Page 5 of Brutal Alpha Beast (Roseville Alphas #2)

She’s a witch, I remind myself, just a witch . It’s her job to be bewitching, isn’t it?

Then why do you not feel that same pull toward any of the others?

As she’s preparing to walk down the aisle, talking to some witches beside her while others help adjust her dress, I can’t stop marveling.

She looks fucking incredible.

It’s ridiculous.

The way I’m looking at her is almost as though this is a real wedding, as though she’s my real bride.

Her brown curls are glossy and alive, bouncing subtly around her elegantly pronounced clavicle. I’m only getting a glimpse of her side profile, but her cat-like eyes are practically glowing beneath the light.

Then, that dress, strapless, white, and silky, hugged the beautiful dips of her curves.

She looks so beautiful, so precious, and unbelievably intriguing to my wolf.

I clench my fists, puffing out a frustrated breath of air.

“You doing okay?” One of my shifters asks me from the sidelines.

“Fine,” I growl, rolling my shoulders back.

I’d forgive myself for simply being turned on by a beautiful woman. I’m an animal, an Alpha one, after all. But what’s frustrating is that I’m not just turned on, I’m infatuated—I’m drawn into her for reasons I can’t fully explain.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way toward a witch.

When Penelope suggested Danielle, I agreed because she was the choice I was already thinking of.

Danielle was chosen because, logically speaking, she makes sense. Danielle is magically powerful; she’s worked with our kind before—during that whole Willow mess—so we can trust her to be somewhat amenable toward us.

I’m glad that Penelope suggested her.

If Penelope didn’t believe this alliance was going to work, then she wouldn’t have wanted to send one of her best.

Everything will be fine.

A violinist begins playing, and the murmuring crowd of shifters and witches falls silent.

Danielle turns to face the altar, slowly, with her arm looped into Penelope as they both walk forward. I’m not sure what to do with my hands, so I keep my arms firmly by my sides.

She gets closer and closer.

As soon as those glittering green eyes find mine, the color in her cheeks completely dissolves. She freezes.

She looks as though she’s seen a ghost.

But her pause is only for a nanosecond. She regains herself quickly—she’s once again completely composed before anyone in the crowd notices.

Why did she pause?

She’s looking away now, not at me but purposefully past my shoulders at something random in the sky.

She turned pale because of me, and that look of shock that she’s trying to disguise as she avoids my face might be unreadable to everyone else. But it’s there.

Something’s wrong.

Is she shocked because she’s marrying the pack’s Alpha? Is she nervous about that? Maybe she should have been warned in advance?

The decision for it to be me as the groom, as opposed to any of my other shifters, was one that was made unanimously between Penelope and me.

It was made as the only way to ensure that nothing fishy goes on. I trust my packmates, but marrying a witch is not something that would be easy for any of them. At least this way, I can make sure that there’s no sabotage.

Besides, the alliance was my idea; it’s only fair that I take the weight of the burden.

Danielle comes beside me, the music stops, and I notice her eyes briefly flicker to me and then back to the elder standing before us.

She seems shaken—really shaken, in fact, more shaken than I ever thought she would be.

Why do I want to comfort her?

It makes sense that she’d feel nervous. Witches know how much we hate them, and if she knows anything about my history, which is possible, then she’ll know that I have a personal reason for my hatred.

Given that my mother was a witch and she abandoned me, going through with this marriage is no easy thing.

But I know it has to be done.

Our elder says a few words, and as instructed, he talks about what a great thing this union will be.

I stare ahead, aware of Danielle trying her best to slow her breath beside me.

We repeat our vows, not at each other like a normal couple would, but side by side, facing the crowd. It’s almost funny how miserable everyone looks.

No one tries to hide how uncomfortable the union is making them feel.

The place is divided, with shifters on the left and witches on the right. Those sitting on the outer edge turn their bodies inward so that they’re facing their own kind.

My body tenses.

I understand why it’s so hard for everyone to pretend to get along, perhaps more than most of them do. But the world is changing. I need to cast aside my hatred if I want my pack to move forward.

I need to lead by example.

“Now,” the elder says. “You may embrace your bride.”

Embrace is a good choice of words.

I cock my head slightly to Danielle and outstretch my palm. A handshake is as good as we’re going to be getting when it comes to an embrace.

Her face is like stone, her lips pursed, her eyes pointed. She doesn’t look at me at first, and when I don’t feel a hand edging toward my own, I close my palm.

Danielle is practically shaking.

I don’t believe she’s trying to be difficult, but does she not realize that soon, we’re going to have to touch?

The second part of the ritual involves a slow dance, and while we can try to do that without holding one another, it would undeniably look very strange.

While this is an arranged marriage, and everyone in the audience knows that, it’s still important that we put on some kind of front.

I’m looking at Danielle for what feels like an eternity, and then she finally lifts her head. She looks me straight in the eyes and gives me a brief nod.

An embrace? Whatever. It’s good enough.

The music starts again, and we walk down the aisle side by side. Shifters and witches stand and clap as they’ve been instructed to do; at least they can follow orders .

I find it hard to understand why Danielle would agree to this marriage in the first place if she’s so reluctant to even hold hands with a wolf.

Maybe she came here kicking and screaming. But I know for a fact that the witches aren’t like that, with them, everything is a ‘choice,’ they’re pretty anti-hierarchy, and they love their leader, Penelope. They’d do anything for her.

Once we’re at the reception inside one of our cabin halls, she goes off. There’s music, children running around, chatter and laughter, and as usual, the witches are on one side, the wolves the other.

