Never Yours Alpha

CH 13 - Simon

SIMON POV

I spent the entire day on edge.

Not alert. Not tense. Not mildly inconvenienced by enemy territory.

On edge.

The kind of edge where every sound in the corridor made my body prepare for war, every passing servant looked like a possible threat, every laugh from the halls scraped against my nerves because none of them sounded like hers.

And the worst part was that I didn’t need to see Lily to know she was close.

Her scent kept reaching me everywhere.

In my room.

In the corridor.

Near the west staircase.

Outside the servants’ wing when I finally found real coffee and drank it black enough to punish my mouth back into working order.

Sweet. Floral. Warm. Maddening.

Hers.

It was faint sometimes, barely there beneath layers of fae perfume and polished stone, and other times it hit hard enough to make Fury slam against my ribs like he could break free through bone alone. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, walking through this palace like a ghost under my skin, leaving traces I couldn’t ignore and wasn’t allowed to follow.

By late afternoon, I had stopped lying to myself, pretending I was fine.

By evening, I stopped pretending I was sane.

I showered in the vane attempt to keep my s**t together, to wash her scent out of my head. I couldn't. If anything, standing under the stream with my head playing and replaying our little interactions made my knees wobble and my c**k ache.

I wasn't a good man. Not by any means.

And I couldn't help myself to lust on every detail I had no right to obsess over.

The way she had passed me the other night without knowing who I was, but still looked like some part of her had recognized me.

The way her step faltered just a fraction and her breath hitched each time we were near.

I dressed in the classic ambassador’s formal evening suit, a black smoking jacket tailored in the fae style but severe enough that I didn’t completely hate it. The shirt was dark, the cuffs golden, the cut too elegant for my taste but acceptable for a man pretending to belong here in the fae court.

Then I picked up my mask.

Black.

Wolf-shaped.

Sharp around the brow, narrow at the cheekbones, the muzzle carved with enough precision that for one bitter second I wondered if when my beta had chosen his intent had been to to mock me.

It resembled my wolf almost perfectly.

Predator. Teeth. Patience before slaughter.

Fury went still when I lifted it on my face

'Good.'

“Yes,” I murmured, tying it into place. “I thought you’d like it.”

The man staring back at me in the mirror didn’t look like a diplomat.

He looked like something pretending to be one.

And failing.

I stepped into the ballroom before Lily arrived.

That was deliberate.

I needed to know the room. The exits. The guards. The placement of the Queen. The Grints. Rosalie. Anyone watching too closely.

Anyone that could put himself between Lily and me. Anyone with a death wish basically.

The ballroom was already crowded, glittering with masks, jewels, gowns, and lies. Fae moved like butterflies trained from birth to make deceit look graceful. Every conversation had two meanings. Every smile had teeth behind it.

I hated it on sight.

Weird creatures.

A woman in a silver swan mask approached me before I had crossed half the room.

“Ambassador,” she purred. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

“No.”

Her smile froze.

I walked past her. I didn't give a flying f**k.

Another tried five minutes later, this one with red hair and a dress that had been designed to make her t**s almost spill out. I refused anyway.

Desperation had never been my favorite color indeed.

A third laughed as if my disinterest were part of a game.

It wasn’t.

Rosalie found me near one of the marble columns, wearing a mask of black lace and enough confidence to poison half the room.

“There you are,” she said, sliding close enough that her perfume cut through the air. “I wondered whether you’d hide all evening.” She cooed trying to reach for my jaw.

“I’m not hiding.” I said through gritted teeth, clenching my fists to hide the claws so freaking close to rip out of my skin.

“No,” she said, looking over my mask with amused approval. “You’re lurking. Much worse.”

“Was there something you needed?”

Her smile sharpened. “A dance.”

“No.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, more offended by the lack of performance than the rejection itself.

“Careful, Ambassador,” she murmured. “People might start thinking you’ve lost your good manners eating each day with those beasts.”

I turned my head slowly toward her.

“Or maybe I’ve got a better taste now.”

For once, she had nothing immediate to say.

That was new.

