Page 11 of Alpha’s Wife

Bond magic is always treated like a weapon when it’s supposed to be the opposite. A bond witch used to be considered a gift—someone who could unite packs and witches. My whole life, my coven treated me like I was something precious, but also dangerous, and now I understand why. In the wrong hands, I am dangerous. And I’m looking at a man who is the very definition of the wrong hands.

“And you want me to choose this,” I say slowly.

“I want you to choose me,” he says, and flashes me one of his most dangerous half-smiles.

“At what cost?” I ask, because there’s always a personal cost.

Something in his expression shifts, just slightly. “No personal cost. You stay here surrounded by good people, and I come to your bed, and you enjoy it. I’m not trying to hurt you, Selene.”

The air shifts around us, and I know he senses it, too. He’s spoken everything we’ve been dancing around into existence, and the whole room has shifted around us; either that, or the fire has just engulfed me, and I just didn’t notice.

“No,” I say, “but you are using me. I guess I can see how you’d think that was the kinder option.”

He doesn’t flinch at that, and I didn’t expect him to. I may not know him well, but it’s been over two weeks, and I haven’t seen him flinch once.

“And then what?” I say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. “You go straight from my bed, with all your newfound power, and do what? Kill your brothers? Take the island by force? Kill other people? Do you know who lives there? It’s not just your brothers; there are innocent people, children, and families. People who haven’t done anything to you.”

“I’m very aware of who lives there,” he says, his voice clipped.

“And all those people didn’t take anything from you,” I tell him. “They were born and lived the same as you. Do you hate them all because of what your father did?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “I see you had quite the chat with my brother when he dropped those books off.”

“He said it’s no secret,” I reply, wondering if I’ve got his brother in trouble, but when he shrugs, I relax a fraction.

“No, it’s not,” he replies. “Neither is my plan, not really. Everyone here understands my need for vengeance.”

“I will not be the one who helps you get it,” I say quietly.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, and I wait for the temper, the threats, the monster to surface. But it doesn’t come.

“I know hating me is easier,” he says, quieter now. “Do it, if it helps. But don’t stand there telling me what I should want, or what those people deserve. They got that island, a rich island, while my mother was banished, pregnant and penniless, told she’d be killed if she ever even said my father’s name. She loved him; she thought he loved her. They never went without, never went hungry; they don’t even know we exist. I don’t need your understanding, witch. I’m just telling you why I’m doing this; the plan itself is not up for discussion.”

It’s so clear that under all this planning and strategizing, this is a hurt man. I’m not sure he even sees how plainly his pain is written all over his face. And despite it all, I’ll be damned if the rawness of it all doesn’t make me soften in ways he doesn’t deserve.

I don’t want to soften towards him; it’s too dangerous, and I can’t risk it. But as he stands there, saltwater still in his hair, laying out the ugliest parts of himself and not dressing up his plans one bit, there’s an awful truth to his pain that I can’t help but respect.

“And your pack?” I ask. “The guard with two young daughters, Bram? All those people who run your school, your bakery, you’d put them on boats and send them over there to fight? To die?”

“I won’t risk more than I have to,” he replies firmly.

“But you would risk them?” I confirm.

“For this, yes.” No hesitation. “And every one of them understands. Ask them yourself.”

I don’t doubt it. But then, that’s really not the point.

“You could have lied to me, I guess,” I tell him. “Not that I would have believed you, of course.”

“I’m not in the habit of lying to people,” he says.

“Just kidnapping them and forcing them to help you hurt people?” I reply with a roll of my eyes thrown in for good measure.

“I just want what’s mine, and you’re going to help me get it,” he shrugs. “I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise.”

And that refusal to flatter or handle me is more disarming than his usual charm. Maybe that’s the point, maybe that’s the plan, but somehow I don’t think it is. And stupidly, it makes me like him a little bit more, despite myself and the whole situation.

It doesn’t change anything, though.