Page 15 of Cruel Alpha Beast (Roseville Alphas #1)

I sit in my usual spot in the living room—a modern armchair my father gave me as a housewarming present when I took over his position as alpha. While I usually sit in this chair to relax after another peaceful day in the valley, I cannot relax tonight.

Leaning over with my elbows pressed into my knees, I can only contemplate everything that’s happened in the last few days. More violent fighting in the street. More blighted nature. And now, there is a new symptom of evil encroaching on our land.

Sickness.

I haven’t heard anything about Cassie since my dad took her to the infirmary. I’ve been expecting a phone call all day, but nothing. That could be good news. But it could also be awful.

“Daddy?”

I hear the word clearly, but I feel thrown off. I wonder if there’s a small family hanging out inside my house, but I’ve been too spaced out to notice that they have been here.

Then I realize that there is a small family inside my home.

And it’s mine.

I look to the sound of the voice and find the four-year-old girl with my chestnut hair tied in a bow and my hazel eyes staring right back at me. There’s no doubt in the world that she’s mine.

“Yes?” I say, still unsure of how to talk to the girl.

She takes something out from behind her back and presents it to me.

A sheet of paper with barely legible crayon scribblings on the front.

Her lips stretch into a smile, and I envy her.

She’s too young to understand the gravity of what’s happening in the village.

She’s not expected to solve a problem that might be well out of her control.

She just has to sit around, coloring and snuggling with her mother and uncle.

“I made this for you,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

“You did?” I reach forward and take the piece of paper from her. She comes around to lean over my shoulder, watching closely for my reaction.

As I stare down at the drawing, I realize that maybe her artwork isn’t quite as incoherent as I first thought it would be.

She’s drawn a man with a yellow crown on top of his brown hair and a red cape around his wide, triangular shoulders.

On the man’s left is a small girl with long brown hair and a bow.

On his right is a woman with even longer black hair.

At the man’s feet are colorful circles, meant to represent the people this man with the crown rules over.

They look up at him, and though I can’t see their faces, I’m sure they respect his authority.

Sitting an inch above the man’s crown is a red shape, almost like a circle, but a little too pointy at the bottom.

And there’s another one over the woman’s head, as well.

“Who are all of these people?” I ask, though I have a good idea of who and what they might be.

“That’s me,” she says, pointing to the girl. “That’s Mommy. And that’s you. And these are everyone else.”

“And what about these?” I ask, pointing to the red almost-circles.

Shea looks at me like it’s so obvious, and I'm a fool for questioning it. “Those are hearts, silly.”

“Oh,” I say, finally seeing what I should have seen from the jump. “What are they for?”

“They’re for Mommy and Daddy,” she tells me. “Because they’re in love.”

Her words strike me dumb. I know that Lacey and I succumbed to pleasure not too long ago, but I never would have dreamed she was in love with me again. Is that really what Shea has been seeing? Or, more likely, is that just what she wants to see?

She’s a smart girl, I’ve noticed. She must have wondered where she came from. Who her father was. She probably heard stories from the women in the coven about how love between mommies and daddies can lead to children. She must just be projecting all of this on me.

Right?

Just then, the nearby door to the bathroom opens, and Lacey steps out. Her body is wrapped in a bathrobe, her long hair tied up in a towel at the top of her head.

“Shea, sweetie,” she calls out softly.

The girl looks up from my shoulder at her mother. “What?”

“It’s time to get ready for bed. Come on, let’s brush your teeth,” Lacey tells her.

“Can Daddy tuck me in tonight?” Shea asks.

That’s me. I’m Daddy.

Lacey meets my eyes, her lips parting ever so slightly. “Um, yeah, if that’s okay with Saw—I mean, Daddy .”

I shrug my shoulders before Shea looks back at me with imploring eyes. “Sure. But you’ve got to brush your teeth first, just like Mom said.”

Lacey gives me an appreciative smile. “Yeah, Daddy doesn’t tuck in anyone with yucky dinner breath. Come on.”

“Ew, yucky dinner breath,” Shea says through a small fit of giggles, then skips off to meet Lacey in the bathroom.

The door closes, but I can hear the sound of running water coming through. I lean back in my chair and wonder if this is what domestic life is supposed to be like.

It’s still hard to reconcile the fact that I’m this adorable girl’s father, but it’s impossible to deny just looking at her.

And what’s even harder is knowing how much of her life I’ve already missed out on.

She seems to be latching onto me quicker than I have been to her, but I would lay down my life if it was the only way to protect her.

I look down at the drawing she made once again, appreciating the details she was able to put in at her young age. She’s an impressive little girl, my daughter.

My daughter. It feels so good to say.

Soon enough, the bathroom door springs open, and Shea is dressed in her pink pajamas. Lacey must have brought them into the bathroom with her when she came down to take a shower.

Launching forward, Shea runs across the living room and launches herself into my lap. She wraps her small body around me, and for a second, I’m too stunned to react.

“Shea, personal space,” Lacey corrects in a gentle voice. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I say, feeling Shea melt into me. I put my arms around her gingerly. “It’s… It’s kind of nice.”

Lacey smiles in a way that almost breaks my heart. Her eyes tear up as she sees me holding her daughter— our daughter —and embracing my new life with her.

“Alright, little one,” I mutter into Shea’s ear. “Let’s tuck you into bed.”

