Page 12 of Alpha’s Wife

“I still won’t help you,” I tell him.

“So you say.” He shrugs.

What started off as a fairly promising conversation, if I wanted answers, appears to be drifting in circles, so I try to bring it back into focus. “Are we not at an impasse, then? I’m not going to change my mind, and this is one thing you can’t just take.”

He steps closer, just enough that the space between us is almost touching distance, and my pulse begins to race a little too fast for my liking.

“I don’t have to take it,” he says, low. “I just have to make you want to give it, just enough. You might not be sure, you might question it, but your body will know.”

“Yeah?” I say, fighting to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck, Selene,” he says, closer now. So close I can smell the salt in his hair and something richer underneath that my body registers as purely masculine. My skin feels too tight, and I want to back up, but I also don’t want to show weakness. Instinctively, I know that would be a big mistake right now. “You can barely look up from the board when we play chess because you don’t trust yourself to look at me too long. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Heat creeps up my face. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m usually right,” he murmurs.

“Not about this,” I say, and I know I should step back now, and I think we both know it. His eyes drop to my mouth, just once, and my whole body lights up like an absolute traitor. For one unbearable second, I think he’s actually going to close the space and kiss me, and the feeling of pure desire that washes over me absolutely terrifies me.

I’ve never been kissed before, and I’m not going to start with the man who has kidnapped me and declared that he’s going to seduce me for my power. I’m not an idiot.

I step back.

“No,” I say, and it’s as much for me as it is for him. “You don’t get to do that. Take me, keep me prisoner, ask me to help you hurt people, and then look at me like that and expect me to give in because…” I stop because I realize I’m about to say something really stupid.

“Because I’m what,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“…because you’re tired,” I say, and we both know that isn’t what I was about to say.

He says nothing, just stares, and for just a moment, there’s something in his face that’s less alpha, less strategist, and far younger and less guarded. Then it’s gone, smoothed over, and he steps back as well, and I can finally breathe.

My heart is still racing, so I fold my arms tightly across my chest, feeling furious at myself, at him, at all of this.

“You can have whatever you want here,” he says, clearing his throat. “Anything. Books, friends, work at the clinic, go to the bakery with the guards. A good life. But you can’t leave. That part is not up for discussion.”

“You make me sound like a comfortable, well-read pet,” I tell him.

“You can be free in every way except one,” he grins.

“That’s just a longer leash,” I bite back.

He shrugs again. “Maybe, but it’s a leash with a nice place to live, food, good people, and warmth. I’ve handed worse lives to people who have thanked me for it.”

“That’s got to be the saddest sales pitch I’ve ever heard,” I say grimly.

“I’m not pitching anything,” he says. “I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply this time, just turns for the door. He’s almost there when something I’ve been circling all night finally lands, and I feel a small laugh begin to bubble. He needs me to choose him, and he can keep me here until I’m old and gray, and all I have to do is keep refusing him. For just a moment, I almost believed I was the weak one, but then I remembered what my coven used to tell me about the weak-willed men who would look to exploit me; I always had the power to choose, and I must keep it.

I know he won’t let me go, but one day he’ll get sloppy, and I’ll have my chance. He can keep me here forever, but I won’t cave. It’s bleak, but right now, it feels like a victory. Just a really slow one.

“You know what’s funny?” I say when he has his hand on the door. “You can call me your mate and bind us with that ceremony, and you can keep me in this cabin until I’m old and gray. But the magic only works if I give it willingly and I never will. You’ve mated yourself to a witch who will never give you what you want.”

He pauses but doesn’t look back.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe you’ll get tired of pretending you don’t want me before the winter’s out.”

Then he’s gone, and the door locks, the wards flare, and in some way that feels more definitive than ever. I am tired now, and I get ready for bed, but as I climb in, it’s not the threat of war I’m thinking about.