Page 24 of Ruthless Alpha
Rosie lifted her head just enough to look up at me through her blonde lashes, and I braced myself for my secondapology of the morning. This one, I feared, wouldn’t be so easily accepted.
“I wasn’t entirely honest with you when I said I didn’t know who the collaborators were,” I confessed, taking a tentative seat beside her. “I might not know exactly, but I do know they were witches. High witches, I think. That weapon was designed for their use, not ours, which is why it’s too light for an Ensign fighter. I swear I didn’t think that it would have any effect on you,” I rushed to clarify. “I thought the witches who helped make it were the only ones who could tap into its magic. No one else who’s held it has reported any kind ofsentience,I guess? Maybe it’s because they didn’t use it for long?”
Rosie only stared at me, and I braced myself for her hatred, her vitriol, desperately trying to think of something to say that might placate her. When she finally spoke, though, she didn’t seem angry. Her gaze was distant, as if she were looking right through me.
“It was made by witches?” she said, flat and affectless. “Madeforwitches?”
“Yes. I should have told you. I know we don’t agree on that subject, but I should have made sure you were alright with a magic-made weapon, even if I didn’t think it would affect you.”
“But it did affect me,” she said, still unnervingly motionless and quiet.
“I know.”
“Because I’m a witch.”
Now that Imusthave misheard.
“I’m sorry?” I said. Rosie was still looking past me, but her eyes had filled with fear. It took her a few long seconds to reply, and when she did, her voice was breathy and trembling.
“I’m—I think I told you that my mother’s side of the family was kind of ostracized on Arbor? That my father’s family didn’t like their mating?”
“Yeah.” She’d told me that on her first morning here, the same morning we’d fought about witches. If she feared her own abilities, it made sense that she’d be so steadfast in her apparent hatred of magic.
“That was because we had witch blood,” Rosie continued. Every word sounded like it took immense effort, and I wanted to reach out to take her hand, but I didn’t know if she’d want that from me. “No one since my great-grandmother had any—any realpowers,but it was enough to make us unpopular.”
Arbor really was a shithole. The thought that a family could be ostracized for having one undesirable ancestor was ridiculous—but I doubted Rosie would appreciate hearing my opinion on that right now.
“So you think that your blood—” I started instead, but Rosie cut me off.
“I’m not finished. No one had any real power until I came along. I was a child when they manifested. I was just—just playing in the garden and I saw a pretty butterfly.” She was so determined to get the words out, but her bottom lip was starting to tremble. “I wanted it to come closer, so I reached out for it and—and I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Why am I telling you this?”
Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, covering her face with her hands again as sobs began to wrack her little body. I could only look on in horrified sympathy. What must life be like for an Arbor-born witch? Had she learned to hate herself before she even knew how to read? How to walk?
“You’re telling me because you know I’m not going to hurt you for it,” I assured her. “I won’t think any less of you. It’s safe to be who you are here.”
Rosie didn’t acknowledge my words, only continued taking ragged gulps of air, trying to wipe away her tears as they fell. Tentatively, I held out my hand, waiting for her to take it if she wanted to. After a few more shuddering breaths, she reached out to touch the tips of my fingers with her own, the skin of them damp with her tears.
“When I—when I reached for the butterfly,” she managed, “I created this—this gold orb that trapped the butterfly inside. I showed Mama what I’d done, and I—I’d never seen her so afraid. She made me promise never to tell anyone.” Her eyes widened, stricken. “Oh—IpromisedI would never tell—”
She dissolved into tears again, and this time I couldn’t stay in my seat. I dropped to my knees in front of her, placing my hands gently on her thighs as I tried to soothe her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” I promised. “You know she was just trying to protect you. She didn’t want you to be hurt, but no one’s going to hurt you here, I promise.”
That got me a wet, hiccupping laugh. It sounded hollow, and her voice was wry when she said,
“You mean they’re not going to hurt me for being a witch?”
Did she really fear this island more than she feared her home, where they would have killed her for nothing more than being who she was? Now wasn’t the time to agonize over that.
“No,” I said. “All my people have respect for witches—we used to have one living here on the island, actually. She was the only female who could walk through town alone; no one dared tomess with her, and no one wanted to, because she helped us with so many things.”
There was a pause before Rosie wiped her eyes again—fruitlessly, the tears were still sliding down her cheeks—and looked at me like a child who wants to know more about a subject they’ve been forbidden to ask about.
“Really?” she whispered.
“Yeah. The females would go to her when they were pregnant, and she was always there for births—I know she saved the lives of a few of our females and their newborns. Our island owes her a lot.”
“She sounds—she sounds nice.” If the moment wasn’t so dire, I might have laughed at the effort it clearly took for Rosie to say that.
