All Chapters of The Tyrant alpha: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

What do I do now? If only there was a hole I could jump into.I open my mouth to say please—I can manage please—but before I can, Cadoc nods at Seth Rosser.Seth rises to his feet, moves to my side, and grasps my upper arm in an iron grip, turning me so hard my rubber sole squeaks.“Take her back where she belongs,” Cadoc says to my back, and Seth propels me forward, steering me past table after table of rubbernecking nobs and gawking humans.I let him, and my wolf complies. She’s dumbfounded, at a complete loss.I take a deep breath, trying to soothe us both, and I inhale a mouthful of rotten eggs. Dear Fate. It’s coming from Seth. I gag.Seth tightens his grip, and my wolf rumbles a warning, rattling my ribs. She stretches against my skin, and my stomach rolls. His touch is like a slither. Like a squelch. I shrink from him, and he squeezes harder.Behind us, at the front where Cadoc sits, there’s the sharp crack of splintering wood. A few females gasp, but I don’t look back to see w

I force my fingers to stay poised over my keyboard, and I stop myself from glancing down to compare.The frayed cuffs of her jeans covered most of her worn sneakers. The rubber was peeling away from the canvas. She’d doodled on the toes. Rainbows arching between clouds.She looks so young, but she’s eighteen. That’s the first thing I had Seth find out after the incident in the library. She’s in her twelfth year at the Academy. Her final year. Her kind don’t continue on to professional training.The instructor wraps up the Q and A, looking to me for the signal that I’m good. I incline my head, and he dismisses the class.My entourage surrounds me as we make for the parking lot to drive the half mile to the Tower. I inhale deeply on the way, chasing Rosie’s scent. She smells like the spice aisle at the grocery store, sweet and tangy. Even with my senses on overdrive, I can’t track her. It’s been too long, and the wind’s too strong.It’s fine. Moon Lake territory is safe. We have no crim

Griff and Seth drag their asses back to the center of the mat. I adjust my stance. This summer, Killian Kelly had a field day exploiting the fact that I signal my moves by leading with my left foot. I overcorrected, and now I have to find the right balance again.Seth spits a tooth on the mat. “Aren’t we due for dinner?”“We can miss aperitifs. Come on. Gloves up. We have time.”“Not for my face to heal.”“No one gives a shit what your face looks like.”“Fuck you.” Seth grins and licks the red from his teeth.“Come.” I wave him on. He lunges. I take the blow on my chin and nail him with a right. Griff tries to sweep my leg, but I anticipate the move and front snap kick, toppling him like a tree.“I surrender,” he moans.“No surrender. Get up.”“My back is broken, man.” He is lying at a weird angle.As always, Seth is the last man standing. I give him a nod. “Come.”Seth throws a haymaker. I sidestep easily and feint left. He falls for it, but I pull the punch.He drives a fist into my

Shit.Rosie.Do not be alarmed, female.The bond trills as I pluck shards from my skin and shove more gumwood in my mouth, chomping like a mad man. I smear it on my knuckles, spitting and hacking to clear the aftertaste.What the hell am I doing?I cannot afford to lose control. Especially not now. I straighten my back, school my face, and remind myself of the basic truths of my existence.Everything rides on me.Every wolf’s life. The unity of the pack. The survival of shifters as a species. Nothing beyond that matters.Not the fact that I have a mate who’s soft and odd and a scavenger to boot. She’s called Rosie, but her real name is Briallen. It means primrose. Hence the nickname, I assume.Seth found out everything there is to know about her.Her parents abandoned her as a pup, or rather, they “went for a walk” as her people say. Her sister is Geralt Powell’s natural mate, but there’s no decent blood in her line. Not even a distant mid-rank relative. She’s bog all the way back to

The Shahs listen attentively, seated by the fireplace, drinks in hand. My father lounges in his wingback chair, a wall of windows at his back. Uncle Alban and my cousin Brody dominate a sofa. Tonight, there is no reflection of the moon in the vast black lake.An attendant offers me a vermouth. I decline and stand at polite attention as Mother finishes De Falla’s “Spanish Dance.”From this vantage point, at night, the lake looks oval. The lights of the cookie cutter homes of the Estates, the marina and the shops at the Landing, and the lit offices of the High Rise form a glowing ring, casting a glitter on the waves lapping the rocky shoreline.In the distance, the Narrows are shrouded in blackness, and the Bogs blend into the darkened woods and the foothills beyond.It’s as if they don’t exist.I finger my phone in my pocket. It hasn’t vibrated. I’d have felt it.Seth throws back one drink and starts another before Mother plucks the last notes of her usual piece and smiles graciously a