Page 13 of Alpha's Chosen Mate (Wolf Billionaire #2)

CHAPTER 13

LEILANI

I think I’m imagining the lack of hostility in the air until Enya smiles—actually smiles —at me. Enya doesn’t smile at me unless something terrible is happening to me.

The weird feeling only increases as I make my way down the stairs and the maids bow low and murmur enthusiastic greetings.

Other than the maids, the house is unusually empty. It lacks the usual bustling of guests, warriors, and elders. It’s also strange that I don’t have any guards tailing me today, not even an escort. I don’t see another soul until I make it to the living room. I’ve never been in here before—but that’s true for many places in this house.

What stops me is the low, feminine voice drifting from a cracked-open door. I push it open to reveal a massive room, and I’m marveling at the rich colors and tasteful furniture when a voice snaps at me, “He’s not here.”

It’s Juliana, and judging from her bitter glare, she’s mad at me. I lean against the doorframe, fiddling with the sequins on my red dress. “I know.” I bite my bottom lip and the taste of my cherry lipstick coats my tongue. “Thanks for last night.”

She flips a page in her novel. “I’m so glad it worked out for you, considering I’m grounded for maybe all eternity.”

She reminds me of someone I know. Did my mother feel this way when I threw tantrums and snapped at her? Did she forgive me for the words I said the last time I spoke to her? I hate you . The memory stings. “I’ll talk to Asher.”

“Gee, thanks,” she says dryly, flipping another page. “He’s never taken anyone to the cottage.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise. “The cottage?”

After a quick glance my way, she returns to her book, perfecting the look of boredom I’ve seen so often on Asher’s face. Her white cotton jacket and matching pants seem too elegant for lounging on the couch, but what do I know? I’m the least fashionable one in this house. “It’s his favorite place. If he’s taking you there on a date, then I suppose there’ll be a litter of pups running around here soon.”

My heart stumbles over itself. When I read his note, I refused to let myself feel excited about it. I can never get a good read on Asher, and I don’t want to get my hopes up. “What’s in the cottage?”

She shrugs. “No one knows. He stayed there for a while, after he was found by the previous alpha.” Sadness glimmers in her eyes, too much emotion for someone so young to carry. “At the time, he wasn’t quite...sane.”

It’s the first time anyone here has told me anything about Asher, and I take a step forward and ask, “What happened to him? ”

Jules looks at me. “Your father happened. Ken Anderson happened.” Her expression is aloof again, and I know I won’t be getting any more answers from her. Not tonight, at least. Still, I push. I want to know precisely what I’m heading into. I need at least a hint about the man I’m all dressed up for, the man who seems to know everything about me while I know nothing of him.

“Talon once mentioned Asher’s sister?—”

“I’d strongly suggest not bringing that up if you wish to keep your head on your shoulders,” Juliana snaps, shutting her book. “It isn’t my story to tell, but since you’re so curious, I’ll tell you this: Ken Anderson despised Alpha Derek Wilde, for his power, his vast territories, and most importantly, his mate, Asher’s mother. She was a rare beauty, and Ken couldn’t stand that she chose Wilde over him. But he knew that he couldn’t fight Derek alone. The Blue Moon Pack was suffering a great deal from the rogue attacks, lack of supplies, and starvation, and Ken Anderson found his chance. He baited a desperate Mardoc with a way to help his pack, and your father took the bait.

“It was the most ruthless attack ever executed on a pack. They razed everything to the ground, attacking, killing, even if they knew all they needed to take over a pack was kill the alpha. But the Wilders fought back. And the rogues, seeing the perfect opportunity to kill all three alphas, pounced on the Wilder pack.” Juliana’s fists tighten. “They were savages. They took Mallory…” Her voice breaks and she shuts her eyes, shaking her head. “She wasn’t even eighteen when they defiled and killed her. His mother’s fate was even worse.”

A lump grows in my throat, and my skin goes cold. My legs shake and I lean back against the doorframe to stay upright .

