Page 19 of Alpha's Chosen Mate (Wolf Billionaire #2)

CHAPTER 19

LEILANI

T he unsteady thumping underneath me jars me awake, and my eyes open to darkness. My head lolls left, and I moan as pain attacks the back of my skull. It takes several seconds of blinking to realize it isn’t completely dark. Dusk has fallen, and the skies outside the window are?—

I pause. Window? Dusk? I was on a morning run a few minutes ago.

I jerk up into a sitting position, but I fall awkwardly to my side, into the space between car seats. A chuckle from the front seat alerts me to the fact that I am not alone. “You’re awake,” a deep voice says fondly. “I was beginning to worry I hit you too hard.”

Christian.

Panic snatches me in its grip and I kick at the door, but my ankles are bound together with my hands behind me, and kicking just causes the ropes to cut into my skin. Under different circumstances—and with a different man—I would enjoy this, but now, it just pisses me off. “Let me out!” I scream, my foot jabbing at the door, my spine hitting the back of his seat.

The car rocks to a halt, and a heartbeat later, the door by my feet opens. Cold, hard hands grab me by the hips and toss me onto the seat. Eerie green eyes pin me in place, and even though I’m looking right at Christian, I don’t recognize the person behind that cold, expressionless face. “Scream and fight, if it makes you feel better,” he says gently, reminding me of how soft his voice becomes when he’s in a good mood. “But I’d strongly suggest you save your strength. We’re an entire day away from Asher Wilde’s territory, and in rogue lands. Keep fussing, and we’ll both die out here.”

“Take me back!” I yell, frustrated. “Abducting me won’t change anything. Where are you taking me?”

He looks at me like I’m dumb. “Home.”

“The hell do you mean, ‘home?’ My home is in the Dark Fangs Pack! With my husband!” I scream, my eyes stinging with anger and tears. I’ve never been so far from home before. Even if I found a way to get these ropes off, we’re surrounded by dangerous wilderness that I don’t recognize.

I suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly. “Let’s talk about this civilly,” I start again, trying to keep the panic from creeping into my voice. “Untie me. It’s not like I have anywhere to run. The ropes are...uncomfortable.”

Christian leans against the door, the night breeze ruffling his blonde hair. His gaze flicks over me and a hint of a smile ghosts across his lips. “Unfortunately, the ropes are here to stay, until I decide otherwise.”

I’m terrible with negotiations like these. I just want to smash his head in, but I can’t. When I reach inside myself, seeking Fiona’s strength, I’m startled to find that I can’t feel her at all. I rein in a frustrated whimper. “What do you want, Chris?” I try again, tenderly.

“You, Lei. It’s always been you,” he breathes. “He brainwashed you into loving him.” He smiles and reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m going to fix that. I’m going to fix you . It’ll be just as it always should’ve been, I promise.”

“I don’t need to be fixed!” I snarl and lunge at him, my canines almost snapping shut around his fingers. He snatches his hand back just in time, and lets out a startled chuckle. “There’s the woman I know.” He retrieves something from the front pocket of his brown leather jacket and he moves so fast, I have no way to shield myself. Something soft presses into my nostrils and a putrid stench assaults my senses. “I wish you’d just come with me when I asked nicely.”

My legs twitch as I struggle against him. My back hits the seat as I kick at the empty air. As blackness eats away at my vision, my words from this morning return to me and I wonder if I somehow jinxed myself: I like them huge, pretty-faced, and obsessed enough to abduct me. The Goddess must really have a cruel sense of humor.

I’m so thirsty.

The thought has me instinctively reaching for the bedside table. Asher always has a glass of water nearby and…realization slams into me all at once, and I gasp, sitting up abruptly. Blinking against the haze of sleep, I take in the room around me: bare walls and ornate furniture so new, I can still smell the paint on the wood. The bed beneath me is large, but nothing at all like Asher’s massive mattress, which is so warm and soft it can instantly lull me to sleep. This one’s co ld and unfeeling—just like its owner. It’s drenched in his scent. My stomach swirls with nausea.

