All Chapters of A Different Kind of Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

AlexeiKieran is vibrating. Not literally, but his wolf is right under the skin. It’s a low-level hum, a static charge that makes the hair on my arms stand up whenever he brushes against me. And he’s brushing against me a lot.We’re walking through the woods, the trees thick and ancient around us, their branches tangling together like fingers laced in prayer. The moon is high, a bright, watchful eye that turns the leaves into silver coins. It’s quiet, save for the crunch of our boots on the dirt and the distant, rhythmic chirping of crickets.Usually, silence with Kieran is easy. It’s a settled thing. Like dust motes floating in a sunbeam. But tonight, the silence has teeth. It’s heavy, filled with unspoken words and a frantic energy that radiates off him in waves.He stops suddenly, turning to look at a particularly knotted oak tree as if he’s never seen a tree before.“Do you think the moss is thicker on the north side?” he asks in weirdly strained voice.I blink at him. “I don’t k

KieranI’m trying to organize the seating chart for the feast. It’s a logistical nightmare that requires the strategic mind of a general and the patience of a saint. I have the former. I am rapidly losing the latter."You can't put Elder Merryweather next to the drum circle," Eli says. He’s currently lying upside down on my chaise lounge, his legs kicking idly in the air, blood presumably rushing to his head and fueling his insanity. "She has a delicate constitution. The bass will liquefy her brain.""Elder Merryweather is deaf in one ear," I reply, moving a small wooden token representing the Elder to the far end of the table. "I’m placing her near the cheese board. It’s the only thing she loves more than complaining.""Fair," Eli concedes. He rolls over, tumbling off the chaise with a grace that is entirely annoying, and lands on his feet. He wanders over to my desk, picking up a quill and tickling his own chin with the feather. "So. The seating is boring. Let's talk about the imp

KieranMy hands are shaking.I stare at them. They’re pale against the heavy, blue velvet of the ceremonial robe. I clasp them together, willing the tremors to stop, but my pulse is hammering in my wrists like a trapped bird.Having all my bits dangling freely under the robe, and knowing the entire pack will be getting to see them up close and personal soon, is not helping."You look like you’re going to a funeral," Eli says. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Breathe.”He’s adjusting the collar of my robe. His touch is surprisingly gentle, despite the sharp edge of his tone. He’s wearing a silk tunic the color of wine, paired with tight black leather trousers, and for once, he isn't vibrating with chaotic energy. He looks solemn."It feels a little like a funeral," I whisper. "My dignity is dying today.""Don't be dramatic," Eli chides, smoothing a wrinkle on my shoulder. "It’s a mating ceremony. It’s ancient. It’s sacred.""It’s voyeuristic," I hiss. "We are goin

AlexeiThe heavy iron bolt of the door slides home with a sound that feels like a guillotine dropping on the rest of the world.The noise of the feast, the drums, the shouting, the endless toasts to our health, is instantly severed. The silence in our bedroom is sudden and profound, thick with the scent of beeswax candles and the lavender Kieran’s taken to burning, pretending it calms him.He isn’t calm.He’s standing in the middle of the room, still wearing his ceremonial robe, ass bare beneath it. I can see my bite in his neck and the urge to grab him is very strong, but he’s trembling. His hands are moving restlessly, stacking the scrolls he just took off the desk on a side table, straightening a quill that was already straight, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in the rug with his toe."The River Pack delegation was offended by the seating," he says to the wall. "Did you see Elder Thorne’s face when the pork was served? I think the music may have been too loud. Oryn looked pained."

KieranLunch is a battlefield.It shouldn't be. It consists of roast chicken, crusty bread still warm from the oven, freshly churned butter, a sharp, crumbly cheese that tastes like heaven, and wine that shines like rubies in the crystal goblets. It’s a meal fit for a honeymoon celebration.But we are not alone.Across the table sits Eli. Picking at a grape with the meticulous precision of a surgeon, his eyes bright and entirely too observant. Next to him is Ronan, a silent, brooding mountain of muscle and patience who is methodically destroying a chicken leg.Beside me is Alexei. My Mate. The man who, mere hours ago, had me pinned against a mirror until I forgot my own name. He’s eating with gusto, his knee pressing against mine under the table. A constant, solid point of contact. Here. I’m here.It feels good. It feels right."You're sitting very straight," Eli observes, finally popping the grape into his mouth. He chews slowly, staring at me. "Remarkably upright. For a man who was