“Alpha Derek went mad after watching that, so it wasn’t long before he met his demise.” Her light blue eyes travel back to mine. “Asher watched it all happen. The savages forced him to, thinking they’d finish him off after. He was dying, having been stabbed in too many places by your father’s men. It’s a miracle he survived.”

“I didn’t?—”

“Of course, you didn’t know,” she sneers. “Your father didn’t tell you about the atrocities your pack was built on. You were a child when Asher was raving mad, suckling from your mother’s tits in the comfort of a home stolen from others. Of course, you didn’t know.”

She stands, jamming her feet into her flip-flops. “It doesn’t matter if Asher accepts or forgives you. It won’t change what you are, what your presence means to him or to all of us who he found and nurtured after we lost everything. You’ll always be Mardoc’s daughter, and when you walk into a room, we only see the people we’ve lost. And the day you stop being useful to him is the day you breathe your last.”

Juliana’s threats rattle me more than I care to admit, echoing in my mind as I reach the doors. Asher is on the phone, his back turned to me, and I can’t help but admire the powerful lines of his broad shoulders and the way his white dress shirt clings to his sculpted body. The shirt is tucked into pants that do more than just compliment his physique; they highlight every inch of him. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing tattoos that make my insides twist with desire.

I inhale sharply and he tenses, turning to face me. His eyes trail slowly over my body, taking in every curve. “W-we—” His nostrils flare slightly. “We’ll continue this conversation later, Brad.”

His gaze sears me as it lingers on the places where the red dress clings like a second skin, accentuating the fullness of my breasts and the length of my legs. Asher slips his phone into his pocket and extends a hand toward me. A silky black cloth is draped around his fingers, and I’m captivated by how long and elegant they are. How would they feel inside me? Dark thoughts swirl in my mind, but if he senses my sudden arousal, he doesn’t show it.

I place my hand in his, and his fingers curl possessively around mine. “You’re stunning, Leilani,” he murmurs.

I offer a small smile and give him an exaggerated once-over. “You don’t look as terrible as I imagined.”

His laugh is rich and deep, sending a shiver down my spine as he nudges me forward with surprising tenderness. “Has no one ever told you that nobody likes a smart mouth?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew the things this smart mouth of mine can do.”

A spark lights his eyes, followed by a dark excitement that leaves me dizzy with anticipation. His fingers slip from mine and trail lightly up my arm. I watch, breath hitching as the black cloth unfurls in his hand, his expression unreadable as he grazes it across my skin. “This is a blindfold.” The tail of the cloth brushes lightly against my cleavage, and my blood rushes with the thrill of it.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice a velvety whisper.

I swallow, meeting the depths of his blue eyes. “No.”

Asher’s lips curl into a rueful smile. “Good.” The fabric slides over my eyes, cutting off my vision .

I sense him moving around me, but I turn in circles, unwilling to turn my back on him. I can’t tell where he is until a solid wall of heat presses against me from behind, his hands resting possessively on my waist. I gasp as his broad palms skim just under my breasts, teasing but not quite touching. “I must warn you, Leilani,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. “Once you step into the cottage, there’s no turning back.”

It’s a question, an offer. I could refuse, and he wouldn’t force me to follow him. Odd, that, seeing as he’s literally forced me through everything so far. Sometimes he’s an asshole, and other times, like right now, he’s a gentleman. I can’t figure him out. That should frustrate me, but instead, it excites me.

My nipples tighten in anticipation as his hand brushes beneath them again. “I’d ask what’s inside, but the blindfold suggests that’s supposed to be a surprise.”

His lips ghost across my skin as he says, “Correct.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

His laughter skitters off my skin. “Not tonight.”

I let him lead me with a hand on the small of my back. The familiar scent of flowers the only thing telling me that we’re walking through the gardens. It’s odd, being unable to see and trusting that Asher won’t snap my neck and hide my body where no one will find me. I’m hypersensitive to even the slightest touches of wind against my skin, the scent of wild roses and pomegranates, Asher’s carnal presence.

