Page 33 of Alpha's Hated Mate

Saffron chuckles. “Where is she, anyway? You would think she’d be the first to greet us. Make sure I didn’t show up in a potato sack.”

The more I look around, the more I realize that Nadia is actually not here yet. That’s a little weird. “Probably just looking to make an entrance.” I think I’m saying that more for me than Saffron, to take the bite out of the idea that my sister begged me to come to a party she wouldn’t even attend.

“Maybe she’s trying to get her hair right or . . .”

Saffron’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on one of the photos across the room . . . and her face is slate. Her pale skin has gone sallow, and her eyes widen with fear.

“Saffron?”

She looks at me, then back over my shoulder. I turn and look, but I can’t tell what she’s looking at. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“It’s him,” she hisses. “Oh, my Goddess . . . it’shim.”

“Him, who?”

“That picture.” She points across the room to the photo of my father, hanging closest to the stage. It’s the only one out of place since he was never faculty at Moonhelm. It’s him in his forties—whitish blond hair and blue eyes, round glasses sitting on the edge of his pointed nose. He’s wearing a suit and tie and sitting in front of some generic background.

I’ve seen this photo countless times. It hangs in the main city building in Claymore in remembrance of him. There’s a smaller copy in my father’s office. We’ve even used it on programs for past events.

I’m still confused as to what Saffron is referring to, though. “The picture over there?” I ask her. “Of my father?”

She turns her eyes to me, and they widen slightly. “What?”

The air has changed around us, and the impending feeling of danger hangs between us. Still, I need to understand what’s upsetting her. “What’s wrong?”

She takes my glass of punch away and sets both of them on the table, then grabs my arm, dragging me across the roomtoward the picture. “This?” she says when we get to my father’s portrait. “This man is your father?”

“Yes. Alton Vaultmore. That’s him. What is it?”

I reach out to touch her, and she shrinks away, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have to go.”

She starts to leave, but I grab her arm. She yanks free and yelps, “Let me go!”

People nearby begin to stare at us. The embarrassment is going to have to wait. Saffron is rushing away from me like her dress is on fire.

I follow her outside just as she stops at the banister. She leans over it, holding her stomach while she takes in large gasps of air. “Hey, hey.” I put my arm around her, and she pushes me away. “Saffron, will you just talk to me? What’s happening?”

She takes a moment, looking down at the steps, her hands clasped and shaking. “Your father was the one who tortured her . . . experimented on her.”

“What?” I say with a laugh. “Experimented on . . . ?” Then it hits me. He’s the man in her visions. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she barks.

“All right. Calm down—”

“Calm down?! Are you serious right now? He-he tortured her! He had her bound to a table!”

“Saffron, stop it. You’re getting hysterical.”

“Of course I’m hysterical!” she shouted. “Why aren’t you?! Your father was a monster!”

If she’d slapped me, it would have hurt less, but I clench my teeth and bear it. “Look, I don’t know what that vision is about, but my father wouldn’t torture anyone. He wasn’t that kind of man.”

“You have no—”

She’s cut off by a sound like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It comes in low and rises fast, like the cresting and falling ofa howl . . . but it’s raspy and guttural, like the wind screaming with a million voices. I cover my ears instinctively. She winces, stepping back and nearly stumbling down the stairs.

Then she stands straight up, her back as stiff as a board . . . and her eyes a vacant white.

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