Page 2 of Bullied Alpha Bride (Wolfshade Brides-for-Hire #2)

Night falls slowly across the mountains, the horizon showing echoes of the sun’s light long after it set. Stars come out one by one, shimmering in the sky like chips of crystal. The perfect, deep blue of the sky is reflected by the surface of the lake, along with the glowing points of light.

I reach down and grab a small stone, skimming it along the flat surface with a twist of my wrist. The water is often clear and peaceful, a perfect mirror of the heavens. But tonight, it looks especially beautiful.

I really do love it out here.

It’s just the house I’m not crazy about.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I look across the lake to the manor on the other side.

Three stories of carefully carved stone spread out in generous wings that sweep around a large, circular garden.

A few of the windows have lights behind them.

Still, the place doesn’t look especially welcoming or cozy.

It never has, because my grandparents lived here.

I shuffle a little, still watching the house. I came out here to relax, but now I just feel more agitated. I’m thinking about going for a run, but really, I know I’m just trying to avoid an uncomfortable subject.

The council will not let up until I have a mate.

I’ve avoided the topic for far too long. There really are no excuses left, and the council keeps hammering one specific point. Even if I don’t immediately take a mate, I should be actively looking for one.

I can’t.

There’s only one woman for me… and she’s gone.

Pain twists in my chest, churning my guts. I refuse to think about that horrible situation. The cruelty I dealt out simply because I feared my grandfather’s power.

Not just him—the entire top council. Loretta, Jones, and Derrik. They’ve run the pack by strict laws for as long as anyone can remember.

I glare at the manor again, shifting my feet as I clench my fists in my pocket. Even though it does no good to stand here and get mad at Grandfather, yelling at him in my head, saying all the things I always wanted to say—I just can’t stop doing it.

Now that he’s gone, I’ll never get the chance to tell him what I really think of him and his rules.

Some people think the dead can hear our thoughts. I seriously fucking hope so.

Kicking at the dirt, I turn away from the manor and keep walking along the edge of the lake. Even though I hated Grandfather and probably always will, I’m self-aware enough to know that I hate myself more.

I followed his orders. I did everything he told me to do—without question. Until he gave me a command I could not follow…

My training for the alpha position started early, when I was only nine. Grandfather wanted the pack kept within strict guidelines and harsh laws. Anyone who disobeyed him was swiftly dealt with.

In my early teenage years, I hunted for him. I drew blood for him.

I even killed for him.

I have to stop and put my head in my hands. My temples throb as I cling to my skull, trying to shut out the screams of the people I hurt in his name.

I couldn’t care about anyone or anything because he would immediately take it from me. “Love is weakness,” he said. “Connections are just vulnerabilities for your enemies to exploit. Be a pillar of untouchable strength—it’s the only way to keep the pack safe!”

The one and only time I took something for myself, he punished me terribly. Then, when I thought his tyranny couldn’t get any worse, he ordered me to kill to redeem myself to him and to the pack, and to claim my position as alpha through blood.

And I couldn’t do it.

By then, I’d killed so many at his command, but I finally understood how wrong it was and what it was doing to me—and to the pack. I broke the rules, I defied him, and then I tried to cover my betrayal and find some way to repair the damage I’d done.

I was still terrified of Grandfather, just like everyone else in the pack. I didn’t know how long I could keep my secrets, or if it would even be possible to overthrow him.

But before I could even get a chance to plan my next move, he and Grandmother took a holiday to the far end of Lycan Pass, in the human world, and never returned.

Search parties were sent after them. I was not allowed to search because it was decided that I would immediately become alpha, overtaking my own father for the position. Grandfather had pushed me far harder than him, and the top council members agreed this was the best way forward.

The day I was sworn in by ancient rite was the most terrifying yet exhilarating day of my life. Even if Grandfather was found and brought back, he couldn’t speak against me now. If he even tried, he’d be bound by his own law to accept the same punishment he’d brutally inflicted upon others.

But he was never found. Traces of magic were detected, and all our scouts reported that both of them had to be dead.

Their hotel room had been ransacked, personal items stolen, and blood all over the walls.

Our investigators said no one could have survived it, and the body parts of very old and powerful alpha wolves are exceptionally valuable.

One of the reasons we never leave Lycan Pass—the human world has more dangers in it than just ignorant mortals.

Even though it wasn’t spoken aloud, it was well-known that Grandfather had a lot of enemies.

The pack accepted his death and my ascension without much protest. But it’s been a few years now, and I still feel like very little has changed in the pack, even though I’m exhausted from trying to change it.

As I round the edge of the lake and turn towards the circle of light in the drive, I look up into the windows again.

So many of them are dark. The manor is empty except for a couple of caretakers, and as much as I want to change that, it still feels like Grandfather is stalking the halls, yelling about pack politics, insubordination, and enemies at our gate.

Charity was a foreign language to him. The idea of opening up the manor to use as a community center or shelter would have made him gag.

All the more reason to do it. Wherever he is, I hope he’s turning over in his grave.

With one last look at the towering mansion, I turn towards the back doors and slip in through the service entrance.

The front of the house is purposefully imposing, but the kitchen is always warm and cozy.

When I push through the old wooden door into the low light, I see old Susan happily taking cookies out of the oven.

“What are you doing up at this time of night?” I ask. “You should be curled up in bed.”

