Chapter 9

**** Enzi ****

Never in my life would I ever think that I would have it in me to treat any woman with such disrespect. I hated how my father treated my mother. It’s in fact what I hated the most about him. He was an asshole to me, but it was how he treated my mother and my brother that upset me the most. I could take it, and I took most of the hits for Xavior and as many as I could for my mom, even though she hated when I got hurt “because of her.” Though it was never because of her, it was always because of him. 

There was something wrong with my dad. Werewolves are monogamous, and our mates are our treasures, the most important person in our lives. Until we have children of course. Nothing is more important to a werewolf than their family and their packs. Usually, werewolves find and marry their mates, and live happily ever after; it’s very rare that a werewolf would cheat on his fated mate. Mistresses are rare. Yet, my father had several.

Now, I find myself stringing two women along and hurting them both in the process. Without even meaning to, I’ve managed to end up doing exactly what my father did. I hate myself for it, but I will do anything to keep her safe. Only two and half months to go. Then, I can spend the rest of my life begging for her forgiveness.

**** Alyssa ****

Goddess, what an emotionally exhausting day! The only thing I had hoped to get out of this damned trip was a phone, a way to communicate with my friends. I miss having real people in my life. People I can trust. But nope, no joy. 

I skipped dinner, and the last light faded from the sky outside. I’m curled up in bed reading my latest guilty pleasure, a shifter romance called Mates and Memories where the princess loses her memories and becomes a better person. That’s what Enzi needs: someone to smack him on the head, knock his memories loose, declare him a nothing omega, and with some luck, he’d learn some humility like the Princess in this particular story. A girl can dream right?! I feel like he has it in him to be a decent person, sometimes I see hints of it. 

Thinking of the devil, I hear my door creak open, and I know it’s him, but I refuse to look up. I ignore him at first, pretending to be engrossed in the book I’m reading. I was engrossed until he came in, now I’ve read the same sentence five times, and I still don’t know what it says.

“What are you reading?” he asks gently.

“A book,” I quip.

He snorts a short laugh. I actually expected to cop an earful for my attitude, but he lets my snark slide. Progress.

Suddenly, he reaches forward and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Talk to me,” he commands, but still, he sounds soft and gentle. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. I realize I like the sound of his voice when he’s actually being nice. I seriously want to kick myself for my stupid reaction. Why can’t he just be soft all the time?

Slowly, I close my eyes and blow out a breath, trying to reign in my frustration. 

“Why do you have to pamper her like that in front of me?” I hate that I sound like a whiner.

“What? You’re mad because I bought Merideth something and I didn’t buy you something? I gave you an unlimited credit card. You can buy whatever you want for yourself,” he scoffs. And there goes that nice soft voice and I’m back to hating the sound of his voice again.

“It’s not the money, you asshole! I don’t want anything expensive like you bought her. I didn’t want anything at all, except a phone. It’s the fact that you’re flaunting your girlfriend while you play sugar daddy around me with her. It’s just disgusting; you are disgusting.”  

 “What do you want?” and we’re back to his soft seductive voice and that hurt look in his brown eyes. Those golden flecks are quite mesmerizing. 

“I want a husband who wants me. I want someone who cares about me, someone who wants to spend time with me, someone who enjoys my company. And thanks to you, I’ll never get that from anyone. EVER. I’m stuck in this sham marriage, watching you romance your lovers while I’m not even allowed to swim because someone else might be attracted to me. I’m not allowed a phone or a computer so I can’t talk to my old friends or family or anything. Can you even imagine how fucking depressing that is!?”

He leans forward and kisses me, crashing his mouth against mine unexpectedly, desperately. Pushing me backward into the bed, he slowly slides on top of me, covering my whole body with his, mauling my lips the whole damn time.

Initially, I squeal, and for a few moments, I am too shocked to respond beyond that. That stupid squeal gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue in. When I come to my senses, I knee him as hard as I can in his family jewels. I scramble out from under him and run to the corner of my room, wrapping my arms tightly around my body. I feel gross. I feel used, I feel defenseless and exposed. I want to cry. But damn… that man can kiss.

“How dare you?” I whisper, a fat tear sliding down my cheek.

He doesn’t answer, he just looks at me. I feel a sense of satisfaction since it also looks like he’s in pain. That will teach him. Hopefully. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, but was probably less than a minute, he gets up from the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. He looks uncomfortable, physically and emotionally. Slowly, he starts walking toward me, and panic floods me.

“Get out,” fear and confusion leaking through my voice. Despite my whisper, I know he heard me because he briefly stops in his tracks and stares at me, regret clear in his eyes. And why wouldn’t he regret it? He had a willing girlfriend across the hall, someone who would happily suck his jewels anytime he wanted instead of trying to crush them.

