Alpha’s Mistake

Chapter 8

Milena~

Rolling from side to side, the softness beneath gives life and warmth to my once-arched body. It’s mysterious, waking up and finding yourself in a serene place. A room adorned with maze walls, beautiful white tapestries, an ornate white rug, and sheets.

How did I get here?

The goddess must have softened the beast’s heart, enough to ease my torture.

Should I feel good about it? This isn’t right. Nothing good comes from the Ryders. Why did Alpha Dragomir bring me to a better room when his intention is to create agony for my existence? This is his room. My new hell.

Letting out a gentle sigh, I tuck my hair behind my ears and peel out of bed, not wanting to keep swimming in disarray. As my feet plant on the rug, a familiar sweet scent grips my nose, sending a tingle down my spine. It’s Alpha Vladimir’s scent. Why does it stall me when we haven't been in contact? The Goddess shouldn't infer this is part of the mate bond punishment, whiffing the scent of a supposed mate after rejection.

I hate to admit it makes me alive in a way I despise, but my throat can’t help but entertain its sweetness. I need more. More. Rolling up my dress, I strangle my face with it to get more because it carries a larger whiff of the scent.

Oh, heavens, I can’t get enough of it. I might collapse and let this scent overwhelm me all day.

Wait a second… What do I think I'm doing, engrossing myself in the scent of the monster who sold me? I’ve lost my mind. What is wrong with me?

Slapping my cheeks, I call myself to order and bolt into the bathroom to wash off the unwanted scent. Whatever belongs to the cruel Alpha shouldn't linger around me.

He’s a prideful predator, and the last thing I wish is to be involved with him.

Stepping back into the room after washing up, I grab the red dress lying on a chair and slip my body into it. This fits but expensive. Whose dress is it? Hope I don’t get into bigger trouble.

Scanning the room, I can’t help but sigh in defeat. The entire room is secured with unclimbable walls. No windows, and there is only one way out, the door, which I trust is guarded by warriors.

How do I flee? Where is Alpha Dragomir? How long do I have before he returns? I need to find a way out of this place before anyone finds me. But where do I go from here? Oh, heavens. I don’t have a fare, and those ugly-looking men captured me from my home without my bag.

It won’t be easy to find a new transporter and the lost address of the female doctor, but it isn’t impossible.

There should be a way.

Approaching the door, I stand still, placing my hand on my chest to calm my racing heart. What if my prediction about warriors guarding the door is right? How do I get past them without paying the price of my action with my blood?

Take the bold step, Milena. Move.

The tiny voice in my head scolds.

I let out a deep breath, twist the doorknob, and pop my head out. Freezing as my eyes land on two warriors, standing side by side with swords. Like a sculpture, they stay focused.

I remain in my position for minutes, expecting a strike, but none of the men make a move or speak. I take a step, watching closely for my life, yet they stay unfazed.

“Hi.” I wave, stepping between them, forcing a smile.

They say no words or wield their swords.

What should I do or say? I can’t let them sense my anxiety. I need to hold it together.

Rubbing my stomach, I yawn. “Where is the way to the kitchen? I need food.”

Surprisingly, one point in the right direction, leading nowhere. But it’s a good start. I duck in appreciation before hurrying down the stairs but bump into someone dressed in a uniform. A servant. “The kitchen, please,” I request, swallowing hard.

He scans me, watching with intensity, and I grip my dress, waiting for him to scream. Create chaos. Anything to get me punished.

Rather, he c***s his head. “Follow me.”

I nod, releasing the breath I've been holding before trailing behind. What should I do next? My destination isn’t the kitchen, and my brain won’t stop running everywhere but nowhere.

I'm lost on how to escape without going to the kitchen, but no way out.

Arriving with the servant, delicious hot steam envelops my nose. And my stupid stomach cries loudly, my mouth watering, craving to have a taste of eye-pleasing delicacies lined up as if there were an event. Servants and slaves pace around the vast space, attending to one duty or another.

It’s an Alpha’s kitchen.

“Oh, save me, Gingle. Why are you here?” A semi-portly man in a green tank top and flowing pants struts toward me. His right hand hangs female-like, a toothpick rolling at the side of his lips as he chews.

