Page 4 of The Alpha's Arranged Bride

Her glance strayed to the broad back of her mate. Tall didn’t begin to describe him. The man towered like a giant. He had to be six five, which made her five eight feel tiny in comparison. He had a stony face, and it was far from beautiful, though it was interesting. Peppered with scars, he had a more obvious one that bisected his thick, trimmed beard along his jawline and one on his forehead that cleaved his eyebrow in half and swirled by his eye. His nose wasn’t straight and the rest of him was stone hard, but it was that stone that also made him fearsomely wondrous to look at. She didn’t want to get caught at it, but he was interesting in the way that he didn’t look like anyone else.

She’d found her sister’s mate, Castor, so exotic because of his half-shaved head, beard, and tattoos. He’d looked like a Viking warrior. Agnar was markedly different, though he wore his hard past like a garment. His hair was long on top, but the sides were shaved. He kept his tied in a knot high up on his head and didn’t braid or adorn it in any way. He wore all black, which suited him. It set off his mahogany hair and beard with the few silver strands shot through and his strange, silver eyes.

He was the kind of man who easily owned every bit of oxygen in any space he entered, and from the first time they’d met months ago, in a neutral meeting ground to discuss the mating between them and the vow of peace, she’d been captivated.

The terrain changed after another ten minutes. If it hadn’t been so thoroughly dark despite the moon and stars, she would have noticed the buttes rising in the distance. Maybe she’d been too fixated on Agnar’s proud way of walking. He took long, powerful strides, like a giant owning the earth. The power in his body practically emanated from him.

If you should want children beyond the two I have already, I’ll give them to you. They won’t be brought about by immaculate conception, so you’ll have to suffer me at the time.

In truth, she wasn’t as aware of their surroundings as she should be because her mind kept throwing those words he’d said on the drive here, back to her. She’d watched his hooded eyes become dark when he dared to just throw that out there so tonelessly. Tone deaf, more like. And everyone in the SUV heard it.

She was sure that the only suffering involved with having Agnar’s huge body do unthinkably dirty things to her would be the roughness she’d enjoy. Agnar was a shadow, the kind of darkness people fell willingly into. She didn’t want to admit to herself the way her blood thrummed through her veins and the low buzz that hummed everywhere.

The thought of him never loving her smarted because she wanted what her parents had in a mating. The kind of love that would let them die happily. If all she could have was a dark sort of passion, could that be enough?

No. It wouldn’t be enough to make up for an empty heart.

It was fine to be attracted to her mate, but she didn’t want to give more of herself away to a hard man who offered little in return.

The four figures cut to the right abruptly. She nearly tripped over her long dress as she followed them up to the side of a towering butte. The cave appeared out of nowhere, sheltered by a rockface, the entrance hidden behind it. As soon as she entered, she could feel more than hear the rhythmic pounding of drums.

She was right about Agnar’s force of presence. As soon as the five of them came into view, the whole celebration paused.

She blinked, awed at the massive bonfire that raged in a circle of huge boulders in the very middle of the cavern. Tables laden with all sorts of food groaned at the far side of cave.

There were at least sixty people in there, and more than a few of them in their wolf form. Those in human form were in various states of undress, from the clothes remaining, all of Agnar’s pack seemed to favor black, men and women alike. Four bare-chested men paused over huge deer skin drums at the back of the fire. There were horns that served as cups and chalices everywhere. Giant kegs lined the other side of the wall, the source of the good humor.

It was such a marked difference from her pack’s ceremonies and celebrations. She’d been warned about this, but it was like the whole place had been torn from the pages of history. Many of the men looked just like Vikings, though dressed more like modern-day Vikings would dress, with the military fatigues rather than animal skins and chainmail. There were a few carved weapons glistening around the cave, axes and knives. Everyone present seemed incredibly muscular and vaguely threating.

No wonder Agnar saw her as a delicate flower.

Agnar lifted both hands and, without a word, the drumming started up with a pounding that was echoed in her heart and blood as well as the soles of her feet. Bodies surged into action. They swayed around the fire, picked up their cups, went back to loading up plates, or… took their pleasure… She tried to follow Agnar’s advice of keeping her expression neutral, but as her eyes went to the darker corners of the cavern it was hard to ignore the sight of people openly having sex. Taking a breath, she fixed her gaze on the floor of the cave.

Agnar’s men dispersed, but her new mate motioned for her to follow him towards the back of the cavern. Only when the shadows opened up did she see a single huge chair there. Far from being a throne, it was hewn out of stone, and though rough, was still exquisite.

There was only one chair, and that clearly belonged to Agnar. Was she expected to sit at his feet? Stand beside him all night? She was already drawing curious looks. Not in a nice way either. The open and contemptuous stares of the men and women scalded her. Her skin crawled and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. Her wolf howled inside her, trying to claw her way out to defend her.

With a grunt, Agnar grasped her hips and roughly pulled her onto his lap.

She recalled, in vivid detail, Agnar admonishing her not to publicly scorn him, but the possessive paw he held over her hip and the way his arm banded around her waist like a steel bar was too much. She struggled slightly, fighting against the way the warmth of him crept into her through her dress, and how the sharp scent of cloves and musky sweat and earth oozed from him.

A woman approached them. She had a black leather fringe jacket on and what looked like a bikini top underneath. Her fatigues were slung low on her hips, displaying an impressive set of bronzed abs. Her hair was jet black, slicked high above her head and twisted off in a long, flowing ponytail. She looked like a dominatrix and the only thing missing was the whip.

She was the only person so far who afforded her even so much as a hint of a smile. She produced a horn filled with a pale bubbling substance. When Prairie Rose took it, the other woman turned and left silently.

Voices were raised in conversation around the cave, giving the throbbing drums some competition. It just seemed as though no one wished to talk to her. This was a celebration of their mating, but it seemed more like she was invisible. No one would ever have treated anyone like this in her own pack. She was half annoyed and half sick with grief at ever having thought she could do this.

“Drink.” Agnar’s thick, calloused fingers closed over hers and raised the horn to her face.

“I don’t—” She cut herself off. At this celebration, she’d prove herself as even more of an outsider if she didn’t participate in their customs in a small way. Her pack, as a rule didn’t drink alcohol, scorning anything that might cause them to lose control. She understood—the fear of discovery was probably the reasoning behind that taboo. But perhaps these wolves with their closed society and prison walls felt safe.

She sipped at the cold drink, astounded at the way the bubbles flowed over her tongue. It was strong and slightly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. She found herself parched and drank deeply. It was a mistake. She hadn’t had anything to eat and within a few minutes, her head started to feel fuzzy and her tongue thick. She kept sipping anyway. At least it was something to do with her hands while she had to sit in front of everyone and be observed and judged and probably found wanting in every way.

Maybe if she drank enough, she’d forget the humiliation of being fixed in place on Agnar’s lap.

The minutes wore on and the drums seemed to intensify. More people joined the dancing around the fire. Her horn was suddenly empty and replaced with another that appeared from Agnar’s hand. The sounds and shadows started to become one long pounding, throbbing rhythm.

Prairie Rose turned her head at a muffled cry from the left. They were far back in the cave, pressed practically against the wall. At first, she thought someone was being hurt, but then her eyes found a pair of shadows, and even when she realized what they were doing, she couldn’t stop watching. Unlike earlier where she’d been embarrassed, now she was transfixed.

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