Semua Bab The Alpha King's Breeder: Bab 411 - Bab 420

Sarah I can’t remember the last time I felt full. I look down at the plate in front of me, which Cosette is piling with food for a third time. A piece of lusciously dark chocolate cake stares up at me while she arranges a scoop of vanilla ice cream next to it. Everything is homemade. Everything is delicious and filling. I take a bite and close my eyes, fighting the urge to moan. Cosette clucks in approval, and as I finish off the cake and ice cream, I wonder what she’s going to bring me next. I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, but after weeks of the occasional bowl of oatmeal and scrambled eggs, I’ll keep eating her food if she wants me to. But she brings me a cup of tea spiked with warm milk and so much sugar it makes my teeth tingle as I take a sip. She sits across from me at the snug kitchen table, stirring her own cup as her dark eyes look over me critica

Sarah In the end, it isn’t the Alpha of Shadowcrest darkening my doorway with breakfast. Cosette comes into the sitting room, beaming, her arms full of clothes in colorful fabrics. Within a few minutes, I’m dressed in a perfectly tailored pair of comfortable khaki trousers and a shirt made of light pink cotton, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by an endless amount of food once again. Cosette rambles about the clothing she ordered yesterday that some poor seamstress in Shadowcrest likely worked on all night to have ready so soon. When she offers me coffee, I shake my head, and she’s delighted when I ask for a cup of tea like she made for me last night. Dalia sits in a sunny, frost covered window with my son in her arms, letting him curl his tiny fingers around her impossibly small pinky. I remind myself how young Dalia is despite her expertise in newborns and allow myself

Sarah The atrium is on the smaller side, built onto the far back side of Sydney’s manor. Snow glides off the domed glass ceiling, falling in giant piles along the exterior glass walls. Beyond the glass, the world is cast in silver as the clouds choke the sun and cloak Shadowcrest in darkness. Cosette was right about a storm coming. Wind rattles the walls of the atrium as I walk through the maze of plants planted directly into the ground, where a stone path gives way to patches of raw dirt and soil. Blake is fast asleep in a sling against my chest, my shirt clutched in his tiny fist. “Does Sydney take care of these plants?” I ask, running my fingers over massive leaves belonging to tropical plants that definitely wouldn’t survive, even in this humid, deliciously hot atrium, without delicate care. “Oh, Goddess no,” Cosette snorts, shaking her head. We meet up again, having take

SarahI feel alive again for the first time in… well, I don’t know how long. My fingers are stained with juices from the stems and petals of the hundreds, if not thousands, of blooms I’ve been working with all morning, and the air is heavily scented; reminiscent of a fine, hot, summer day. I’m nearly done with the centerpieces. I doubt I’ll be allowed to actually go to the event to set up, so I’ve been arranging them in large glass vases myself while Cosette takes stock of every finished piece so far. Blake lays in the middle of the madness on a blanket, squirming, and lifting his little fists in the air. We’ve been taking turns all day with him, and it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t do much but eat, sleep, and need his diaper changed right now. I’ve never been this busy before, but the deadline is tomorrow morning. I can’t stop for a break even if I wanted to.Tomorrow night, the queen of freaking Crescent Falls will be holding her fancy party surrounded by my art. My stomach

Sarah Sydney holds open the garage door for me, silently, and I step inside. He turns on a light switch. Light spills over the large space. Stupid, menial things I shouldn’t be paying attention to come into focus.I’m counting each breath I take and each movement he makes in the short amount of time we’ve been together tonight. I make note of the way his freshly polished, fancy shoes sound on the concrete floor, the way his watch catches the fluorescent light overhead as he reaches for a large garment bag laying over the washer and dryer, and how his eyes light up again as he glances at me before opening it. That roaring in my ears has to be my heartbeat; otherwise, Sydney has some serious issues with the furnace on the far side of the room. He turns toward me, discarding the garment bag back onto the washing machine, and holds open the most luxurious fur coat I’ve ever seen in my entire life.