The curtains are so red they look like they’re drenched in blood. My gaze drifts across the room and stalls at the sight of the old pink bag I left at Christian’s several months ago when I moved in with him. It sits awkwardly next to my favorite bow and some books I happily stole from my father’s bedroom.

A line of fire runs down my spine. I can’t be here—wherever here is. I need to get out. Now . I throw back the covers, and my feet shake a little when they land on the plush carpet. My stomach growls angrily and my vision blurs a little. Ignoring my obvious predicament—if Christian was telling the truth when he said we were a day away from Asher’s territory, I have nowhere to run. I haven’t had anything to eat in over a day, and I reek so badly I think I’ve been knocked out for longer than that.

Moving on silently so I don’t alert any guards, I broaden my senses, trying to listen, but I hear nothing. Still no sign of Fiona. I can’t make out any sounds, and when I give in to the urge to twist the doorknob, I’m surprised to hear the soft click. Why leave it open?

I don’t let myself question it. I slip through the doorway and into the hall, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. It’s empty. There’s not a single person in sight, and not even a single sound. It’s fucking eerie, and I clench my hands into fists and walk to the end of the hallway.

It takes me to a vast room with a handful of maids wiping at the floors and walls. When I walk past, they glance up at me with eyes brimming with hate, and the wind carries over a subtle scent of earth, too faint to be jarring. They’re humans. Does Christian force them to do his bidding? Did he abduct them too? Why are they looking at me like that? Why does the one nearest to me stare unabashedly at my lips, chest, and hips with heat in her gaze?

I dart past then, hearing a snort and an almost imperceptible whisper, “...took her to his room. He’s never taken anyone in there. Must be the bitch he raves about.”

“I don’t see it, though. She’s nothing special.” A pause. “Well, maybe her ass is.”

“Think he’ll let us join in when he fucks her? It’d be a good watch.”

Their tinkling laughter follows me all the way to the front doors, and I’ve never felt more exposed in my life. I pull open the doors to a large dining room with a looming chandelier and a long table with covered dishes. The smell of soup teases my nostrils, making my stomach growl again.

I abandon the doors, running across the hall in search of an exit, and I barely avoid crashing into a pianoforte. The entire place reeks of wealth, which baffles me. While Ken Anderson amassed wealth and resources by conquering packs and selling their lands, he gambled most of that money away.

When he died, there wasn’t much left in the pack’s coffers. It made things hard for Chris, who pulled strings and worked harder than normal to keep things afloat. He succeeded, but I stayed with him for long enough to know that there’s no way he owns all of this. It’s absurd.

I find the entrance—or exit—a couple minutes later, and I’m a sweaty mess, panting and gulping down cold air. I push the doors open silently and freeze, dread filling my veins with ice. Guards. They’re everywhere—lined up along the walls, stationed at every corner, every possible escape route.

My hands weaken. I can’t run. I won’t make it .

I scan the area around me. A vast forest stretches before me, increasing my fear. I have no plan, no idea where the fuck I am, no way of reaching Asher—I can’t even feel Fiona. My connection with her has been fragile since Christian’s rejection, and the space she usually occupies in my head just feels blank. I have no idea where these woods lead, but I know if I don’t run now, I might never get another chance.

I bolt down the steps.

“Hey! Stop!” a deep voice barks, and my heartbeat spikes. Jagged stones cut into my feet, but I barely feel them with the adrenaline flooding my veins. If I can just make it to the trees, maybe...maybe I can lose them. It’ll be damn hard, but I’m fast and?—

A hand yanks me back, and a large male towers over me and spins me around roughly. Clenching my fist, I twist, aiming without looking. My fist collides with flesh and bone. His grip loosens as a pained snarl rumbles in his chest, and I twist free.

But another guard is already reaching to grab me. My knee shoots up on impulse, connecting with his groin. He lets out a strangled cry and crumples to the ground. I see the third in my peripheral, and it’s almost laughable how easy it is to sweep his feet from under him as I crouch low.

But then a sharp blow slams into the side of my head, and my body suddenly goes limp. Pain bursts behind my eyes and the world tilts perilously, taking me with it as I drop to the ground. My eyes flutter closed as I peer through the trees. I made it almost to the tree line, and as the darkness swallows me whole, I think that the next time I run, I should probably steal Christian’s car keys first.

