Page 12 of The Alpha's Arranged Bride

“All the brown ones?”

Both boys frowned and looked hard at each other. They both offered a shrug. “We’re not sure, actually. Just avoid them altogether if you can. If you find one in bed with you, run. If you find one in the house, run and get us to trap it. If you find one outside, run.”

In bed? They had to be fucking kidding.

“Sounds like good advice,” she choked. “Really good advice.”

Chapter 6

Agnar

Agnar was exhausted, aching, heartsick, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a pervasive sense of hopelessness about where his pack was heading.

Even if he wasn’t supposed to feel a thing.

He shut the door firmly behind him, sliding the bar across it. Deadbolts and locks were flimsy. He’d devised something medieval inspired to afford his family that extra layer of protection, should they ever need it. They’d almost had last night. His boys wouldn’t show a second of weakness, especially not to him, because they wanted so badly to make him proud. But he’d smelled their fear that morning when they were bandaging him up. He was all that stood between them and a possibly grisly ending. They knew this. They lived with it.

Why should an eight- and a ten-year-old have to bear the weight of that burden in addition to the grave losses they’d already suffered? His choice to become alpha, to make the pack a better place for them, put them at risk.

He’d spent the morning trying to restore the very thin thread of order that existed, his thoughts spinning in circles. His head pounded to the point of blinding him. He craved nothing more than a hot shower, but he couldn’t throw himself in there again without undoing all the work the boys had put together to bandage him up. Same went for shifting. He was in no fit state for the gym or any kind of training. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a minute without an outlet for all the shit slamming through his brain.

The last thing he wanted was a confrontation about the wretched night and his meeting that morning, but it was obvious from the bright glint of worry in Prairie Rose’s eyes as she walked in from the hallway at the sound of the door and the equally stubborn set of her jaw, that that was exactly what he was going to get.

The boys scuttled in behind her. They stood dignified, one at each side like miniature guard dogs. It seemed that she’d done the unthinkable and won over Blake and Levi within a matter of hours.

The conversation was inevitable. It couldn’t wait a few hours until his headache was gone. To be fair, Prairie Rose must have been in agony since she woke up. He’d promised her family that he’d keep her safe, and in a single night he’d almost been killed, and there was no doubt if he had been, she would have shared his fate.

“Boys, please go to your rooms.”

Levi couldn’t believe they were being dismissed. “Dad, I—”

“Or room,” he amended. “I need to talk to Prairie Rose alone for a while.”

“We already know everything,” Blake reasoned, like an adult. “We want to know what happened at the meeting. Are you okay? Are we? What about the pack?”

“We have waffles for you,” Levi announced shyly. “In the kitchen. We made them ourselves.”

Waffles? Prairie Rose had taken the boys and cooked with them while he was debating life and death at a pack meeting? That’s how she won them over?

He scratched his jaw, feeling too late the deep bite his fingers broke open. They came away red, but he wiped them on his fatigues before the boys could see. He nodded, not trusting himself not to say anything damaging.

He sat at the table and Levi came up to him with the kit. He’d noticed the blood and had a length of gauze and bandages ready.

Blake took over as Prairie Rose froze by the counter, her hand hovering at her throat. “Where else are you bleeding? We can re-bandage it.”

He tugged his shirt over his head, none too gently, and let the boys see. Honestly, he wasn’t quite sure. It all just felt like ten levels of hell. He’d tuned it out all morning, but now the pain was taking over, shoving out what he’d planned on saying, emptying his brain until there was nothing but the steady throb of all his wounds pulsing through his mind.

He heard the sharp gasp across the kitchen, but Prairie Rose pulled it together. “Do you want coffee?” she choked out.

He didn’t respond, but a mug was set in from of him anyway. Black and strong, already brewed. He spotted the half-empty pot on the counter. The boys went to work replacing bandages and he helped them with the worst of it. When they were done and Blake was packing the supplies back into the first aid kit, a stack of waffles appeared in front of him.

They were buttered, with whipped cream and hot strawberry syrup. She’d found the pantry and used the preserves for topping. The boys stared at him eagerly, frozen by the table. Prairie Rose stepped back, looking at Blake and Levi instead of him. Not because she was a coward, but because you didn’t look an injured wolf in the eye without getting your head taken off.

He inhaled the sweet, sugary strawberries, the fresh cream, the scent of cooked dough. This was a luxury he’d never allowed the kids or himself. Food was there to nourish, to fill voids. To provide much needed calories to keep the body running. It didn’t have to be enjoyed.

He was doubly aware of the jet of saliva that filled his mouth. His stomach had been roiling with nausea at the pain, but now it twisted with hunger.

He cut a section off with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. Trying to chew without tasting the divine wonder that Prairie Rose and the boys created was like trying to survive without breathing.

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