Page 10 of Cruel Alpha Beast (Roseville Alphas #1)

Wearing a watermelon-themed dress Monroe sewed for her over the winter, Shea skips ahead of me on the sidewalk. I follow right after her, keeping my phone glued to my hand in case Danielle or Monroe calls me back with more information.

It’s been an hour, but still, nothing. And so, I’ve decided to take Shea on a little walk through town.

I point out the school where I went, leaving out the relentless bullying and exclusion I faced.

I show her where her Uncle Greg taught me how to swim, ignoring the part where Jasper and Ellis used to splash me as hard as they could when he wasn’t looking.

I even let her play on the small playground with some of the other children in town, hoping she doesn’t notice the looks some of the other mothers are giving me.

The last stop on my mental list is the graveyard, where countless ancestors were buried before our time. With a heavy heart, I take Shea’s hand and direct her toward a small plot on the ground where two glossy stones lie in the grass.

“Here are Grammy and Grampy,” I tell her gently.

She swings our hands back and forth and stares down at the graves. “Why are they dead?”

There’s a knot in my throat that I’m finding very difficult to wash down. “They got into a car accident. They were driving to a store outside of the valley, and another driver was distracted by her dog in the backseat. Grammy and Grampy didn’t make it.”

“Are you sad, Mommy?” Shea asks thoughtfully.

I nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Very much.”

“I’m sad, too,” Shea says. “I never got to meet them.”

“They would have loved you so much,” I tell her hoarsely, wiping away my falling tears.

I was barely more than twice Shea’s age when the accident occurred, but some days, it feels like it just happened last week.

“Who were your mommy and daddy after that, then?” Shea asks.

“Well, that’s one of the good things about living with a pack,” I say. “They all come together to help each other… Even if they don’t understand the person who needs help. So, Uncle Greg and I were passed around to different families in town until he was old enough to take care of both of us.”

“Did Daddy help?” Shea asks.

I remember the months when Alpha Lucas and his family took us in. They showered Greg with affection and hardly paid any attention to me at all. Sawyer would stare at me at mealtimes, but other than that, he mostly played with Greg while I sat and grieved by myself.

Still, I didn’t want to poison Shea’s opinion of her father because of my baggage. If he was honest with what he told me earlier, he has changed a lot for the better. Maybe Shea will see a much different version of him than I ever did.

“Yes, baby,” I tell her. “Daddy’s family helped us a lot.”

We say our goodbyes to my parents’ graves and turn back around. I watch as Shea runs ahead of me on the sidewalk. Her legs take her as fast as they can carry her, and for a split second, I feel like they’re about to turn into furry paws.

Blinking hard, I realize that her feet are the same as always. It must just be my imagination playing tricks on me.

I wonder, though, whether Shea will take after me, or if she’ll one day shift into a wolf like her father. She’s still young—there’s plenty of time for her to come into her wolf form—but I haven’t seen any signs yet. No fur on her bed sheets, no cravings for meat.

The sun is unbearably hot by the time we return to Greg’s house. Shea climbs the stairs before me, but lets me open the door.

“Remember, we’re just here to pick up your clothes, okay?” I tell her. “We’re going to stay with Daddy for the rest of…”

For the rest of our lives? Why does that feel so strange to say out loud?

“When are we going back to Auntie Dani and Auntie RoeRoe’s house?” Shea asks, cocking her head to the side.

Never.

It’s the right answer, but I can’t get the word out.

“Not today, sweetie-pie,” I say instead.

We go upstairs and pack things up. I still can’t get over what Sawyer told me today. He wants to protect us over everything else in the world. He’s a changed man, more mature than he ever was before.

And yet, I can’t imagine moving in with him for the rest of my life.

I mean, he said all the right things, that’s for sure. But only time can really tell if he means what he said. Time and a whole lot of actions.

As I carry Shea’s suitcase down the stairs, it hits me really hard that I’m actually married to Sawyer.

It’s so strange because being able to say that was one of my biggest dreams as a young girl.

I wanted nothing more than to be his wife, but it’s so different from what I hoped it would be.

I wanted romance. Love. Not a power play to keep me under his thumb.

***

Shea sits in the living room at Sawyer’s house, resting her knees on the carpet as she draws on a piece of paper resting on the coffee table. Beside her, a box of crayons lies splayed out, ready for her to take whatever she needs.

Aside from the rubbing of crayons on the paper and the sound of my daughter humming to herself, the house is silent. Still. It gives me enough time to acquaint myself with the home of Alpha Sawyer.

The opposite of Monroe and Danielle’s home, decorations are sparse here, and the house is not nearly as cozy as I would like. Everything seems so cold, so… manly . It’s clean, but it still needs a woman’s touch.

I suppose once I’m done saving the valley from the evil lurking around the corner, I can start searching online for some good deals on homewares.

But then I hear it. The sound of arguing outside the house. Perhaps evil is much closer than I thought.

Shea looks up from her drawing with great curiosity in her beautiful eyes. “Mommy, why are people yelling?”

I cross the carpeted floor and find the bay window in the living room.

Outside, there’s a crowd amassing in the street.

I press my knees into the wide windowsill and see that the throng of people is surrounding two men who are both going purple in the face.

They scream, pointing fingers at each other’s wild eyes, and it doesn’t seem as though this fight is going to end on either one of their accords.

