Page 43 of Forced By the Alpha

The house hadn’t been changed at all since I had lived there. The same family pictures hung on the walls, showcasing a smiling snapshot of life as it used to be. I lingered over photos of my mother’s face, remembering her comforting hugs and the way she had always smelled of sage and ginger.

Between bouts of sadness for the loss of Franco and nostalgia for my family, I combed through my father’s belongings to look for clues. He had never been one to keep a journal, but I hoped to find some indication that Franco’s story was true. I didn’t want my dad to be the bad guy, but I also needed to believe that Franco had been honest with me. It was always possible that his story was a ruse to keep me from wanting to go back home. If that were true, I feared my heart couldn’t take it.

My father’s computer password had been easy to crack—my mother’s birthday—but there were no files beyond family photographs and ledgers from his business dealings.

After ascertaining the absence of any information on Franco, I began a search of the books of magic in the library.Somewhere, I hoped to find a recording of the spell that had been used to curse the Forsaken Shadows wolves. If I could find one, I hoped I could create a counter-curse that would break it.

So far, I hadn’t had any luck. The closest I had come was when I uncovered a book of forbidden magic hidden on the bottom shelf, but it was written in Greek. Even after performing a spell of understanding, I hadn’t been able to untangle the words enough to gain any meaning from the dusty pages.

I had nearly given up hope as I scoured the shelves again, searching for anything I might have missed, when I heard the faint sound of footsteps downstairs.

I stopped what I was doing and padded across the worn carpet and down the stairs just in time to see my father closing the refrigerator door.

“Sienna!” he exclaimed, dropping the bottle of water he had been holding to the floor in surprise. “You scared me! I didn’t know you were here.”

“You would have, if you had bothered to look at your phone in the past week,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“A week? Can’t have been that long.” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, and I realized how rough he looked.

“Where have you been?”

“Fishing trip,” he said as he picked the bottle back up. The motion wafted the air around him in my direction, and I got the distinct, sour smell of body odor and alcohol.

“Ha,” I laughed sarcastically. “You don’t fish. Out drinking by the river, more like.”

He didn’t answer, so I knew my guess had been correct.

“Are you sober now?” I asked.

“Course I am,” he replied with an offended tone.

“Good. We need to talk. But first, go clean yourself up,” I ordered. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as you when you smell like a dead raccoon.”

He grumbled at me, but shuffled up the stairs to shower. I was glad he was home so that we could talk, but even more glad of the short intermission that I was getting. I had spent a week waiting for him, but I hadn’t decided how I wanted to approach our conversation yet. What I needed more than anything was answers. It wasn’t clear whether I would get those by beating around the bush or asking straight out.

Ten minutes later, Tom reappeared, smelling like bar soap and linen.

“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked. “You still drink coffee, don’t you?”

I nodded, and he started a pot before sitting down at the kitchen table across from me. We sat in silence, listening to the coffee drip into the pot below until the machine shut off. He got up and poured two cups with a generous helping of creamer in each, placed one in front of me, and resumed his seat.

“What brings you back home?” he asked.

“You,” I began. “Or, more accurately, what you did.”

“What did I do?”

“After Mom died, you placed a curse on a group of rogue werewolves. A month ago, they kidnapped me and asked me to find a way to break the curse. I’d like an explanation.”

The color drained from his face as he listened to my calm words. Judging from his expression, there was no need for him to admit to what he had done.

“I should have known that curse would come back to haunt me,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry, daughter. It’s true—I cursed them—but I did give them a chance to leave first.”

“What do you mean?”

“When they encountered me on the road, they gave me the option to give them my belongings and leave with my life, so I offered them a similar choice: leave untouched, or leave cursed,” he said. “Their alpha laughed at my threat. He said I looked weak and that he wasn’t afraid of what I could do to them. After losing your mother, Ifeltweak, and being called out on that feeling was overwhelming. I never should have cursed them to begin with, but I was wracked with grief. It’s not an excuse, but I wanted to explain.”

“What curse did you use?” I asked.

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