I left her standing there and moved deeper into the ballroom, letting the crowd swallow me just enough to observe without drawing too much attention.

Councilman Grint stood in one corner near the tall windows.

Even with the mask, I knew him instantly.

Greenish undertone to his skin, thin mouth, long fingers curled around a glass of wine he had no intention of drinking. Everything about him made my instincts recoil. He looked less like a courtier and more like something that had learned court manners by watching from under a bridge.

The Grinch.

Murmurs had been right about that.

He was speaking to another fae wearing a fox mask, the two of them angled away from the crowd, bodies close enough to suggest privacy. Their mouths barely moved. Their hands did not gesture. That meant the conversation mattered.

I started walking toward them.

Slowly.

Carefully.

I needed to hear what they were whispering about.

I took one more step.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

And my heart stopped.

Or maybe I had a stroke.

Because Lily stood at the entrance with Samuel beside her, one hand resting on his arm, her body wrapped in pale gold silk that made every inch of the ballroom look dull in comparison.

Her mask was white, shaped like a kitten, covered in diamonds that caught the chandelier light whenever she moved.

Cute.

Fragile.

A lie.

Because there was nothing fragile about the way she held herself under the weight of every eye in the room.

She looked terrified.

She looked furious.

She looked starving, which made my own anger spike so hard I nearly moved before thinking.

But more than anything, she looked like the personification of every instinct I had spent eight years trying to bury.

My little flower.

No.

Not little.

Not anymore.

Her scent hit me again, brutal and wonderful, as Samuel leaned toward her and spoke close to her ear.

His mouth near her.

His body beside hers.

His arm under her hand.

Red bled across the edges of my vision.

Fury surged so hard that my shoulders locked.

'We need to stop this now' he growled in my head.

I wanted to.

God help me, I wanted to.

I wanted to cross the ballroom, tear Samuel’s arm away from hers, lift her over my shoulder, and dare every jeweled coward in this room to stop me. I wanted to take her out of this place before midnight, before the court, before the Queen could turn her existence into another political negotiation.

I wanted blood.

Samuel’s, preferably.

Maybe Grint’s too, if he kept looking at her like she was a contract about to be signed.

So I did the only thing that I could do without starting a war before the time was right.

Stalked right to her, my intention was to slam my shoulder against Samuel. Knock his breath off and hopefully have him land on his ass.

But when she was there, within reach… I couldn’t help myself. I had to touch her .

So I passed by, grazing her arm like the creep I was. Brushing my fingertips lightly on her warm flesh.

Tiny sparkles danced on my hand, and I was pretty sure she felt something too.

Because her gaze moved across the room.

Searching.

Uncertain.

Until she found me.

Her eyes locked on my mask.

Then on mine.

Shock hit first. I saw it clearly even from across the room, the slight parting of her lips, the stillness that took over her body for one dangerous second.

Then recognition. Enough that my mouth curved before I could stop it.

She knew.

Some part of her knew.

And the look that followed almost broke me.

Fear.

Fear of what my presence meant.

But her steps didn't falter, she still held her head high and faced the mass of vultures around her.

Good girl.

Still too brave for her own good.

Samuel noticed her attention shift and followed her gaze.

His expression changed the moment he saw me.

I smiled wider.

Let him see it.

Let him understand that whatever game he thought he was playing, he was going to lose.

The next hour was torture.

Actual torture would have been cleaner.

Lily moved through the ballroom with Samuel at her side while I stood in shadow and watched every step, every greeting, every forced smile. She accepted compliments. Nodded. Played the role. Let Samuel steer her away from questions that cut too close.

He was good at it.

That pissed me off more.

He knew when to speak for her and when to let her speak. He knew how to place his body between her and the worst of the court without making it obvious. He knew how to make himself useful.

And I hated him for it. Even if I should have been grateful he was helping her out.

The music shifted once, then again. Dances began. Couples moved across the floor in masks and silk, spinning through candlelight like none of them had ever bled.

Samuel asked Lily to dance.

She agreed.

I felt my control splinter.

His hand settled at her waist.

NO. NOPE. NO f*****g WAY.