“I’m hungry,” I tell him.

“Oh, sweetheart. You could have rung the bell.” He pats my hair like patting a hungry pup.

Bell? I didn’t see one. Even if there is, I still need to be out here. Jerking from his touch, my face scrunches. “What role can I play here?” Slaves work before being fed. Besides, getting involved with others will get me what I want.

“No work, beauty. Go to sleep like a princess. Go.” He swishes his hand.

Does he know I'm a slave? Or he thinks I'm elite because of this borrowed red dress. Clearing my throat, I hold my chest, explaining, “I’m the new slave brought to Duskwarren yesterday.” This should do.

“That isn’t the instruction given, pretty one.”

Before I can say the next word, he sweeps an invisible hair off his shoulder, and returns to the kitchen staff. “Hasten, roaches. We don’t have all day.” He claps.

Twisting my hair, my eyes dart through the corners, and I notice a big steel pot of almost burnt rice. I reach for a spoon and start to scrape the remnants. Done with it, I proceed to the next and the next, trying to start a conversation with someone. Anyone. But all the servants and slaves are robotically immersed in their duties, avoiding me like a plague.

I move to wash the stack of dishes when a cry from behind catches my attention.

“She is a stubborn one and will get me killed,” the man from earlier shouts. While cursing, he tugs me away from the dishes and out of the kitchen. Pointing at my face, he scolds, “Never show your face here, girl, unless you want Alpha V…” He awkwardly clears his throat. “Go,” he snaps, slamming the double doors.

Alpha Vladimir? Was that it?

Bad news spreads effortlessly. Everyone must have known the truth— I stood Alpha Vladimir, the reason he sold me. Everyone sees me as a plague, a virus to be wiped off the soil of the pack. Not only am I a sold maiden with a snatched identity, but now I'm cursed—a disease to be avoided.

Tears brim in my eyes as my shoulders slacken. Defeatedly, I return to the room I once had the urge to flee. Everything is getting complicated. How will I make my escape when no one wants to speak to me? How do I achieve my dream when the world is against me?

Banging into the now suffocating room, I fist my hair, scream out my lungs, and hurl myself on the bed. Tears gush down my cheeks. This can’t be happening. Everything I've planned is fading away. Why did that cruel being turn out to be my mate? He should have rejected me; he has the power.

My tears soak the pillow as I cry into it. Don’t know how much I've been lost in my misery, but my eyes are heavy and empty. My cheeks are sticky with dry tears. Weakness washes over me, and the only thing I can do is sleep.

I let it take over me.

The burning sensation rushing through my veins makes me vibrate, coating my skin in sweat. Cold squeezes my blood, leaving me sneezing. My core throbs with intense pain, and my midriff screams with cramps.

Bitten feeling—the same foreign sensation I had encountered last night in the dungeon after Beta Vasil threw me to the cold floor. The pain was unbearable and made my vision blurry, and now it’s back.

How do I make it go away? Stop hurting and let me be.

I make to scream for help, but my lips can only quiver. My fingers clutch the sheet like it will be my lifesaver. Nana whimpers, pacing restlessly.

“Milena,” a faint voice echoes in the haze of my mind, but I smell no one in my presence.

Unsure whether the voice is real, I cry out with strength, “Help… me!”

“Can you hear me? You have to sit up.” Someone tries to tug me, but I protest as their scent hits me. My stomach rolls in disgust, and I gag. Poison. The scent is poison. I need an antidote. Where is my mate? I need his scent to cure the poison.

Nana stirs in my head as my fangs and claws elongate and I lurch at the intruder, slashing. I roar, burying my fangs and breaking the intruder’s skin. Blood rushes into my mouth, but I spit it out. It’s bitter and burns my tongue like wolfsbane.

I hear voices, stomping, screaming, but I see no one from my blurry vision. Nevertheless, there are intruders, and I will rip them off if they come closer, because they make my skin wriggle.

“Find mate,” Nana snarls, my blood heating, yearning for my mate’s scent.

I press my throbbing temples, screaming, “Call him! Call my mate! Now!”

This is what my body, mind, and blood crave. And I must have my mate.