Quickly closing the distance between us, he cups my chin with one hand, and with the thumb of the other hand he softly wipes away my tears — they’re free flowing now.

Then to my complete surprise, he pulls me to him and crushes my body against his in a hug. Again, I freeze. And again, when I overcome the shock, I start to struggle. 

What the flip is wrong with this lunatic?

“Please,” he whispers, “just let me hold you,” his voice sounds raspy like he’s struggling to hold himself together. 

I freeze once again, not quite sure how to handle any of this. I cannot for the life of me figure this man out. What does he want from me? Why does he feel warm and safe despite the fact that I absolutely loathe him?

Finally, I find my voice.

“Get out!”  He lets me go and stalks off without another word. I jump when he slams my door so hard it bounces back and hangs loose on its hinges — again.

I slide down the wall and dissolve into ridiculous, soul-wracking sobs. I hate myself for it. This can’t be my life. I can’t live like this. It wasn’t worth it. I can’t imagine a way out. For a split second, I contemplated leaving, maybe permanently. Just giving in to the blissful abyss where nothing hurt anymore. But then, I realized I might not like this life, but I do like life, and again, he wouldn’t even notice if I died. It wouldn’t hurt him. They wouldn’t even notice I was dead until my body started to stink up his hallways. 

What would that achieve? I wouldn’t be punishing him, and I’d like to. He deserves to live in misery and pain, but my death would just free him up to do as he pleases. He would feel no guilt, and I’d be dead. He would win and never feel even a smidgeon of guilt. Besides, I've never been a quitter. I can't start now.

So what were my options? Runaway? Where would I go? My uncle wouldn’t take me back, even if it was technically my pack since I was the Alpha’s heir, not him. I’d be in disgrace for breaking the alliance. Leaving could even put my pack at risk. What if Enzi attacked them in retaliation? Was it worth it?

Maybe I could start over somewhere new, but I had no money. Except for this one credit card he gave me, a card he could easily track. It’s in my name but linked to his account after all. I could withdraw as much as I can from his card, toss it, and then disappear. I could start over in a human town. I could definitely fit in with humans, given that I am practically one myself. 

Or I could try appealing to the shifter King for an annulment. I didn’t know much about the shifter King, except that he was reportedly extremely powerful and responsible for keeping our world secret and separate from the human world. On the rare occasion that my parents mentioned him, I got the impression they didn’t like him that much. Besides, I understand arranged marriages were popular among the Royals. The King probably wouldn’t have much sympathy for me.

Maybe I could reach out to my mother’s family. I had never even met them. When my mother ran away from an arranged marriage and fled with my dad, her fated mate, she cut all ties with her family and they with her. As far as I know, anyway. I don’t even know who they are. I have no idea where to start looking. Besides, if they gave up on my mother because she wanted to be with her mate, like every shifter in the universe, there’s no way they’d want anything to do with me. They’d consider me a mistake, I guess, and the unfortunate child from a marriage they didn’t approve of. My mother’s family has never made any attempt to contact me or my mother, so it’s doubtful I’ll find much help from them. In their eyes, I’d be doing the exact same thing my mother did: forsaking an arranged marriage.

I make it sound like arranged marriages are popular in the shifter world, but they are really not. The mate bond is sacred and most people wouldn’t dare push anyone from a fated match. I just got unlucky.

I could try and start a life here. Find a job, find a calling, and make friends. The only friends I had made so far were the blond bimbo Mistress Merideth and her friends. I couldn’t help but wonder if he asked her to befriend me just to rub salt in my wounds. That is totally the type of dickwad he is.

Goddess! I’ve never been this damn depressed in my life. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe I should go see the doc for depression and request a strong prescription, something that would knock my feelings out completely, something that will help me ignore the daily humiliations. Angie, my friend's older sister, was on anti-depression meds. She liked that they helped her control her temper, but she also said while they were getting her dosage right there were times they made her feel not herself; she described it as feeling like she was floating in her own body, not really caring about what happened. 

That’s what I need. I need zombie pills, something that will help me get through the motions of daily life until he tires of tormenting me. Surely, eventually, he will get bored of it and let me have a life here, a job, friends… something. Anything that he doesn’t have to control and interrupt, something I’m allowed to do, something I am allowed to enjoy, and where he doesn’t feel the need to constantly rub his girlfriends on my face.

But if I see one of his pack docs, they’ll tell him and then he’ll have more ammunition to throw at me. I’ll look weak, unstable, emotional, and exposed. This is exactly how I feel right now because anyone could see me right now if they walked past my damaged door hanging there — physical evidence of his anger and hatred for me. It’s a good thing he’s rich as he seems to go through an awful lot of doors. I hope this one is replaced as quickly as the last one. 

I cried myself to sleep that night, and it turns out I wasn’t the only one.