Page 50 of The Alpha's Fated Destiny

How he can see past my magic is beyond me. But he's clearly looking at me.

The voices are getting closer.

Confusion and fear battle against each other.

"Release me."

His voice is a deep growl.

When I stumble back, frightened, he continues, his voice raspy. "I see you. I smell you. Release me."

I have no choice but to hide in the chamber.

My magic is fading and I let it. I might need it to face off against the witches, not that it will do much good.

I crawl inside and the man watches me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle this time, gruff, but gentle. "I can save you, little wolf. What they'll do to you is so much worse than death. You need my help."

He doesn't even know who is after me. How can he say all this so confidently?

Only, I know he is right.

The footsteps are seconds away now.

"Look at yourself," he growls. It's obvious that speaking is hard for him, but his eyes are both angry and desperate. "You won't last a second against them!"

"And you will?" I gasp out.

His smile is slow and filled with a hatred that makes my blood go cold.

"I have a better chance than you."

They're at the entrance.

My heart is beating like a drum and I'm out of time now.

I lift my hands toward the chains.

I'll take my chances with him.

A crackle in the air.

A scream of anger.

And the sounds of chains breaking.

That's all I see before darkness consumes me.

Chapter 11

Alex

I’m standing in a garden that is far too familiar.

The grass is lush and thick, the flowers that are blooming in every corner providing a mesmerizing explosion of colors that's hard to look away from. My mother always liked chaos in beauty. The trees are well-maintained and cared for. There is a pathway of stones and cement that I remember my father laying out while I stood by and helped as much as a child could.

My mother's complaining and my father's amused voice filter through my memory, and if I look hard enough, I can see her holding the tray with that special juice only she knew how to make. I can imagine my father kneeling on the grass, his cheek pressed against the ground as he tried to gauge whether the pathway was level or not.

When did I forget that memory?

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