Page 3 of Rogue Alpha Prince

Silence. The only thing I can hear is the collective of our hearts beating faster and faster.

Finally, there is a commotion outside, and all my heightened werewolf senses go highwire.

I haven't felt that way for weeks, with my inner wolf being silent and probably mad. No wonder—it's a pure animal reflection of who we truly are. It doesn't feel right to marry someone who isn't my mate, so of course that part of me shut down in a traumatic response.

Before I can even concentrate properly on gathering my strength and calming my senses, the doors open with a bang. My sight locks on the white man with brown hair and a long dark red cape. As tall and big and scary as I always thought he must be.

The Rogue King.

"His Majesty, the Rogue King and his one true heir—His Highness, Rogue Alpha Prince," someone from the Rogue’s side loudly informs us.

The Rogue King is disturbingly handsome. He leads his men with a nonchalance that only someone as brutal as he can have. He winks at me before looking in the direction of my father, who waits to greet him. But it's a struggle for me to move my eyes from him to anybody else.

It's fascinating. His mere presence is so compelling I can't shake the bad feeling that's spreading all over my body—Wait.

That growing, restless, primal feeling finally makes me move my eyes to the next guest—the only one who stayed with his King and not spread around.

My heart practically stops.

It happens so fast that I'm not sure exactly what I'm feeling at first, but then the wolf part of my brain practically shouts in my head one word over and over again.

Mate, mate, mate!

My mouth parts in shock. Utterly unprepared for meeting my true mate so close to the dreadful alliance. And that's when his cold navy-blue eyes moveover my face with disinterest, and I realize my mate is…him. Fucking Rogue Alpha Prince!

He stands in front of me on his father's right in his full combat attire. Leather pants, heavy boots, all the blades strapped to his naked chest, and that infamous werewolf-fur cape. He gives a nod to my dad, who welcomes both of our guests—and I look between the two of them, discovering how almost identical they look. From impeccable facial features and their massive very tall bodies, to the choice of clothing. Everything except for their ethnicity, with the tanned olive skin and pitch-black straight hair of the Rogue Alpha Prince. Something in his face, no matter how similar to his dad, tells me he is definitely not white.

Maybe his mom is from one of the Middle Eastern packs…

He laughs shortly at something my dad said, and I realize suddenly that I should listen to the conversation between the kings and not gawk at the prince.

I try to concentrate on the history making itself. Remembering everything that is being said, silently making mental notes of things I think we should discuss at length later, before signing the alliance, being valuable and present…

But I'm not really here. Not when I feel that bond pulling all of my senses back to him and his intoxicating smell. My true mate.

What. The. Hell.

Rogue Alpha Prince's existence is the solemn reason I picked up knife throwing as a light hobby, for Moon Goddess' sake!

He is very handsome—don't get me wrong—and by some dreadful miracle, we are supposed to get into a blessed marriage union for our kingdoms. But… why?! Why him of all the wolves in the realms?! Is this some kind of divine joke?

I know him from the tales of the warriors who were lucky enough to survive his bloody claws and even bloodier sword. Yes, usually he is so cocky he doesn't even bother to turn into his wolf form. Something no ordinary human would dare to do while fighting with powerful werewolves. He isruthless, cruel, some even say crazy. And now I can see that on top of all of that, he's an arrogant prick.

That's what I have been praying for the last ten years? Greg was right, it was pointless. We are probably assigned mates at birth. Or even before that—that's the only explanation for bigger age differences in some mates, and we clearly have one. I'm like two-thirds his age, right?

As far as I can tell from the one completely uninterested and condescending look he gave me so far, he doesn't feel a mate bond with me—and maybe it's better that way.

Yes, he has looked my way only once during the whole meeting we've been having for over an hour now, judging by my restless legs. He should be looking at me from boredom at this point, but no, apparently I'm too boring for him too. What a prick.

We werewolves, don't feel the mate pull until we come of age. That's what we call it. But that's not some fixed date. No. It's when we are mentally mature enough to withstand the strength of the emotions that the true mate pull ignites in us. Some will start connecting to this side of us at eighteen, feeling the ability even if their mate is not close to them yet. And some are twenty-five and still so immature that there seems to be no hope to settle and start a family in their future. That's how most werewolves choose to live, starting the family only once they find their true mates. Well… unless you are a doomed princess like me.

Isn't the Alpha Rogue Prince almost thirty now? Thirty-something, even. Hmm, I should be surprised he doesn't feel anything yet at his age, but somehow, I am not. It only confirms what I already think about him. Which is nothing good.

Doesn't matter. We are simply from two different worlds. Maybe we both have royal alpha blood flowing in our werewolf veins, but it has an entirely opposite origin—even if we are equal in our natural wolf powers.

Yes, some of us werewolves are stronger than others. Alphas, their second-in-command Betas, and their children, usually carry the same power in their genes; like me and the Rogue Prince. That's how we survive as a kind—weaker wolves submitting to be cared for by the stronger ones.

That's why I'm in this whole situation right now. I have to take care of my pack—which is an entire Kingdom of Packs when your dad happens to be the Alpha of all Alphas.

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