My fingers closed around the stem of the glass I had been holding, and it cracked before I realized I’d applied pressure. Wine spilled across my hand. A nearby fae glanced over, then immediately looked away.

Smart.

Samuel guided her into the rhythm, calm and practiced. Lily followed, not perfectly, but well enough. Her shoulders were stiff at first. Then she loosened in his arms, smiled at him.

Enough to make something ugly coil inside me.

Because midnight was too close and I could feel the pull tightening with every passing minute, a pressure under my ribs that had turned from thread to chain.

Ten minutes.

Nine.

Eight.

I could hear the clock even over the music.

Or maybe I imagined it.

I didn’t care.

The court watched her like they were waiting for a miracle or a failure. The Queen stood near the dais, face composed, hands clasped too tightly. Grint watched from the corner with that thin mouth of his almost smiling.

Samuel leaned closer to Lily and said something.

She laughed.

That was it.

I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't pretend this wasn't real and tearing me apart anymore.

I crossed the ballroom with enough purpose that people moved before they understood why. Conversations faltered. A woman gasped when I passed too close. Someone whispered my false name.

Ambassador Ratlige.

Crazy.

Improper.

I didn’t give a damn.

The music softened into a slower rhythm as I reached them.

Perfect.

Samuel saw me first.

His hand tightened at Lily’s waist.

Bad choice.

I stepped in, caught Lily’s hand where it rested near his shoulder, and removed it from him with all the politeness I could scrape together from whatever remained of my self-control.

Samuel hissed under his breath.

I ignored him.

Every eye in the court turned toward us and I didn't give a f**k if I was giving them a goddamn show beacuse I was done. So f*****g done.

I bowed my head slightly, keeping my grip on Lily’s hand light despite the violence burning through my veins.

“May I have this dance, Princess?”

The room around us could well have been burning.I wouldn't have noticed.

Lily stared at me.

Up close, the pull was unbearable.

Her scent wrapped around my throat, sweet and warm and alive, and beneath it there was something new, something rising as midnight approached.

Her.

Becoming.

Her eyes burned behind the kitten mask.

Fire.

Fury.

Pain.

For half a second I thought she might slap me.

I almost wanted her to.

Instead she turned to Samuel with the most beautiful fake smile I had ever seen.

“Would you grab us two glasses of champagne?” she asked sweetly. “I need to speak with an old friend.”

Old friend.

The words cut and soothed at the same time.

Samuel didn’t move immediately.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Lily’s hand remained in mine.

Finally, Samuel released her.

“Of course,” he said, but his eyes promised this was not finished.

'You're f*****g right dude. I need to kick your ass' Fury growled deeply in my chest.

Lily stepped into me because the dance required it, not because she wanted to. At least that was what she probably told herself.

And I wasn't going to complain.

My hand settled at her waist.

The world nearly ended.

I led her into the rhythm, slow and controlled, keeping my posture perfect while every nerve in my body screamed at the contact. She was warm beneath my hand. Real. Furious. Breathing too fast.

“Why are you here, Simon?” she whispered through the most flawless smile she could fake.

Hearing my name from her mouth almost undid me.

The clock began to strike.

One.

The room shifted, attention turning toward the sound.

Two.

Lily stiffened in my arms.

Three.

The pull beneath my ribs tightened so hard I nearly stopped moving.

Four.

Her breath caught.

Five.

My hand flexed at her waist before I forced it still.

Six.

Fury pushed forward, my canines almost out already.

Seven.

Lily’s eyes widened.

Eight.

She licked her lips.

Nine.

The glamour on my skin suddenly felt too tight.

Ten.

The court went silent.

Eleven.

And she whispered, “Why…”

Twelve.

Midnight.

The bond hit like a command written into blood.

My entire body locked around the truth of it.

Her.

Mine.

Every law older than crowns, courts, and treaties had finally spoken.

I looked down at her, at my little flower in her diamond kitten mask, at the girl who had haunted every corner of my life for eight years, and at the woman she was now.

I smiled like the war had already begun.

“Because you’re mine, little flower.”