“Ah, young master, my bones don’t like to lay still these days,” Susan replies. “Too much pain in my joints. I figure if I can’t sleep, the best thing to do is be useful.”

“Susan, let me help. I can find a healer—”

“We’ve talked about this, Kit,” she says sternly. “I’ll take my aging with grace, thank you very much. I’ve got no problem with growing older, or slipping into the shades, for that matter.”

I nod, not saying anything. There was a rumor that Grandmother and Grandfather kept themselves young with dark magic, and it was their involvement with sorcerers that eventually got them killed.

“I’ll take a few,” I say, reaching out for a handful of warm cookies. “I’ll never complain about cookies.”

“There you are, then,” she says, holding out the tray. “Eat up as many as you like.”

The sweet, crumbly cookies melt on my tongue, and a tingle rushes through me.

As I was growing up, Susan was my only comfort.

Mother and Father simply told me to obey Grandfather.

Grandmother had little interest in me beyond status and grooming me for power.

It was Susan who patched me up after fights, listened to me cry, and hugged me when I needed it the most.

“Young master, have you thought any more about the council’s directive—”

“Oh, Jesus,” I groan through a mouthful of buttery cookie. “Not you, too.”

“It’s more than time, young man,” Susan insisted.

“The line was skipped to elevate you instead of your father. You need heirs, or your position is not secure.” Her features softened as she looked at me.

“Besides, you seem so lonely, young master. A woman in your life could change things for the better, I promise you.”

I sigh and shake my head, not wanting to answer. Even looking for a woman is pointless. None of them can be the one I want.

I went and screwed that situation as hard as I possibly could. I wish I could explain, tell her the truth somehow. But she’s gone… and I don’t deserve another chance.

“Looking very serious there, young master,” Susan remarks with a smile. “Got a woman in mind, then?”

“No,” I sigh, getting up. “I really don’t. I’m going to the den to rest a bit before I go to bed.”

“Alright, then. But you think about what I said. It could mean a pack war if you don’t solidify your position. Your Grandfather was harsh, but he kept the peace. Don’t forget that.”

I grind my teeth together to stop myself from screaming.

The only thing worse than Grandfather’s cruelty is how the entire pack still tries to justify it and make him out to be some kind of god!

“Yes, Susan,” I say, trying to keep my voice flat. “Goodnight.”

I leave the kitchen with a handful of cookies, my mind reeling at the idea that Susan—and others of her class—looked up to Grandfather and practically worshipped him, even though he treated all of them like dirt.

Service class—completely disposable to him. He literally didn’t give a fuck about them, and most of them didn’t care!

As I settle into my favorite chair in the den, I shove another cookie into my mouth and realize that Susan is right.

I’ve made a lot of changes to the pack since I took control, but I’m nowhere near done.

If a rival overtakes me, all my good work could be undone, and the pack would return to its militant, bloodthirsty ways.

I have to find a mate. I have to prove to the pack I’m serious about it. Otherwise, this could get messy.

While I work my way through the cookies, I go over my options. I can’t stop thinking about Galen and how happy he is with Clara.

Maybe I should try this… Potter’s service? Is that right?

I pull out my phone and search “brides for hire.” It seems so ridiculous, I expect to get completely bogus results. But to my surprise, the first link is “Porter’s Brides for Hire!”

Our phones really are listening to us.

I tap the link and end up on a site with a big pink button at the bottom. The chatbot asks me a few questions, asks for my payment information, and then goes to a loading screen.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I actually signing up for this shit?

Thrills of panic tease the edges of my guts, making my hair stand on end. I don’t want to meet a woman—just any woman—but I don’t want to go another day without a partner, either.

I have to maintain my power. It’s the only way to keep the pack safe.

The loading screen keeps spinning, and I start to relax out of sheer boredom.

Maybe there are no matches.

That would certainly make things easier, at least for now. I could tell the council I made an attempt, and it would buy me a few weeks before they started clamoring about it again.

My phone blinks and makes a tiny sound.

“Hi, Kit! Sorry to keep you waiting. Thank you for contacting us.”

My nerves slam into me again, almost taking my breath straight out of my lungs. I stare at the screen as if the phone has come to life and might be ready to attack me.

“It just so happens we have a potential match for you. Would you be interested in pursuing this?”

My blood rushes to my head, making my temples pound.

Come on, man. This is what you came for.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Excellent! Can you attend a meeting at Gryphon Eyrie tomorrow?”

Gryphon Eyrie is to the south of Cyan Lock. It’s a pretty little town under Vulture Peak and Gyrfalcon Lake. The trip isn’t difficult, and it won’t take me long to get there.

So why am I resisting?

Stupid question… I know why.

I stare at the screen for a full minute, frozen by indecision. The last thing I want to do is meet some random woman, but going through one more day of the current situation is just unacceptable.

My finger hovers over the screen. I’m close to opting out until a clear image materializes in my mind.

It’s Galen, hoisting his son up onto his shoulders while Clara wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him.

All of them wear huge, happy smiles. Along with the beautiful memory comes the pang of jealousy I still can’t shake.

Maybe this Iris Porter can do the same for me.

Before my hope can fade, I quickly tap the screen.

“Send me the details. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! See you there, Kit.”

As I close my phone and put it back in my pocket, dread rises, swallowing my optimism.

What have I done?