When I wake again, I feel warmth—foreign, yet familiar. I reach for it, and my fingers brush against skin. “Asher,” I whisper, my voice weak, almost feverish, and I shudder when an arm bands around my waist, pulling me in, and lips brush softly over my forehead.

“I’m here,” he says, but his voice sounds wrong. Lighter, more baritone than bass.

I pull back weakly and force my eyes open, expecting to look into eyes like blue crystals, but I’m met with startling emerald. I jolt, pushing out of arms that don’t belong around me, and I scramble to the very edge of the bed. Christian sits up, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. “You’re alright. I was worried. You had a fever.” He frowns, his head tilting as his eyes rest on the skin above my eyes. “I suppose two hits to the head in such a short timeframe could do that.” He looks at me again, and something soft and almost childlike slips into his gaze. “The bastard who hit you is still healing his broken bones.”

I blink, processing every word too slowly. I stare at him for several seconds, replaying his words in my head, and even then, it sounds like gibberish. Wind rolls in, drawing my attention to the door. It’s open.

“I wouldn’t—” A slight chuckle escapes him when I get off the bed and fall immediately, unable to move. At all. Why won’t my limbs work? My hair falls in a curtain over my eyes as I raise my head. “What did you do to me?” My voice is even more pathetic than my weak limbs.

His shirt is a soft blue that makes his eyes pop, along with the madness I see in them. He gets off the bed and stands over me. “Nothing, yet. Except if you consider bathing and stitching you something. You had a fever,” he repeats, and a quick glance down confirms that I’m in a dress shirt I don’t recognize. There’s a strange snugness around my head, and it takes longer than normal to realize it’s a bandage .

The silk shirt brushes against my skin, and…I’m not wearing anything underneath. My eyes shoot to Christian, panic clambering up my spine. He drops to a knee beside me. I flinch when he raises a hand to me, and his eyes darken. “I would never hurt you,” he promises.

Hate brews in my belly, and I have no strength to keep it off my face. “I saw what you did to Georgia.”

Christian’s brow arches and he grabs my shoulders, his other hand cupping under my knees. He lifts me in his arms like I weigh nothing. “My relationship with Georgia isn’t something you could understand, not even if I explained.” He looks down at me with adoration. “You’re different. I’d die before I let myself harm you.”

“You hit me. Twice.” It was supposed to be a retort, but my voice is barely above a whisper as he nestles me back under the sheets.

His eyes focus on the dark blue blankets as he pulls them over my feet. “You left me no choice. You were out of control. I had to stop you before you did or said something you’d regret.” His words are slow, patronizing, like I should easily understand the shit he’s saying. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you were saying you loved him, when you really don’t. It was merely a correction, and I did it to help you. To protect what we had from your untrue, hurtful words. But I see how much it hurt you, and I’ll never raise a hand to you again.” There’s that vulnerable smile again as he adjusts the pillow under my head, trying to make me comfortable, but all it does is make me want to stab him straight in the heart. “One of us has to be strong for this to work, and I’ve never shied away from my responsibilities before. You have my word, Lei. ”

“You’re insane,” I croak, realizing that he actually believes the shit he just spat out.

His hands still for a moment before drifting up to cup my cheeks. The gesture is soft, but I know what this is when his thumb feels out every morsel of my skin. “Your absence stole whatever sanity I had left.” A light caress, and my heart leaps out of my chest when he leans in. But he doesn’t kiss me. He merely looks me dead in the eye—he’s always been an intense man, needing to maintain eye contact to get his message across, but now I feel an unfamiliar pressure pushing against my mind. I wonder if he’s been hiding his alpha aura around me until now. “I love you.”

The words echo in my skull, stretching through the crevices of my mind. He continues, unaware of the battle of wills going on in my head. “Everything I do, every fucking decision I’ve made since I met you, has been only for you.” His touch becomes harder, and his eyes colder. “Tell me one thing that bastard Wilde has done for you. I killed my father for you. What greater way to show my love for you than that?”