The air shifts, and I smell linseed oil. “Is that…” My voice trails off as the air grows warmer. Asher’s hand leaves my waist and almost immediately, a door creaks in front of me. The smell is stronger, and I laugh a little. “Paint? You paint ? ”

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, gently pushing me forward. My heels snag on what I think is the threshold, and I fall into Asher. “Careful,” he says, and the heat in his voice makes me warmer. I flush, unable to help the sheepish smile spreading along my cheeks. Yes, I’m losing my shit with this man, forgetting all the reasons we can’t—or shouldn’t—be together.

He takes my hand and guides me through what I assume is the cottage. The air is rich with his scent, even more so than his bedroom. He must spend a lot of time here; I can feel his presence in every corner. Another door creaks open and I step inside, my arm brushing against a smooth, flat surface. My fingers pause, tracing it carefully. “Is this... a canvas?” I murmur, a hint of awe in my voice. “I always thought painting was a human hobby. Wolves don’t usually have the patience or gentleness for brushstrokes.”

“Painting is a hobby for me. It’s an escape. And as for patience…” He pauses, bringing me to a sudden stop. “I have an unhealthy amount of that.”

I could remind him that he said the exact opposite a couple weeks ago, right before he dragged me across the hall and forced me to marry him, but if everything Juliana’s told me is true, Asher has been planning his revenge since I was a baby. That’s two decades. My excitement is replaced with fear. How could I possibly hope to overcome that much pain and suffering? How can I be more important than that?

When he speaks again, there’s a nervous lilt to his voice. “Wait here.”

I’m left alone with my thoughts for a moment, and I swallow my sigh of relief when Asher takes my hand again. His touch sparks a delicious feeling in my belly as he wraps my fingers around something sturdy. It’s a brush, I realize, as the scent of paint teases my nostrils. He raises my hand slowly, still holding the brush, and I—we—make a stroke so soft it feels like I’m painting on the air.

Curiosity has me trying to peek under the blindfold, but I can’t see anything. “What are we painting?”

His voice is a deep rumble behind me that I feel in my spine. “A masterpiece.” His thigh presses against my ass, and I push back to find him hard. My heart thuds recklessly as I lean fully against him, feeling his steady breathing against my hair. “I’m sorry,” he says.

My fingers stroke the canvas again. “For what?”

“I didn’t believe you when you said nothing happened that night. I...” A long pause. “...apologize for my behavior. It was...barbaric.” Is that what he wants to call throwing me against the mattress and kissing the breath out of me? A brazen part of me would argue that if that’s barbarism, I don’t mind it at all.

A burden lifts off my shoulders. I didn’t think I cared what he thought of me until I’d spent the whole day sobbing, hating myself for something I didn’t even do. “I was under the impression that alpha assholes can’t apologize.”

He lets out another charming laugh that makes me melt like butter. “Maybe you just bring out the best in me.”

“Haha, very funny, alpha.”

Somehow, I relax, feeling more at ease with him. His fingers brush mine, gentle and teasing, and I can’t help the way my stomach hollows out at the sensation. Time slips away as we move together, the brush gliding across the canvas until we finally pause. “Is it done?” I ask.

“Yes. ”

He tugs on the silk around my head and it falls away. I blink at the lights, and my breath stalls at the sight on the canvas. It’s a painting of a little girl sitting in the grass, her face caked with mud, her wide grin showing many missing teeth. Her golden amber eyes shine brightly like the sun, and her wild red hair sticks out everywhere.

I remember the blue dress and the small garden in the packhouse’s backyard. “How...”

My voice trails off as my gaze snags another painting. I walk toward it, entranced. It’s another painting of me, this time in a black dress, reaching for the handle of my beat-up car. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are red from crying. There’s so much sadness in my eyes that my heart breaks all over again. This was after Mom’s funeral. I was going to Christian’s because I couldn’t bear to be in our house, seeing her everywhere.