At least there are sounds, though, no longer that excruciating silence in which my thoughts and my strange pull/ aversion toward Danielle ring through my ears like deafening shouts.

Sawyer pats me on the back. “Congratulations, man,” he laughs. “I can tell that you’re delighted with your new bride.”

I break my frown to smile sarcastically. Where has my bride gone?

“Funny,” I murmur.

“You’re doing a good thing,” he says. “And Danielle is cool. You’ll be fine. You look dazed.”

“Nope,” I sigh. “Not dazed, just tolerating.”

“You want a drink?”

I nod.

Then Lacey shows up with my long-lost bride. She’s looking me in the eye now, but her face is stiff, no longer nervous, just cold.

I’m not sure what's better, trembling or this. At least with the trembling, I know there’s a human with emotions in there.

“She didn’t know how this part of the ritual was supposed to go,” Lacey explains, although she must have known that an embrace does not include a nod.

“Yes,” Danielle says coolly. “Sorry.”

The bride and groom are supposed to stand by the cake, and wait for friends and family to come up and wish them well-wishes and congratulations. All this and then the dance.

It’s like pulling teeth, more painful than I thought. Not to mention the reaction she’s stirring in my wolf.

“It shouldn’t last too long,” I say. “Thank you, Lacey, for bringing her over.”

Lacey and Sawyer exchange a glance before she rests her head on his shoulder. It’s like they're the newly wedded ones, not us.

That makes me feel bad, as though I’m failing somehow—but I’m not. I know this union is going to be hard, and despite all the fancy decorations and the formalities, I remind myself that it’s a marriage strictly for business, nothing more.

“That’s okay,” Lacey says softly. “We’ll give you both some time to talk.”

Lacey and Sawyer head deeper into the florally decorated reception room, where they join up with friends, family, and their daughter, Shea. Lacey brings Shea to the witches' side of the room and chats excitedly with them.

I suppose Lacey isn’t the only bridge between witches and shifters now.

“So,” I say to Danielle. “Is this your first time as a bride?”

She looks up at me wide-eyed, then her face turns as stiff as it previously was. “Yes,” she says. “Of course.”

I didn’t mean for the comment to be offensive; all I’m trying to do is start a conversation so we don’t have to stand here in awkward silence.

A couple of guests come and offer their congratulations and then walk off.

“The decorations have been done well,” I say. “I suppose the whole floral theme appeals to both our kinds.”

She doesn’t respond.

I eye her briefly, and her face is set like stone; she’s staring off into the distance as though she’s stood here alone.

Like I want to be making conversation, either.

But at least I’m trying, which is more than I can say for her.

“So, how long have you been at the coven for?”

I know that not all witches are born there, and that, as an all-female village, the family structure is very different from what we’re used to at the pack.

She looks startled by my question, and I detect a hint of vulnerability that frustratingly draws me to her, but then, once again, her hostile expression returns.

“A long time,” she says. “How long have you been in your pack for?”

“My whole life.”

“Oh,” she murmurs. “Cool.”

After a while of more excruciatingly strained conversation, interrupted every now and then by witches and shifters wishing their awkward congratulations, I decide I can take no more.

Might as well get this ritual over and done with.

“It’s time to dance,” I tell her without looking. “Are you ready to go?”

She shrugs, walking toward the dancefloor first, and I can’t help but rake my gaze down the length of her subtle curves. Her hips sway in such a way that captures the immediate attention of my wolf.

This only pisses me off more.

I signal to the shifter in charge of the wedding proceedings to start the music for the first dance. Taking a breath, I follow after my bride.

“Here,” I tell her cooly.

She stops.

A violinist begins to play, and we’re standing there facing each other as though we’re about to fight. Why can’t she just make things easy?

I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze and take a step forward.

“You know,” I murmur. “We have to touch to dance.”

I see a hint of vulnerability, soon covered up by her frustrated glare. I want to tell her that I’m feeling just as glum as she’s looking, but I don’t think it will help. I’m not sure what will, at this point.

She sighs. “Okay, you lead the way, Alpha .”

I shoot her a questioning glance; do I sense hostility in the way she says 'Alpha'? Makes sense. There’s no reason I should be surprised.

Danielle lets me step even closer, and I place one hand on her lower back, and the other takes her dainty palm into mine.

I pause.

What the hell was that?

As soon as I touched her, a jolt zapped my body, like one big, pleasurable , electric shock. My wolf is on edge, my back and my chest are both tingly and tight.

I study her, confused.

I’ve never felt that before. Whatever it is.

Is she casting a spell on me? Is she playing a trick? But the jolt wasn’t painful. It felt good, and confusingly, undeniably, sensual.

I can see from the look on her face that she felt it, too. She looks shocked. Whether it was a spell or not, it definitely wasn’t one she planned.

She regains herself more quickly than I do, and notions for me to keep moving.

I clear my throat. Then, I lead her through a slow dance.

I hope that the spark was some strange accidental spell, a weird energy formed by the fusion of two people who should have never come together in the first place.

But as we continue to dance, and those cat-like eyes dart from my face, to my chest, then around the room, I realize that the initial shock of electricity doesn’t go away.

It’s not as sparky, but it’s there.

It smoothens down to a general tension, something undeniable that I can tell we’re both feeling. Something living that exists between us.

I eye the bounce of her luscious curls, the thin pinch of her waist. It doesn’t help that she’s ridiculously beautiful.

“How long is this dance supposed to last?” She finally whispers through tight, candy-pink lips as she looks around the room.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her gruffly. “Not long.”