Page 11 of The Alpha's Pregnant Mate

“Um—Alpha? I need—”

“Don’t worry, Seff.” He flinched a little at the sound of her voice, at the wild laughter that was bubbling up under her words. “You needn’t hang around to wait for my answer—I’ll deliver it to your Alpha in person. That would only be polite, wouldn’t it? In keeping with protocol?”

“Um.” She could see the young wolf running mental calculations on that, and it was clear he didn’t like the results he was getting. “That—that really won’t be necessary, Alpha. I can take your message back to him.”

“Nonsense. I insist.”

“No, really. I mean—take some time, if you like, discuss it with your pack, I can come back later—”

“No need.” She was already walking, her strides lengthening, and though Seff tried a few times to get in her way, it became rapidly clear that he wasn’t going to be able to stop her. He followed in her wake, murmuring his objections, but they were easily blocked out by the rich purring of her anger. She’d played nice long enough. It was past time she gave this man a piece of her mind.

When she slammed open the front door to the quiet house, she froze for just a second, remembering belatedly that there were two sleeping babies in this building who didn’t deserve to be disturbed from their rest just because the man upstairs was finally getting what he deserved. She waited for a few frozen seconds, body tense, dreading the sound of a baby’s cry, but all that broke the quiet was the faint squeak of a door, and a sleepy-looking Rovell emerging into the hallway to see what was going on.

“All clear,” she said quickly, seeing that despite his sleep-tousled, pajama-clad appearance he’d also gone to the trouble of picking up his sword. “No demons, just need a word with Laurent.”

Rovell took in the scene—complete with a worried-looking Seff still hopelessly attempting to talk her out of her current course of action—and seemed to put a few pieces together, at least judging by the smile that spread across his sleepy face.

“Give him hell, boss,” he said cheerfully. “And don’t worry about keeping your voice down on our account—the doors on the rooms down here are basically soundproof.”

Rhietta grinned at her old friend, her fondness for him washing through her without diminishing her anger with Laurent for a moment. “Noted. Appreciate it. Sleep well.”

He was already shuffling off to bed, but she could see the grin hadn’t left his face. Seff tried once last time to stop her as she stepped onto the stairs, drawing himself up to his full height and fixing her with his most serious expression.

“Alpha Rhietta, please. He’s not even in his office right now. He’s turned in for the night, he’ll be so angry if you go up there…”

She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Would you like me to knock you out?”

Seff visibly paled. “Is that—a threat?”

“It’s an offer. Hell, I don’t even have to hit you hard enough to knock you out. Just enough so you’ve got a bruise to show Laurent when he asks why you didn’t stop me.” She let her smile widen, and saw him shrink back from her a little. “The question you have to ask yourself, really, is what will hurt more—Laurent giving you a lecture, or me hitting you hard enough to leave a two-day bruise? The choice is yours. Unless, that is, you try one more time to stop me from getting up these damned stairs.”

Seff stood there for a long moment, and she briefly entertained the possibility that he might actually take her up on the offer. But when she flexed her hand, readying it for the task, he uttered a soft little sound of abject defeat and walked straight out of the open door behind her. Rhietta turned to the staircase before her, her smile fading until her lips were pressed into a tense line. Time for the conversation she’d been dreaming of for almost a year now. Time to finally speak her mind.

It felt like she floated up the stairs, her anger carrying her up two or three steps at a time seemingly without any effort. His office was locked, and on closer inspection, empty—she hardly spared a glance for the splintered remains of the door’s paltry lock. Shoddy workmanship. A single kick shouldn’t be able to take down a door like that, even if it was delivered by the angriest woman in the world. That meant he must have turned in for the evening. There was only one more closed door in the hallway; the other one stood ajar, and the glimpse of tile she could see told her it was a bathroom.

To Laurent’s credit, he was on his feet with his weapon in his hand when she slammed the door to his bedroom open. No splintering wood this time. Had he unlocked the door when he heard her coming, or was he more concerned about keeping the contents of his office secure than he was about his own safety? She remained in the doorway, staring him down, and though there was no sign of fear in those hard, cold silver eyes, she noticed he made no move to set down his sword.

“Right,” she said, shooting for a pleasant tone and missing completely. “Let’s talk about this pathetic little ultimatum of yours, shall we?”

“I doubt I need to tell you how deeply inappropriate this is,” Laurent said, his voice icy as he watched her. Despite her anger with him, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fascination at the room she was in. For as long as she’d known him, Laurent hadn’t seemed like the kind of man who would have a bedroom. He seemed incompatible with the very concept of rest, of such pedestrian tasks as getting dressed and undressed, or combing that fine, dark hair, sprinkled at the temples with gray. If she pictured him resting at all, she pictured him lying atop some concrete slab, fully dressed in his usual black shirt and dark slacks, an outfit seemingly chosen to be as devoid of personality as possible. Nevertheless, there was indeed a bed here, neatly made, with personal effects on the bedside table. All this she took in with one sweep of the room. Then she returned her gaze to Laurent, and focused again on the heat of her anger.

“Put the damn sword down,” she said, scoffing. “You look stupid.”

“My private quarters have been invaded by a hostile pack,” Laurent pointed out stiffly. “In my place, would your actions be any different?”

In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into a headlock—mess up his hair, rub dirt into his face, anything at all to put a crack in that fastidious, maddening wall of composure. How was it that she’d kicked in his door and he’d gone directly to lecturing her about how reasonable his actions were? It was pathological.

“You’re kicking us out.” Focus on the topic at hand, that was the key; channel that rage into what was important. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by how personally annoying she found him, no matter how tempting that was. “After everything that happened last night—after we fought beside you, made sure there were no casualties, turned a major demon attack into a minor fight—now is the time you choose to push us out?”

“This was never intended as a long-term arrangement—”

“We’re living in tents in your town square,” Rhietta snarled. “Don’t act like we’ve been any trouble. The worst you’ve had to contend with is moving some boxes around to spare a couple of sick babies from getting worse, and even that was hard-won. Why are you so determined to make everyone think you’re an unfeeling monster?”

She could see how hard he was working to maintain his composure, see the tension in his jaw that marked his rising anger. Still, his voice was cold. “My leadership style is none of your concern, nor your pack’s.”

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like we’re all hostile strangers, Laurent. We were one pack barely a year ago, before you decided to tear us apart—”

“You decided that!”

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