Page 33 of The Alpha's Forced Bullied Mate

The moment she noticed us, she lifted her head, whipped off her sun hat, and used it to wave at us. “Come look, Alpha! They're coming in very nicely right now.”

She was much taller when she finally stood up. She wore a white shirt and khaki pants that were muddied at the knees. She had gloves over her hands, just the usual gardening type, and she was holding a bouquet of red roses that she had just picked. Her hair was long and tinted the color of the ocean when it turns green in the morning, and her eyes were bright like cerulean-blue stones made of the sky. Her skin was a tarnished tan, kind of like an old rusty lamp.

When I got close enough, she welcomed me with a hug while laughing so musically that it made me think that she wasn't a wolf at all, but maybe perhaps one of the Fae. “I'm Rhiannon,” she introduced herself. “You must be Faye. You must be the one that's supposed to be the alpha's mate. Isn't he so charming?”

She laughed again, and I couldn't help but join her. She gathered a mixture of purple peonies to seat next to the red roses, then added some baby's breath that she shoved all together. She wrapped them with brown twine and handed them to me. I stared at the flowers.

She grinned apologetically and touched the petals. “May you have abundance all your days.”

“It’s lovely. Thank you.” I smiled sweetly at the flowers. “I’ll treasure them as long as they’re alive.”

She bowed to Hector and then bowed to me. “Terribly sorry I can't host, but I must take care of some flowers that have overgrown in the back. Tell me what the peonies say when they die!”

And then she ran off as if that was a totally normal encounter. Because all of this was totally normal. I wasn't being held hostage and I wasn't being given gifts by people in my own pack and being treated like a regular old member. I was starting to get dizzy from the encounters.

Was that because of the sun? Or was it my sneaking suspicion that this was all some elaborate hoax?

***

After we left Rhiannon's house, we went to the other side of the main housing next to the park and tennis courts. There was a smaller cabin off to the side, sort of tucked away in a nook of trees and massive bushes. The structure was stony with wooden shutters and a door, too small to be something that someone used as a home. But who was I to judge?

I smelled smoke in the air. Charcoal, or some kind of coal that burned very hot, stung my nostrils. There was a metallic tang as well, and then I heard the consistent slam of a hammer against metal.

I looked at Hector with disbelief. “Do you seriously have your own blacksmith now?”

He smiled. “Why does that please you?”

“How do you know it pleases me?”

“You can’t hide that smirk, Cherry Pie.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, considering everything else, maybe—and I mean justmaybe—I think that’s pretty damn neat. But I'm not going to give you an answer right now.”

He chuckled as he guided me along the path toward the rustic wooden door that swung wide open as if on a motionsensor. Inside was a slate gray stone workspace that seemed like it was fixed in an era that celebrated blacksmiths. The gargantuan man that bent over the fire wore thick black goggles and had his black hair tied back into a ponytail. It was slick and wet with grease and sweat.

His skin was the color of bright coral, almost pink with the firelight dancing over it. What skin was revealed by his taut shirt revealed a flush of obsidian hair that covered his arms. More grease and sweat piled his skin, shiny like the charcoal apron he wore. The heavy-duty apron caught sparks as he slammed the metal rhythmically, and then stuck it in a bucket of water. The hiss and steam came so distinctly that it made me wonder if I was in West Virginia at all.

When he noticed our presence, he slung his goggles up, set his hammer on the hearth, and roared with boisterous laughter. He greeted Hector with a hearty handshake that could have broken the man’s arm if he wasn’t a shifter. When the blacksmith turned to me, he gave me a deep bow and took my hand so gently that it made me wonder if he worked with tools at all. “Call me Mortimer.”

I smiled. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mortimer. I’m Faye.”

“We’re glad the alpha has his miss. Do you fancy the swords?”

I peered at the fire. “Kind of. I like working with daggers sometimes.”

“In that case, come to me for any of your weapon necessities. Have a look at the wall over there.”

He gestured to the other side of the workshop where many freshly-made swords and knives along with an assortment of tools were sparkling in the light. They were really lovely, and I wanted to inspect them, but Hector looked preoccupied.

It was then I realized I heard a child crying. As though propelled against my will, I drifted onto the walkway outside and followed my heart to the park. A child with buttercup skin who couldn’t have been older than five was on the ground with black hair in his face. His knee was skinned, the open wound staining the torn fabric of his brown pants. His orange shirt had an astronaut on it that had dirt and woodchips smeared in the design.

I knelt next to the boy and brushed his hair off his face. “You aright?”

“Danny pushed me.” The boy pointed to an older kid with the same skin and hair color. They were likely brothers.

I waved for Danny to come over. “That wasn’t very nice if that’s true.”

Danny hung his head, appearing guilty now that he’d been caught. “Sorry, ma’am. Jimmy started it.”

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