There are paintings of me everywhere, at different points in my life, some of moments I don’t even remember. I flush at the more obscene paintings, but they’re all breathtakingly beautiful. I study each one carefully, seeing myself through Asher’s eyes. I am flawless. I am perfect. I am feisty. I am vulnerable, but strong: a wild rose with thorns that are just as lovely the petals.

I turn around, my gaze locking with his across the room, and tears blur my vision. “You weren’t lying when you said you’d been watching me.”

He says nothing, his eyes piercing mine as they gauge my reaction.

“Why? I gesture around the room, emotions overwhelming me. “Is this another ploy to get me to lower my guard and fall for you, just so you can ruin me? Why watch me? Why paint me? I don’t understand you, Asher. ”

“There was hate,” he starts, staring at the painting of little me. “I didn’t understand how you were so full of life, so good, despite being born to a man like Mardoc. Many times, I tried to take you and kill you, but I ended up getting distracted. By you.” His thumb brushes over my little me’s muddy cheek, and he moves on the next easel, a painting of me asleep in my old bedroom, decorated in dozens of shades of blue. “And then there was curiosity.”

He moves to the next. My eyes are dark with lust, my shirt hanging off my shoulder, showing the blood on my neck where Christian bit me right after our first intimate night together. The angles suggest Asher watched the entire thing from a high point—perhaps perched on a rooftop outside Christian’s home, on one of the other packhouses. “What choices would you make next? What tipped you toward the edge? What decisions would you make in those moments of desperation? What kind of cereal did you like best? Did a wild little thing like you want flowers on her bad days?”

Asher snorts, like the very thought is absurd. The next easel he chooses is the one closest to me. I’m very naked, my fingers pinched around a pink nipple and my other hand between my thighs. My lips are parted, my cheeks flushed as he captures me in what looks like a moan. I’m in his bed, with a pillow wedged under my waist, and his accurate illustration of my wet pussy makes blood rush to my clit. “There was denial, and with it, I obsessed over the tiniest details, stealing them for myself.”

He turns to me and I brave a step back, unable to handle the raging emotions swirling in his gaze. “I wanted to hold onto a piece of you, and I wasn’t sure why.”

My stomach tightens when his gaze falls on my mouth. “And now? ”

He loses his composure, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he closes the distance between us. “Fuck if I know what I’m gonna do with you, Leilani.”

He leans over me, grabbing my waist and hoisting me up as his lips meet mine in a feral clash. My legs wrap around his torso and we crash into a few easels as Asher navigates us blindly, his tongue dancing around mine as I suck hard, the taste of him increasing the delicious ache between my legs.

My back hits a door, and Asher fumbles for the handle. When it doesn’t give, he abandons it altogether, running his hands over my hair, my neck, the back of my thighs, my ass. “Goddess, Lei, you’re killing me,” he whispers against my neck, pulling us off the wall.

He sets me down atop a table, sending paints, brushes, and piles of sheets clattering to the ground. Asher pulls back enough to peer down as he pushes up my gown, his nails digging into my thighs. Something stops me from reaching for him.

“Asher,” I whisper. “Your eyes.”

He freezes, his head snapping up. Veins run from the corners of his eyes, stretching down his cheekbones, and his eyes flare between gold and chilling black. He shuts his eyes, gripping the table on either side of my legs, and shakes his head. Once. Twice. And then he hisses in frustration.

The table cracks under the pressure of his fingers, and Asher starts to tremble. He pants, his face twisting with pain. I feel his pain in my core, crippling and excruciating. I reach out to touch him, to offer him any form of comfort. He snarls at me the moment my fingers touch his cheek. “Don’t touch me.”

His canines are elongated, and his glossy black hair is longer than it was seconds ago. I’ve never seen an alpha shift, but this might be it. As if realizing it too, Asher starts to pull away from me. But I’m tired of us taking one step forward just to take ten back. I don’t know when I’ll get to see this side of him again, and I’m not ready to lose him yet.

