39

ALEXANDER

Alina is a dream. She is everything I have ever imagined in a woman.

Does it hurt not being able to have her the way I want? Yes, so fucking much. But it’s for her own good. I’m waiting for her to remember the night we shared. She was drunk and I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, but I remember everything. I expect her to recall it soon. Lycans have excellent memory too.

I’ve been forcing myself to stay away from her since I let myself succumb to her charm a wee ago. Because whenever she’s near, all I can think about is devouring her. Showing her the dirty things that would ruin any bit of innocence she’s still holding onto.

Patience. I remind myself as I open the door to the dining hall.

Cassandra finds a seat across from Claude, which puts her usual spot to my right. The moment she sees Alina seated beside me, her lips tighten. But she doesn’t react, doesn’t make a scene. That’s how she is, always composed.

“Darling, excuse me.” I smile at her, standing beside her chair with Alina on my arm.

She glances from me to Alina, then scoffs and rises. I already knew she wouldn’t compete with the next bride, so I’m not surprised when she walks to the other side and takes a seat beside Claude.

“Sit.” I speak softly to my innocent little mate, who hesitates before lowering herself into the chair.

I don’t like the subtle display of weakness, but she does better than I expected.

I half expect Cassandra to tear her apart. But even though she doesn’t say anything, she holds herself with a posture that tells me she’s seething. I know I’ll hear about this after lunch. Or maybe her father will call.

She’s the apple of his eye, and anyone who upsets her becomes his enemy. But I’m too valuable an ally for him to discard, so I’ll likely have to sit through a call where he tries to wax poetic about how having a daughter is the greatest blessing a man can receive.

“So, you eat with the slaves now?” Cassandra says coldly, deciding that’s a fitting topic for the lunch table.

It had been quiet which she clearly doesn’t enjoy. She’s a brat, and it’s just as exhausting in bed as it is out of it. Someone needs to tell her. I’ve tried, but she doesn’t listen. Maybe she thinks she’s being charming. She isn’t. She’s just annoying.

“Oh, we’ve been doing that for a while.” Before I can respond, Claude speaks.

And judging by the way he’s looking at her, there’s no mistaking who he’s referring to.

Her jaw clenches, but she stays silent. Quiet falls again over the room, broken only by the clicking of cutlery. Eventually, Claude shifts the conversation to weapons and politics. Cassandra clearly wants to join in but refuses to let go of her irritation.

After lunch, she excuses herself to take a call. Claude follows, and I’m left alone with my mate, all my attention snapping back to her.

I’ve been doing everything I can to stop myself from looking at her, but I’ve been hard through most of the meal. The urge to pull her into my lap and bury myself in her warmth is constant. And she looks too damn good. Her makeup is subtle, her hair straightened perfectly.

“What did you do to your hair?” The words leave me before I even realize I’m speaking.

“Um, Lisa helped me straighten it.”

I stare at her blankly, wondering who the hell she’s talking about.

“The woman who’s always with me.” She looks down. I don’t need to see her hands to know she’s fidgeting with her fingers. A nervous habit I’ve already memorized.

But what about the conversation is making her nervous? There’s a flush on her cheeks, one I know isn’t makeup.

“She did a good job.” I down the rest of the whiskey in my glass. “It looks good.”

She lowers her gaze again, and I know I’m not imagining things. The visions I usually have of her involve far fewer clothes and much more touching, kissing, moaning and so much pleasure.

This is new. Her blushing under a compliment? It plays out in my head longer than I expect.

“What did you usually do at the camp?” I ask.

As much as I hate imagining her among those wolves, that place is where she was raised. It’s all she knows.

“Nothing.” She answers, and when I raise a brow, she swallows. “I read sometimes.”

“What kind of books?”

I don’t know where the curiosity is coming from, but suddenly I want to know everything. What she thinks about. What she does when she’s alone. What runs through her head.

Mostly, I want to know if I ever cross her mind.

“Anything I could find. We didn’t have access to a lot.” She replies, her tone carrying a slight edge — I know I’m not imagining it.

She’s full of anger. And I guess I would be too if I were stuck with mutts all day, every day.

“What was it like?”

Her lips press into a thin line. Something about the question was wrong. I feel it in her silence, but I can’t quite figure out what.

She talks to Claude often. I know he asks her about her past, about where she grew up. They’re close. So why does my asking provoke this?

“What do you think?” My eyes narrow at her tone.

She looks up, surprised by her own words.

I wait for anger to surge inside me, for some flicker of irritation. But it doesn’t come.

I’m as surprised as she is when I smile. I fold my arms and lean back in my seat, satisfaction threading through me.

I’m finally seeing the fire Claude said she carried. I hadn’t believed him. She seemed too quiet, too bruised. I assumed it was just one of his stupid jokes.

He does the most fucked-up things when he’s bored. This wouldn’t have shocked me.

“Tell me about it.” I press again, knowing full well it’ll irritate her.

She looks up and glares. An actual glare. I almost laugh, but I force it down.

“What about it?”

She really doesn’t like talking about her childhood. I could find out if I wanted, but I don’t want data. I want her truth.

“Everything. What you did for fun. How you lost your virginity. Your first boyfriend.” The last one slips out in a growl.

It’s ironic that it keeps me awake and she might not even recall it happened.

When she doesn’t speak after a few moments, I inch my chair forward. With my foot, I pull hers closer. She gasps, then grabs the table edge, fisting it tightly.

“I’m not letting you fall.” I chuckle, seeing fear flicker in her eyes. “I just want you closer, so I can hear you better.”