Page 26 of Rogue Alpha Prince

“I’myour Luna, and I said, get the fuck out!” I use my alpha command in full force, and they all start to leave with surprised faces.

I shut the doors and walk to my husband, who is slowly standing up against his will, so I quickly add, “Not you, Your Highness.”

Ha, it's good to know it kind of works when he doesn’t expect it. He probably won’t be as unguarded ever again.

As soon as he stops struggling against my powerful alpha command, he slams my back onto the uneven table, giving me déjà vu from a more pleasant situation. It’s a 3D map under that blood, I think, while something painfully pins into my side.

This time I am the one struggling to get free. He is holding me down with his left hand on my collarbone. His right hand goes in the direction of his sword, but he doesn’t draw it. No. He catches the clean part of the blade with his bare hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask terrified, already knowing that I won’t get any answers from this blood-covered monster. “Cain, please, stop!”

His left hand flees to the back of my neck. Holding me in place like a baby kitten, he moves his now profoundly bleeding right hand to my mouth.

He makes me drink it. I try to resist, but it’s all in vain. I cough, and finally, I have to swallow it to not choke on it, so I do.

By this point, I know what he is doing, and I can’t help but cry while drinking his blood. I could try to command him again, but he’s physically too strong. He can resist and fight it, but he is determined. I can see that.

He wants to strip me of my last piece of safety in this strange, scary land he calls home, and he does it with conviction and dead-cold eyes.

It lasts longer than it should. I’m drunk on his sweet blood. My face is wet from tears, my body aches from struggling under his heavy body, and his thigh is pressed between my legs with too much pressure. I can't take it anymore and he must feel it because he finally stops.

He helps me up and laughs bitterly—another déjà vu.

“Say it, Asher,” he demands, drawing his sword and putting its tip to my chest for good measure.

I cough, and he impatiently pushes it in a little bit.

“I, your wife, pledge my loyalty to you, Rogue Alpha Prince, with both of my forms.”

There, I said it. I had no other choice. He is my Alpha now. He can command me. I’m no longer safe. Not from him and not from his alpha-blooded officers that he unknowingly leveled with me.

He accepts my pledge with standard words while yanking my hand and making a shallow cut on it with the bloodied part of his sword.

Then he looks me over with hatred and exits the office, slamming the door.

I start to cry again. I’m so scared it physically hurts. I fall to the bloodied floor and scream.

I crawl to the brown leather sofa and curl up into a ball like some cat, not a werewolf.

I’m left alone with the dismembered body of Colton and his dripping blood. My best double agent, my dear friend that I mourn all night, falling out and back into unconsciousness.

“Here you are,” says my husband's cold voice.

Like he wasn’t the one who did this to me and left me here until the early hours of the morning—judging by the harsh light slipping through the window blinds. I spare him a cold glance.

His hair is wet, his t-shirt crisp, and his soul rotten.

“Come, get washed so we can go for breakfast,” he says, stretching his hand to me.

I ignore it and pick up Colton’shead, then I grab his dead arm and start to drag his already stiffened greyish body around the Rogue Prince and out of the office. Colton is a heavy bastard, but I keep pulling him through the corridor and out of the castle. It’s a cool, sunny morning, and I continue to drag his lifeless corpse until I find a decent spot under a lovely tree with a view over the rogue capital city.

I put Colton’s remains down and fall onto my knees. I reach my wolf inner self to elongate my nails into claws and start digging up the dirt with my bare hands.

Maybe I should turn into the wolf and do it with my paws?

I smell my true mate before I can hear him, so I’m not surprised when he approaches me. Still, I flinch when he throws the shovel in front of me.

I don’t say anything. I’m proud but not too proud—I take it and start to dig with it, because it’s easier.

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