Page 36 of Cruel Alpha: Season One

What the actual fuck?

I’m proud to have been chosen as his mate?

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down, feeling like quite the fool. Luckily, the girls are oblivious to my thoughts.

“I think I’d rather just stay in this year,” I say, and that response has all four girls frowning.

“Is that really what you want?”

I meet Winifred’s gaze when she asks. “It is. I’d love to just spend a lowkey day indoors, enjoying the peace and quiet.”

None say as much out loud, but they’ve said it enough times for me to know. They think I’m wasting this life, the life Caspian’s trying to provide me here at the estate—the beautiful spaces, the luxury, the endless opportunities to be grandiose.

“I mean, it’syourbirthday, so if that’s what you prefer…” Guinivere sighs, standing from where she’d slithered down to the rug.

The others put away the comb, brush, and nail supplies before heading toward the door. “See you at breakfast,” Elizabeth says with a smile.

I return the gesture as they slip out, closing the door behind them. “Sleep well.”

And now, I’m alone with my thoughts. Specifically, thoughts of how I’ve clearly begun to lose my mind if I’m admitting to feeling proud to be with Caspian. So, the best way I’ve found to quiet unwanted thoughts is to get lost in a book.

The hallways of the estate are eerily quiet at night and the candle flickering in my hand casts strange shadows on the walls.It’s chilling enough that I peer over my shoulder periodically as I make my way to the library. Once inside, I place the candle on a small table and close myself in. I turn and gaze at the seemingly endless shelves of books, wondering how the collection came to be. Were many of them gifted to Caspian’s family over the years? Was someone in his bloodline once an avid reader and curated each one on their own?

Hating how a few floorboards creak beneath my feet, I make my way to the section where my books from home were squeezed in. My finger trails the bindings until I make a selection, an old favorite Mother and I read together one summer we spent at the lake. With it tucked under my arm, I double back to my candle, then close the library door behind me as I choose a different, more well-lit course back to my room.

Over the sound of my echoing steps, I hear the distinct tapping of someone’s fingers on the keyboard of a computer. Then, once I round the corner, I spot faint light seeping out from the small crack between the double doors of Caspian’s study. It crosses my mind that I should’ve maybe taken my chances going the other way.

We haven’t spoken much over the past several weeks. We keep up appearances on the few occasions that we’ve been in the public eye, but we haven’t had much to do with each other otherwise. Not since thelasttime I visited his study.

Careful to tiptoe past his door, it proves to be useless when my name is called.

“Annalise?”

Curse him. Curse him and his impeccable sense of hearing and smell. I should’ve known there’d be no sneaking past unnoticed.

Taking a deep breath, I ease the door open and peek my head inside, not bothering to speak.

He glances up from his work and the small lamp beside him illuminates his rugged features. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, that wicked smile ghosting on his lips like usual.

I slip in. “Just grabbing a book.”

I hold up the one I pulled off the shelf a moment ago, and he nods.

“Care to join me?”

No, absolutely not.

That thought stays locked away inside my head, although I’d like to scream it from the top of my lungs. But instead, I walk in slowly, and then drop down onto the arm of the chair across from his desk.

My gaze doesn’t wander to the sofa, but I’m painfully aware of that space having been the scene of our most recent tryst. At the thought, a phantom memory floods my mind, and I swear I feel his touch, his breath on my skin. The sensation threatens to disarm me, and history has taught me that being disarmed in his presence is a recipe for disaster.

I meet Caspian’s gaze when he lowers a glass from his lips, swallowing his drink of choice. One of those heated looks he gives sweeps over me. A look that, again, reminds me of our most recent time together.

“I take it reading soothes you?”

The question helps center my thoughts. “Always has. Even as a child. I’m sure that’s why Mother made it her business to keep me well stocked with the classics.”

Caspian smiles, and I hate that I enjoy the sight of it. Hate that it makes him evenmoreattractive.

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