“I don’t have yucky dinner breath,” she assures me.

I snicker and stand up, still holding her against my front. “Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Lacey murmurs to me, and I wonder if she’ll actually start crying.

“My pleasure,” I reply, heading for the stairs.

Shea’s arms and legs tighten around me as I climb up to the small room that used to be an office space. Jasper and Ellis helped me put a small bed inside for Shea before she moved in with me, but I haven’t spent time in this room since.

In her short amount of time living here, Shea has started turning this room into a home. The few toys she brought with her have been tucked away into the corner, and her crayons are spread out across the floor, just waiting for someone to step on them and break them all in half.

She hasn’t made her bed since she woke up this morning, leaving a nest-like structure of blankets and pillows. I set her down on the floor and fix it up just enough for her to be able to lie down, then I gently pulled the purple blankets over her tiny body.

“There,” I say once I’ve tucked her in. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

Shea giggles again, filling my heart with joy. “That’s what Auntie RoeRoe says.”

“Glad to be in esteemed company,” I say, even though Shea wouldn’t know what that means.

Just before I prop my hands on my knee to stand back up, Shea looks up at me with her big eyes.

“Daddy? Tell me a story?” she asks.

I suck in a deep breath. “I really don’t know that many stories.”

Her eyes glisten back at me. “Can you try? Please?”

Well, how can I say no to that?

“Fine,” I tell her, racking my brain. “Once upon a time… There was a young wolf who was really spoiled. He thought he was smarter, faster, and much better-looking than all his wolf friends. Especially one named, uh, Sneg .”

“Sneg?” Shea laughs louder at this than it deserves. “That’s a silly name.”

“A silly name for a silly boy,” I reply. “Anyway, Sneg had a sister who was different from all the other wolves in the pack.”

“What was her name?” Shea interrupts.

“Snacey,” I tell her, making her laugh even harder. “Snacey was very beautiful, but people were still mean to her. Including the smartest, fastest, handsomest wolf in the whole pack. And before you ask, his name was—”

“Snawyer?”

I turn around and see Lacey leaning against the door jamb. She’s removed the towel from her head, letting her rumpled, damp hair hang over her shoulder. One of her eyebrows sits high on her forehead, her lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“No, Lacey, it wasn’t ,” I correct her playfully. “His name was Magnus T. Rutherford, and he was the most powerful wolf of all.”

Lacey rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say another word.

“Anyway,” I turn back to Shea, who’s listening raptly, “Magnus T. Rutherford was very strong and very smart, but also very full of himself. That means he thought he was a lot better than everyone else. And that means that sometimes he wasn’t very nice.”

Shea frowns at this, and it breaks my heart even further.

“Magnus thought Snacey was very pretty and wanted to spend time with her, but he was afraid of what people would say. If Snacey was so weird, then maybe people would think Magnus was weird, too. So, he started being even meaner to Snacey, even though he loved her very much.”

“That’s bad,” Shea says.

My heart sinks. “Oh, I know.”

“Why was he mean to her?” she asks.

“Because even though Magnus T. Rutherford thought he was brave, he really wasn’t,” I tell her.

“When they got a little older, Magnus did something so mean to Snacey that she left their pack and didn’t come back home for many years.

But when she came home, she brought along a beautiful, wonderful, artistic daughter named Snea. ”

“And they lived happily ever after?” Shea fills in quizzically.

I turn back to Lacey, whose look of amusement has turned into one of genuine interest.

“One can only hope,” I murmur down to Shea. “Okay, sweetheart. Time to go to sleep.”

“Wait!” the little girl cries out. “Night-night kisses?”

“Uh…” I turn to Lacey, who shrugs her shoulders. “Sure.”

And with that, I lean over and give her a soft peck on the forehead, just like my mother used to do to me when I was her age. Shea smiles up at me, then nestles deeper into her bed, closing her eyes to get ready to sleep.

Lacey reaches over to the light switch and flicks it off as I cross the bedroom and meet her in the doorway. I turn the knob behind me and stare down at Lacey, whose eyes are glistening again.

Before I can say a word, she takes my hand and pulls me down the stairs after her. Her fingers intertwine with mine, her skin warm and comforting. All I can do is follow and wonder what awaits me on the ground floor.

She doesn’t stop walking until we reach the middle of the living room floor. Lacey turns around to face me, but before she can say anything, I reach up with my free hand and stroke a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I need to say something,” I murmur to her. “Lacey, I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am for how I treated you all of these years. I was awful, and you deserved so much better. From everyone, but especially me.”

She nods, sniffling as her tears finally fall. “Thank you, Magnus T. Rutherford .”

I can’t help but laugh, despite the sincerity of this conversation. “You’re welcome, Snacey.”

“I accept your apology,” Lacey whispers. She grabs my face and pulls it closer to hers, capturing my lips in a tender kiss that makes me woozy.

Blood rushes through my veins, and soon I feel a heat rising up within me. She’s so close, and Shea is falling asleep as we stand here. Perhaps tonight, we can take this to the couch. Maybe even my bed.

But then Lacey’s phone starts chirping from the coffee table, where she left it earlier. The sound repeats itself over and over, annoyingly consistent. It’s a call. We separate reluctantly. Lacey makes an apologetic face, then reaches down to see who’s calling her.

Her eyes open wide, finding mine immediately. “It’s Danielle.”