Page 8 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
The crowd erupted in gasps and applause.
I could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the warmth radiating from his body, and his hands—firmly gripping my waist, nearly encircling it completely.
Realizing how close we were, my face burned with a fierce heat, and I was grateful for the veil that hid my flustered expression. But his scent—a crisp, earthy aroma of fresh pine—enveloped me, inescapable and intoxicating.
It stirred something deep within me, awakening the wolf inside. She grew restless, pacing with an urgent, primal energy, as if she recognized something profoundly familiar in him.
She recognized him.
Every fiber of my being thrummed with an electric pull, a magnetic force drawing me to him in a way I couldn’t resist or understand.
Could this man—the feared beast of legend—be my fated mate?
Chapter 3
Perock
I held Viossi in my arms, feeling her delicate frame. She was lighter than I had imagined, almost weightless, like a feather resting in the crook of my arm.
Her body was tense, exuding a fragility that evoked pity, as if with just a little more pressure, she might slip through my fingers.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before today’s events echoed across the entire nation. The news would spread like wildfire—the prince himself arriving to personally welcome his bride, lifting her into his arms in a protective princess carry as he escorted her away from the scene.
Perfect. Isn’t it?
This was precisely the outcome I had engineered. This grand performance would spread through every corner of the kingdom, marking the first step in dismantling the vicious rumors that painted me as a wife-murdering monster. Instead, they would see a prince consumed by devotion, a man who went to great lengths to greet and safeguard his new bride with undeniable care.
Lord Thornfield kept wiping the sweat from his brow, muttering words of gratitude as his hunched back bent even lower in a display of deference. A flicker of disdain passed through me at the sight—this old fox, always scheming, always weighing his options. I knew he’d been hedging his bets, torn between aligning with me and cozying up to Jackson, the son of my father’s brother, who’d inherit the throne if I fell.
A shadow passed over my thoughts as I considered the implications. My gaze darkened, shifting to the woman in my arms.
That veil. It obscured her eyes, hiding her emotions, but I caught the faint scent of her—a delicate blend of rain-soaked leaves and morning dew, subtle yet impossible to ignore. It lingered in the air, stirring something primal in me.
I felt her breath against my chest, shallow and tentative, each exhale like the first snowflakes brushing a frozen lake. Her trembling stiffness reminded me of a small bird, its feathers ruffled by a harsh wind. So fragile, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d even be capable of bearing my child—and, in doing so, breaking the deadly curse that hangs over me.
Thinking of this, my arms instinctively tightened around her just a fraction. She didn’t move, remaining stiffly nestled against me, yet somehow, inexplicably, I found myself reluctant to let her go.
No. I shouldn’t feel anything. Not for this woman, not for anyone.
Yet somehow, in her silent way, she tugged at my heartstrings. I even couldn’t decipher the expression hidden behind her stillness.
Amid the cheers of the crowd, I carried her into the carriage. The moment the door shut, she broke free from my hold like a wild creature escaping its cage, darting to the far corner of the compartment. Her body pressed against the carriage wall,as if trying to melt into it. The veil still draped over her face, obscuring her features, but I could see her head tilted slightly upward, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Her hands clutched the fabric of her skirt with a desperate grip, her knuckles pale as parchment.
She’s afraid.
She is afraid of me.
I can sense it in every tense line of her body, in the way her breath hitches and her hands tremble. I know, without a doubt, that she’s afraid of me—and perhaps of everything I represent.
But I don’t mind this fear. On the contrary, in the oppressive silence, a peculiar, unspoken longing starts to awaken deep inside me.
I leaned back in the seat across from her, my gaze piercing through the veil to trace the delicate outline of her form. Her subtle trembling, magnified in the confined space of the carriage, became strikingly clear. I could sense her deliberately suppressed breaths, each one a conscious effort to keep herself from fleeing, from losing control.
The more she struggled to maintain her composure, the more intriguing I found her.
The carriage came to a gentle stop, and the attendant opened the door. I stepped out first, then turned back to offer her my hand.
She hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, but quickly regained herself. Her hand was small, easily enveloped by mine, and the soft warmth of her skin through the fabric brushed against my palm. An indescribable sensation spread through me, leaving my throat inexplicably dry. My wolf rejoiced within me, wildly wagging its tail, desperate to forge a connection with her.