his teeth over his lower lip, appearing to be deep in thought, but I know what he says next is premeditated. “Step down. Hand the Blue Moon Pack over to me, and become my slave.”

Silence.

I jump to my feet. “Are you out of your damn mind?!”

They ignore me. Dad looks like he’s considering it. Asher merely watches him. I’ve never met anyone as cold or unfeeling as him.

I see the conflict in Dad’s eyes. I see him weigh his options, and I know the moment he decides. His raises his chin and clenches his jaw. “No.”

Asher doesn’t look surprised. But I do. I know I would have advised against it. I was about to tell him not to give in to Asher’s demands, but he obviously didn’t need the motivation. That stings, and makes me feel completely alone. Mother would have picked differently. After all, that’s why she died—to save my life, while Dad wasn’t even there.

Venomous thoughts run through my mind, and Asher asks the question I don’t have the courage to. “Your daughter’s life isn’t worth your title or your dignity, is it?”