Alpha's Chosen Mate

17

My nails dig into my palms as I push back the urge to cry, snotty and ugly. But that won’t work on Christian. My tears mean nothing, my pleas won’t change anything, and my anger won’t hurt him. So I aim at the only target I know will hurt him for sure. “I suggest you forget about Leilani. If anything Camille says is true and she’s in the hands of Asher Wilde, there’s only one reason he hasn’t killed her yet. She’s become his willing w***e to save herself. She’s spreading her legs for the enemy, and you can be sure as hell that he’ll f**k her in ways you never did.”

I expect a blow, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Christian moves so quickly I don’t see him until his fingers are wrapped around my throat. He throws me across the room. I’m suspended in the air for a second, bile rushing up my throat, and a scream tears from my throat as I crash into the desk. My stomach rams into the edge and excruciating pain consumes me whole. The table screeches as I collapse to the ground, curling in on myself and gasping for air as I clutch my stomach. Tears blur my vision as Christian’s face comes into view.

I want to tell him to stay the hell away from me, but I can’t speak. Everything hurts and the metallic tang of blood is heavy in the air. I’m bleeding.

He lifts me off the ground and panic flares in his eyes. “f**k, Georgia, why didn’t you tell me?”

My head lolls as he tucks me against his chest and takes the stairs three at a time. I barely hear him barking orders at the guards to get the physician as he carries me down the hallway to his room. Warmth drips down my thighs as the pain intensifies, and I know what’s happening before the physician arrives.

When I wake up later that night to Christian’s fingers in my hair and his lips against my forehead as he murmurs an apology, again and again, I know I lost our child.

CHAPTER 8

LEILANI

A

childish squeal snaps my attention away from the romance novel I’ve been reading for three days. It tumbles onto the bed as I turn, crawling up the wall until I’m awkwardly perched on the headboard, where I can peer out the window.

My heart stalls at the sight of a shirtless Asher surrounded by an army of children who demand his attention. He leans over, and I try not to notice how great his ass looks in those slacks. Predictably, I fail. I’m staring, and I can’t stop. It’s not just his godlike physique or how his sweaty skin glistens in the sunlight; it’s the excited giggle the girl unleashes when Asher lifts her up.

Why aren’t they scared of him? She lifts her hands to his face and slaps his cheeks softly. Asher laughs, cracking a grin so fierce and genuine that my stomach squeezes. Maybe I ate something bad.

His eyes twinkle, and a cleft in the center of his chin I’ve never noticed before dips. Goddess, the bastard is gorgeous. It hits me in the gut, rendering me breathless, speechless, hot, and ill—all at once. That’s the only way to explain the flutters in my stomach and the sudden spike in my temperature.

His lips move, and I strain to hear. They’re too far away for me to easily pick up their conversation, but the wind catches a few stray words and sends them my way. “...said I was your first choice...”

Asher taps her nose. “You are, Ceri!”

“You’re a mated man now! We can’t get married anymore, alpha!” she squeals, pouting and pulling at his silky black hair. His blue eyes shine with mirth as he chuckles, leaning in to whisper something that makes her eyes go wide. She slaps her hand over her mouth. “Really? The princess snores?”

I glare. I do not snore. The prick nods and lifts a boy with his free arm. I bet if he wanted to, he could lift a third and juggle all three without breaking a sweat. Asher is a large man, larger than any I’ve met, and also the scariest.

Hottest, you mean, a voice murmurs in my subconscious, startling me.

Shut up, Fio—Wait. Fiona?

She snickers for a moment before falling silent again, but that’s typical. Fiona is usually quiet, unless she’s being nasty. But…I can hear my wolf again. Distant or not, the hollow space in my heart feels less desolate, and something new and lighter pulses in its place.

My gaze returns to the dashing ogre below, and my heart skips a beat as I rest my head on my arms and watch him call each child by name, toss them into the air, and catch them. He lets the smallest one, Matt, trip him. He yelps and falls on the grass. They attack him as one, sitting atop him, giggling and squealing loud enough to wake the entire castle.

The maids walk by, smiling. So do the gardeners and the guards. Every passerby bows, but there’s a fond smile on their faces as they regard this monster of a man who’s done nothing but make my life miserable, and the realization hits me hard.

They love him. The children, the pack, his servants. They all love and respect Alpha Asher. That’s why Enya despises me. While I can’t be entirely sure that they aren’t f*****g, there’s something else in her eyes when she looks at him—reverence.

My father does everything for our pack, but I’ve never seen them look to him with such complete adoration, like if he asked, they’d lay their lives at his feet.

They must all be as crazy as he is.

As if he can feel my gaze on him, Asher’s eyes lift to the window, meeting mine. I gasp and shuffle back so quickly that I fall off the headboard. The back of my head hits the bedframe, and I cuss, rubbing the sore spot.

What is wrong with me?

I can’t stop doing it. It’s like an itch I can’t stop scratching. Every morning before dawn, I lift my skirts and climb the headboard, peering through the window just to catch a glimpse of Asher running. My mouth dries and my body betrays me, growing tense with feelings I shouldn’t have while the marks of two men burn on my skin. I feel like I’m losing my mind, but I can’t stop myself from watching him. I wait for him to return every evening and run across the yard again, into the woods.

By the end of the first week, I have his schedule figured out, and by the second, I’m brimming with tension. He knows I watch him run every day—I mean, I have nothing else to do—but he acts like I don’t exist. Like he hasn’t locked me up in his version of a tower, turning me into a helpless damsel waiting for her prince charming to rescue her.

Sighing, I let myself fall back against the bed and clutch a pillow to my chest, my pile of books completely forgotten in the corner. I wonder how my father is. I haven’t heard from him since that disastrous dinner, and I’m starting to believe I might truly be alone. Sometimes, I think of Christian and wonder if he’s happy with Georgia.