Page 34 of The Alpha's Bullied Rejected Mate

Chapter 7 - Marcus

Marcus stood on the veranda with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The night air was cold, but his senses never really left his targets in the cabin. He didn’t have the luxury. Not when she had already escaped him once.

He ran a hand through his hair and flexed his jaw as he scanned the shadows in front of him. There were no more demon traces, but he would wait it out a bit longer. Just in case.

He exhaled roughly. Not from relief. From frustration.

He had been hunting witches for six years. The Council trusted him precisely with this mission because he never let personal feelings interfere with his missions. He had seen witches beg, scream, and curse his name, but never had he derailed in maintaining professional distance from his targets.

Yet this one had nearly made him forget every protocol he’d ever learned. The thought made his stomach churn with anger.

The fact that she could affect him so strongly was both alarming and infuriating.

He had seen it in her eyes—like a flicker of light bending behind a veil. Vulnerability.

No. Weaponized vulnerability.

She had probably sensed his attraction the moment she’d started her little performance. Witches were notorious for their ability to read people’s emotions and identify weaknesses, which they would then exploit.

The realization made his anger spike even higher. He took pride in being uncompromising and incorruptible.

The idea of being used disgusted him more than her actual magic. He wasn’t some new recruit, panting after a pretty face. And yet—

His hand ran through his hair, rougher than necessary.

A soft sound snapped his attention back toward the cabin.

Marcus turned sharply, his boots crunching against the porch. He entered, heading straight for the main bedroom, his instincts already locked on the source of the noise.

Riley.

The dream powder was probably already losing its magic. As expected, it had been in effect for almost a full day now.

Marcus stared at the child for a long moment; this was the moment he had been dreading. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Once the boy woke up, wide-eyed and full of questions, what was he supposed to say? Or when the boy asked after his mother, he couldn’t present Aza to him in cuffs and watch the child’s trust splinter in real time.

The thought turned his stomach.

He turned on his heel and made his way to the holding room. She looked up as he approached, disheveled but alert, the concern already back in her eyes like she knew why he was here.

“He’s waking,” Marcus said flatly, not bothering himself with more details.

She immediately rose to her feet, hope and worry washing across her face in equal measure.

“Can I—” she stammered. “Can I go see him?”

Marcus folded his arms. “Why should I care?”

“He’s a child,” she pleaded. “I need to be there when he wakes.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and cold. “He’s your child,” Marcus deadpanned.

“You should’ve thought about that before aligning yourself with dark magic.”

Her head jerked toward him, and her eyes blazed, “I didn’t align with anything! I ran. I hid. I tried to build a life—a safe life—for him. Until you came crashing in.”

Marcus’s face didn’t change.

She pleaded again, softer this time. The anger in her voice drained into desperation. “Please. Let me just be there when he wakes. I won’t run this time,” she pleaded, “You know I won’t.”