Page 4 of Arranged Bullied Mate

A few of my betas have gathered; it appears my decision has become a real pack affair. Most are simply listening to Elder McCann’s words, but a few are openly assessing Ava, something that is starting to piss me off. I notice Maddox step closer, casting his eyes over her, his expression openly amused.

I move between them, blocking Maddox’s line of sight. “Is there a problem?” I say, low and clipped.

“Not at all, Alpha.” Maddox offers a genial smile, but his eyes are calculating. “Just admiring your taste. Didn’t peg youfor the philanthropic sort,” he smirks, glancing over my shoulder at Ava, as if waiting for her to collapse under scrutiny. Instead, she lifts her chin and stares straight through him.

The way her pulse flutters in her throat, her scent sharp with adrenaline and something darker, makes my wolf snap to attention. Not out of hunger, but hunger-adjacent—a predatory curiosity. She’s terrified, but she’s still here. She’s trying to keep her expression neutral, but I can see a flicker of the innocent girl I knew in her eyes, and it tethers me to her in ways I can barely explain.

Elder McCann coughs, drawing us back to order. “You’ve made your choice, then?”

“Yes.” The word comes out more forceful than I intend. My hand is still on Ava’s arm, and I can feel the tremors running through her. I should loosen my grip, I know, but I don’t.

McCann studies us, lips thin. “Then, with the pack as witness, the bond is initiated. If fruitful, it will be finalized by the time we hold the alpha ceremony.”

He utters some ceremonial words that ring out over the crowd, and it’s done. I expect some sort of release, maybe the weight of the pack’s expectations to ease off my shoulders, but instead, there’s just a silence that hums with resentment. The circle breaks with forced applause, and the gathering disperses into small groups as the music begins again, signaling the beginning of the party. The other omegas and their mothers stand in a huddle of pastels, watching Ava with open hostility.

Ava is rigid under my hand, her chin set at a stubborn angle that dares me to acknowledge her discomfort. The crowd is either glaring at her or simply observing her with thinly veiled confusion, as if they’re trying to make sense of my decision. She doesn’t flinch, but her scent is still shot through with panic.

I look at her more carefully, taking in her appearance properly for the first time. Ava’s hair is a spill of gold, the kind of pale blonde that catches every low sunbeam and glows like a field left to seed. It’s longer than I remember, too long for the neat braids or elaborate updos every other omega wore tonight. She’s left it down, soft curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.

I’m sure I recognize her dress as one she’s worn before, unlike the other omegas who dressed to the nines. The fabric clings to her, the dark cotton making her skin look even paler. Her breasts are clearly bigger, and standing so close, I can see how the buttons are fighting a losing battle to keep them contained. The swell of her hips is shapely, and my hands itch to touch her. My wolf’s thoughts are clear, primal, and repetitive: breed.

I want to be disgusted with myself, but the truth is, I like it. I like the way her waist dips and her stomach softens, the swell of her breasts trying to break free from the confines of her dress. I like how she looks up at me, cheeks flushed, daring me to say something crude. I’m not sure if she wants me to, but she seems prepared either way.

At the edge of the circle, a few of the older alphas are muttering, no doubt already complaining about my choice. I can see my father’s old friend, Deacon, watching with a look of supreme disappointment. I could have picked any of their daughters.

“Come,” I say, steering her toward the nearest tent. Some of the betas follow, but I glare at them, and they fall back. Inside, there’s a table with a white cloth and drinks arranged, clearly placed there for a family celebration, but she has no one here. The space is private enough, and the tent canvas mutes the crowd’s noise to a dull roar.

She waits until we’re completely alone, then pulls her arm from my grip. “You didn’t have to drag me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She won’t quite meet my gaze and looks close to tears.

I can feel anger clawing up my chest, hot and wild. She could at least be grateful; I didn’t have to choose her.

“I could’ve left you, you know.” The words feel like steel splinters in my mouth, but maybe she needs to hear it. “Nobody forced me to pick you. In fact, I’d bet most of the pack would prefer I hadn’t bothered.”

She doesn’t blink. “Then don’t bother,” she says. “You can change your mind. You’re the alpha, right?”

Almost.

For a second, I stare at her, unable to process the suggestion. The tent is quiet except for the faint pulse of my own blood in my ears. The urge to shake her is overwhelming, if only to snap her out of this.

“That’s not how this works, Ava.” I let my voice go cold. “You’re lucky to be here. If it were up to the council or half the pack out there, you’d still be out in the wilds, or worse. I’m giving you a place.”

A muscle ticks in her jaw. “You’re not giving me anything. You chose me for breeding.”

I almost laugh. “And you got up on that stage. You think I want this? You think I want to mate with an outcast’s daughter?” I see her flinch and immediately hate myself for enjoying it.

“Then why?” she asks quietly.

I consider my next words, confused by my own reaction to seeing her and sickened by the feeling that she doesn’t actually want this. “I didn’t want to take a luna at all. When I sawyou, I figured I might as well have a particularly grateful one.” Stepping closer, I see her visibly tremble as I look down on her. “If I’m going to have an omega in the house, I might as well have one who gets down on her knees to thank me every time I give it to her.”

She stands her ground, but only just, her eyes wide. The air between us is thick with the tang of her anxiety and my own need, the scent so potent I can feel the canines prick just behind my lips.

I step forward, pinning her to the edge of the table. Her back hits the wood, and I feel her whole body go tense, the curve of her chest pressing against me. For a moment, her breath catches, caught in her throat, and when she exhales, it’s slower and deliberate, like she’s reminding herself how to do it. The defiance in her gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s a flicker of something else there now—wariness, maybe, or anticipation. A moment seems to pass between us where we remember exactly how things used to be between us—the fun, the passion, and the connection. I blink and the moment is gone, replaced by a freshly steeling glint in her eyes that almost takes me by surprise.

“Go on then,” she says, lips barely moving. “Isn’t this what you want? To show everyone you can do what you like?”

I taste the challenge in her voice and almost lose it. My wolf wants her flattened to the table, wants her marked and claimed. He wants to remind her how good it is between us and how grateful she should feel. I could do it. I could take her here, and no one would dare interrupt, not even Elder McCann. I wonder if she knows how vulnerable she really is.

A throat clears behind me. I turn, fangs half-dropped, more than ready to rip into whoever interrupted.