I jerk back, my eyes widening with horror. I must have heard him wrong. “What did you say?” My voice trembles, my throat tight with disbelief.

His eyes flash with something dark and sinister, and his hands withdraw from my cheeks. He settles on the bed beside me, the bed that feels like a trap, his proximity suffocating me. He starts explaining, speaking as if this is a soothing bedtime story. But it’s not. It’s a nightmare. My nightmare, and I wish I’d never asked.

“Like you, I thought the attack on the Blue Moon Pack that took your mother’s life was from the Dark Fangs. While you were away with your father during the period of mourning and I came to visit, there were quite a lot of irregularities with the attack. It didn’t feel like Wilde’s careful planning. Plus, I’d gotten wind that Wilde had sought Mardoc out to tell him what his motives were. Noble, if you ask me. He would punish the alpha, but not the pack. He demanded that your father step down and relinquish his authority, and you would become his bride and the pack’s luna. Either Mardoc could accept his offer, or Asher would kill him and take the pack by force.”

My mouth slackens. I have no idea why I’m surprised. It sounds very much like Asher. But I didn’t know he’d asked for my hand in marriage years ago. The soft spot in my chest where my feelings and memories with Asher reside warms, and if Christian notices, he doesn’t show it. He only continues speaking, his gaze distant, lost in a memory.

“Mardoc ignored his messages, and when your father’s pack was attacked, it seemed like Wilde stayed true to his word. But it didn’t make sense. If it was him, why didn’t he kill your father, too? I began to dig further, and it led me to my father.” His jaw clenches and his eyes are stormy as he watches me take it in. “He had rogues attack the Blue Moon Pack. He would rather wipe out your father’s pack than let Asher Wilde become alpha of both packs. We’d put in too much work into building that alliance to lose it.”

His father. It was his father.

My mind reels, desperately trying to make sense of it. My mother’s death. The attack. Everything I’ve believed for so long—it’s all crumbling around me, leaving me standing in the ruins of a past I didn’t even know was built on lies. Asher . My husband. The man I’ve doubted a thousand times, who I resented even before I met him. The man who loved me before I even knew his name. He’d never been guilty of my mother’s death, and maybe I knew deep down that I always should’ve trusted him. Every night in his bed, I consciously pushed the thoughts from my mind: that he killed my mother, that everything points to him being my father’s murderer.

But I couldn’t look in those eyes that regarded me like I was something precious, or feel those hands touch me with reverence, and believe he did it. But I’d held on to that truth for so long, it was easy to direct my hate and anger at him, and remind myself every time I felt my heartbeat quicken that I couldn’t love the man who murdered my parents.

I feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes, a dam threatening to burst, but Christian is far from done. “I couldn’t face you after learning the truth. Not for some time. And you were grieving. I needed an outlet, and Georgia was there.” There’s no remorse in his eyes when he adds, “Know that every time I was with her, I thought only of you and of how I was going to kill my father. Do you understand now that fucking Georgia meant nothing? I did that for you. Killing him was nothing, but ensuring there were no uprisings after I did took time. I killed him because he hurt you and tried to drive a wedge between us.” He smiles, and I hardly recognize him. “It was slow, and I enjoyed every moment of it.”

He says it like he should be rewarded. Like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with what he just said. “I never asked for any of that,” I cry.

He frowns as he notices the tear rolling down my cheek. He nods, clasping his fingers. “But that’s the thing with love, isn’t it? You should never have to ask, remember? You told me that when you said you wanted flowers on every date. I should be able to think of you and do these things for you. I’ve stuck by that since I met you. That’s why I decided Mardoc didn’t deserve you. He abandoned you when you needed him the most, so I ensured he died alone. ”

My breath hitches, and I can’t see past the tears that fill my eyes. “ W-what ?”

The tears are silent and hot as they trail down my cheeks. Not from sorrow. From anger . From the unbearable pain of it all. From the betrayal, the loss, and the sheer weight of the truth crashing down on me. “Oh Goddess,” I cry. “What have you done?”

His brows furrow with confusion. “I killed him. For you .”

Someone is screaming—a painful, heartbroken sound. It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.