Page 38 of The Alpha King's Curse: Part One

He said nothing as he took the stairs two at a time. He should have taken those damn knives from her. It was his fault.

He stopped outside Layla’s door and listened. Her heartbeat was regular, and her breathing was even, almost like she was asleep. He sensed only calm and peace. His hand lingered over the door handle before he dropped it and stepped back.

Cain growled and tried to force him to enter, but he turned and walked towards his bedroom.

No attachments.

He needed to introduce her to the pack and make sure she could walk outside without seeing anything she wasn’t supposed to. No one would touch her if he told them not to. And then maybe she wouldn't feel like she had to be armed all the time.

He was almost at his door when he caught Diedre’s scent and swore under his breath. He walked faster, and Cain stopped arguing about being taken from his mate. The beast wanted no part of the witch, either.

“Running from me won’t change anything, Jackson.”

He opened his bedroom door and walked in before turning around to face the witch who was walking up the hallway.

“Now, why would I do that, Diedre?”

“You tell me,” Diedre said as she paused by Layla’s door.

“A room right next to yours and the only human visitor to this territory in generations,” Diedre said. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put some clothes on.”

He closed the door without waiting for a response and swore again. Damn nosey witch.

Chapter 21

Layla opened her eyes and realised she was now in her bedroom prison. Dylan and those girls hadn’t killed her.

A sense of relief flooded her body, and then she felt nauseated that she had ended up in that position in the first place. For two days in a row, her life had been in peril. How the hell had she ended up like this?

She sat up gingerly so she wouldn't aggravate anything. Her head had hit the concrete pretty hard; she was surprised it wasn’t hurting more than it was. Even her ribs felt only slightly tender. There was blood on her hand from when she stabbed one of them, and despite everything, it made her feel horrible. She wasn’t a murderer. She only had weapons for self-defence but had never used them against anyone before. And those girls had been pretty messed up in the head, so she wasn’t sure she could blame them for what was happening.

She tried to wipe the blood on her already ruined clothes but it was pointless. There was no saving them. With her meagre wardrobe, she would have to venture into the walk-in closet to find replacements because she had no money to waste on new clothes.

Someone had carried her to the bed, probably Dylan. He’d been her saviour, after all. After their interaction that morning, why had he bothered? He couldn’t pretend to be a gentleman now. She still had his bruises on her arm, for fuck’s sake!

She lifted her arm to study the finger-shaped bruises the maniac had left on her. She frowned and raised her other arm. Her skin was as blemish-free as ever. She hadn’t imagined the bruises, had she? Maybe it was her overactive imagination again. This wouldn’t be the first time she had imagined things that weren’t there. But she looked at the blood on her clothes, felt the tenderness in her body, and knew she hadn’t been seeing things this time.

Something in the air in this place made her imagine these things and behave out of character. And whatever it was made the residents here unnaturally strong. And now those girls had access to her room, so she wasn’t safe even here.

She rushed to her feet, ignoring her nausea as she went to check the door. It was locked again. Would they be back a second time? A quick search of her waistband and pockets revealed nothing- not that she had expected them to return her weapons. She was defenceless now, but there had to be something in the room that she could use.

After washing up again and finding a T-shirt and a pair of jeans in the wardrobe that were surprisingly her size, she checked every corner of the room. Her stomach growled loudly, but she ignored it as she continued to search.

When she heard the lock in the door, she rushed to the coffee table and picked up a decorative vase from the centre. It would have to do for now.

But it wasn’t the girls or Dylan who walked into the room.

It was Jackson, holding a tray with a steaming plate of food and water bottles. Her mouth watered instantly. She couldn't be sure whether it was from seeing Jackson or the food. This time, he was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, filling those out as nicely as he had the sweatpants. The air in the room suddenly became charged when she remembered what he had done to her only hours earlier, and it reminded her not to let him touch her again. Jackson King was dangerous.

Jackson eyed the vase in her hands but still advanced towards her as if, once again, the thought of her hurting him didn’t bother him.

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Jackson said as he put the tray on the table.

She was starving, but she didn’t lower the vase.

“Dylan said you tried to leave the house.”

---