Grabbing the dark window curtains, I pull them close together, hoping they’ll at least dampen some of the sounds. I turn to Shea and give her a smile.

“It’s alright, little one,” I tell her. “Just some adults having an argument. Now, why don’t you go play in your new big-girl bedroom?”

Shea’s face lights up, the fighting in the streets gone from her radar. She abandons her supplies and runs across the floor, disappearing up the stairs.

“That was a close one,” I murmur to myself.

Once I hear her feet land on the floor above, I cross the living room and go into the kitchen, where I open the front door to the house. I slide through the jamb, hoping not to attract any attention, and try to get a better feel for what this argument is about.

“I said I was walking here!”

“Well, I’m walking here !”

My mouth hangs open. These two grown men are fighting over their place on the sidewalk?

The crowd surrounding them starts making noise—some people try to stop the fight, while others goad them to take it further. My stomach rumbles with anxiety. This is not good. But what can I possibly do?

I consider taking my phone from my pocket and calling Greg. He’s wise. He would know. But before I can even think to move my fingers, the two men’s yelling turns into growling. They’ve shifted. And now half of the crowd is cheering on the two wolves, gnashing their teeth at each other.

I watch in horror as the claws come out. This is going to get bloody, but I can’t move. I can’t even scream for someone to help.

Then, a third wolf comes barreling down the street, chestnut fur gleaming under the bright sun. He leaps through the throng of people and disappears between the fighting wolves. There are several loud howls, and then three men rise, cut up and bitten, but largely okay.

“ Enough !” Sawyer bellows. “This needs to end ! Both of you! Go on your way! Everyone else— go home !”

As if trapped in ice, every person aside from Sawyer freezes where they stand.

Then, one person leaves the crowd, followed by another, followed by three more, until only the two men who started fighting remain.

From my place on the front porch, I can see the men coming down from whatever frenzy led them to argue like this.

“I-I’m sorry,” one of the men says, nursing a nasty bite on his arm. “I don’t know what came over me, man.”

“Me either,” the second one replies, blood dripping from his nose.

“Sawyer,” the first one says, as if finally noticing that the alpha is standing there. “Something’s going on. Why does this shit keep happening? We’re going to kill each other.”

“I’m going to figure it out, hopefully before that happens,” Sawyer says. “Both of you, stop by the infirmary. Get your wounds checked out.”

As he leaves, Sawyer turns to look at me, and I can see a small scratch on his cheekbone. A tiny trickle of blood snakes its way down toward the scruff on his jawline, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.

He steps closer, his chest and shoulders still puffed out.

With darkened eyes and this heightened energy, I can’t help thinking that he’s the most handsome he’s ever been.

My stomach flutters as he stalks closer.

A very strong part of me wants to jump into his arms and consummate the marriage right now…

But no. Even if this was the right time, I’m still angry with him. He’s hurt me too deeply for lustful, passionate sex.

My mouth still waters, despite the logical part of my body trying to shut my heat down. I swallow hard and wait for Sawyer to climb the steps.

“Inside, Lacey,” he tells me in a commanding voice.

I nod my head silently and enter the kitchen once more. I make quick work of finding a clean cloth and running hot water over it. Sawyer sits in the same chair he sat in this morning for breakfast, tensing and relaxing his bulging muscles.

He’s not making this easy on me, is he?

Once I wring out the excess water, I come to sit in the next seat at the table. “Don’t move,” I murmur, pressing the cloth against the scratch on his face. Sawyer grimaces in pain, but allows me to clean his small wound without complaint.

“So, has this sort of thing been happening a lot?” I ask, remembering my visions of fighting in the street.

Sawyer nods. “Not a lot, but even a few fights like that every once in a while are too many. You know how we are here.”

I can’t help but snicker. “There would have been more fights if I’d been giving combat training.”

Sawyer grimaces again, but not because of any physical pain. He looks contemplative, even remorseful.

“Ellis stopped a fight between a shifter and one of the normies in the valley last week,” he continues. “That could have gotten really bad, really quickly.”

“Yeah, that’s not good at all,” I mutter.

“It’s getting harder to keep the peace every day,” Sawyer admits. “I know that I’m capable… I know that I’m strong. But what if I’m not strong enough to stop this, Lacey? What if I can’t do it? What if my people all die ? What if you and—”

But whatever else he was going to say fades into nothingness. I can’t hear a thing. Nor can I see. I fall back into the seat for the second time that day as the darkness closes in.

I see the fights. The rot. But then the willow tree burns again, bright red and orange flames, smoke billowing in the sky. Only this time, dark crimson blood runs down its roots and toward the valley.

My heart pounds inside my chest so hard that I worry it will fly out of my ribs. The black clouds clear, and I see Sawyer staring at me with concern, a tiny droplet of blood bubbling up from his cut.

“I need—I need to—”

My throat is too tight to speak properly, so I push myself out of the chair and stumble back into the living room.

Sawyer calls out to me, following me through the house.

I fall to my knees by the coffee table and find a clean sheet of paper.

Using Shea’s crayons, I make a rudimentary sketch of the burning, bloody tree so I can show it to Danielle the next time I see her.

I can feel Sawyer’s presence behind me. He drops down at my side, looks at the drawing, and then into my watering eyes.

“Whose blood is that?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”