I grab his wrist before he can bail on me. “Don’t go.” I reach up to cup his cheek, forcing down my fear as I stare into the abyss of his eyes. “Breathe,” I say, because he’s not.

He sucks in a deep breath, and I’m all too aware of the deepening crack running down the table as he wrestles with himself for control. “Does this happen often?”

A sharp nod. He’s shaking. Desperate to distract him, I grapple for a subject change. “I’ve killed an innocent before.”

Asher blinks. A hint of blue returns to his eyes. I smile. “It was game, a rabbit, my first attempt at hunting. I’m the best hunter in the Blue Moon Pack.” Even better than my father, Morris would say all the time. I miss those days.

The darkness clears, and his eyes shine with mirth. “I knew that already.” His breath is still shaky as he leans in, our foreheads touching. My body tingles, but I’m worried. When his lips hover over mine, I press a finger to his mouth, gently pushing him back. “Some other time, maybe.”

He exhales heavily. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”

I press a soft kiss to his cheek. “No, thank you. Your surprise was perfect.”

We have dinner after that, under the moonlight on a table decorated with beautiful silverware and flowers. Asher tells me about his life, but nothing before or during my father’s attack. He speaks of after, avoiding the tragedy like it never happened. A part of me wishes he would open up to me, but another part likes that we can have such simple conversations without snapping at each other .

Turns out he went to a human university. He has a degree in business, whatever that means. Werewolves don’t usually see the need for those. We’re homeschooled and trained to be warriors, fierce fighters, mothers, or lunas, if we’re lucky enough to be mated or married to alphas. He tells me that other than his sex clubs— there’s more than one?! —he owns a company. He lets the humans run it, but he still gets all the money.

I accuse him of stealing and he laughs at me. “It’s just business, and I pay them considerably well.”

I still think that doesn’t seem very fair.

I don’t have much to tell a man who knows everything about me, but he listens with rapt attention as I share random details, deliberately not mentioning my parents. He’s a good listener, and he watches me like he’s never seen me before—like I’m something special.

I eat more than I should, because the food is absolutely delicious. Turns out Asher’s a great cook. I also drink quite a lot of wine, so Asher offers to carry me, but I just hook my arm through his, patting him every now and then like we’re old friends.

I love his company, I realize, and I don’t want this night to end. But it does, with Asher walking me to my end of the long hallway and standing outside my door.

“Do you want to come in?”

The question stretches between us, and I bite my bottom lip as I anxiously wait for an answer. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I would love to, but I’m worried about what being close to you does to me.” He looks down, and I follow his gaze to my hair curled around his clawed finger. When I meet his eyes again, they’re golden. “I’m never in control with you, Leilani.”

Disappointment flares in me, but I try to mask it. But Asher reads me like a book because he steps forward and pulls me into a tight embrace, a single word of promise tumbling off his lips: “Soon.”

The next morning, I wake up with a grin, kicking my feet and squealing into my pillows like a teenager receiving her first love letter from a boy she likes. I feel giddy, basically skipping around my room as I get ready for the day.

There are flowers on my bedside table, accompanied by notes, and I barely register Enya’s presence as she tidies my room with her usual scowl. “You have two deliveries. One is from the alpha. The other must be from your father.”

I open Asher’s first, my grin spreading from ear to ear until I release a horrible giggle that has Enya groaning, “For Goddess’s sake.”

You look beautiful in your sleep. Another crossed-out line. I wish I could’ve stayed longer to celebrate with you in person, but I’m afraid this couldn’t wait. Happy birthday, princess. Your present’s in my bedroom. Retrieve it, if you dare.

I cackle and snort, “Clown.”

I reach for the second note and unfold it eagerly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, because my entire universe tilts harshly as the words jump out at me.

My condolences. Your father was a good man.— C.