Page 10 of Forced By the Alpha

He raised his glass to her in a toast, then sank the drink in one. “Fair play. What’s your name?”

She chewed the corner of her bottom lip, eyes daring. “Looking for something that rolls off the tongue easier than ‘that Rosewood bitch?’”

Devon laughed, surprised. “Heard that, did you? Well, Em has always had a way with words. Cutting ones.”

“Why do you keep her around?” She blurted, then flushed pink. “I mean, I guess she is rather pretty…”

Devon pulled a disgusted face. “She’s my sister.”

“Apologies to you.” She wrinkled her nose. “No wonder you walk around looking like that.”

“Like what?” Devon asked, offended. He looked down at himself.

“Like you’d rather be anywhere else.” She pointed at her forehead. “Like you’re giving yourself ten new wrinkles as we speak.”

“Rude. Maybe Em was right about you.” He didn’t need the reminder of his age right then, not with her so close. It was a jarring reminder of how wrong this was. She was innocent.

She sat up. “Maybe she was, and you should let me go right now.”

He scoffed, poured another splash of whiskey into the glass. He was starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol in his veins, in the relaxing of his muscles. Tension dropped from his shoulders.

“I’m Devon.”

It seemed polite to offer his. He wasn’t oblivious to her condition. Kidnapped, terrified, angry. The uphill battle he faced in taking a mate suddenly loomed in front of him, and he realized the kidnapping had been the easy part. It was everything that came afterward that he’d have to fight for.

“I know who you are. The White Winter alpha. Your reputation precedes you.”

“And you believe everything you hear?”

“I’ve seen enough evidence to support the rumors. I can draw my own conclusions.”

Dev lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He was weary of defending himself. He felt like he’d been doing nothing else for years now, from his father, sister, and pack. He wasn’t going to do it now, for a girl he barely knew.

“I’m a scoundrel, then?” He moved closer to her, watched those doe eyes turn wary. She scooted backward on the bed as he sat down on the edge of it.

“I would’ve gone with ass, personally. Scoundrel sounds a bit too romantic.”

“An ass, then. I’ve been called worse.” He held the glass of whiskey out to her.

She stared at the drink in his hand but didn’t take it. “By your own sister, I bet.”

This close, he could see the scatter of freckles across her nose, spilling onto her cheeks. Her bottom lip was fat, begging to be bitten. A heat that had nothing to do with the whiskey flashed through him.

“It’s not poisoned. You’ve seen me drink it.” He shook the glass at her.

This time, she took it, rolling her eyes. He liked that, making her roll them. Wondered if he could find another way to make them roll.

“You have had a drink before, haven’t you?” He wasn’t sure, suddenly.

She looked young, notthatyoung, but young enough, perhaps. And there was an innocence to her. Maybe not the kind of girl to take beers from guys at backyard parties.

Her scowl was as rewarding as her eye roll. “I’m twenty-six, not twelve.”

Twenty-six,he thought,fuck.He could barely remember being in his twenties.

But when she drank, she did it fast, like a shot, her face pinching in revulsion as the taste flooded her mouth. She sputtered when it ran down her throat.

“That,” she gasped around a cough, “is disgusting.”

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