Page 22 of Ruthless Alpha Beast

Maybe some will see the truth behind mine and Tara’s arrangement, maybe they won’t. If I tell my pack I love someone, they’ll generally believe me, although perhaps some of them—the smarter ones—will be able to read between the lines.

There’s a silence that settles upon us again as they digest what I’ve just told them.

Some, mainly the children, have continued eating and drinking.

I want to give them the space they need.

“Feel free to get out all the questions and concerns you have,” I tell them. “She’ll be coming over this evening.”

What keeps me sane is knowing that I am doing this for the greater good. If this were a proper marriage, I would have had them all formally meet my bride-to-be many times before she moved in.

But this has to work quickly. The faster we get married, the faster we can get divorced.

“What are we supposed to do with her?” A shifter, one of our females asks. “Like during rituals, daily chores, and pack events. How are we supposed to include a human in all those things?”

I understand it completely.

And I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but “It’ll be a change and certainly a challenge, but she’s going to be my wife, so we’ll have to make her feel as included as possible. I’m sure we can find ways for her to get involved however best she can.”

After a few more questions, the protests fall silent, and my packmates nod and accept what I’m saying on the surface, but I know, deep down, they’re not happy. Most likely, a lot of them are probably afraid.

I don’t blame them; I’m not too thrilled about it either. But I’ve got it under control.

“Just know that I’d never do anything to put our pack at risk. If you trust me, I promise you this will all work out for the best.”

“We trust you, Alpha,” Dylan says.

I nod.

The room of packmates all raise their glasses, declare their allegiance, and soon get back to what they were doing before.

***

Tara stands awkwardly at my cabin door with a duffel slung around her body. One hand rests on the handle of a large suitcase, while the other holds a purse.

Then I notice there’s also a satchel across her body, flung in the opposite direction of her duffel.

I almost laugh.

She looks ridiculous.

“Are you sure you’ve brought everything?” I tease.

She doesn’t respond. It seems like she wants to scowl, but doesn’t quite have the energy to do so.

“Let me take something—” I go to help her, but she shrugs me off.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”

I raise my hands in defense. “Okay, okay, suit yourself.”

Once she’s inside, she puts her bags down and follows me around as I give her a brief tour. I try to lighten the mood, but all I hear from her are unimpressed grunts in response. How am I supposed to be acting with someone who hates my guts?

This is difficult.

Allowing a human into my space, knowing that my pack is uncomfortable, and let’s face it, I’m pretty uncomfortable too.

But I’m trying.