Page 9 of The Alpha's Betrayed Mate

“Then what about Korvi?” He forced himself to speak the boy’s name, pushing down the wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm him. “What about Marroc? Why did you leave them to die?”

“I left them to protect them,” she said, her voice barely audible. “It was hunting me, Belmont. It could feel—” She shut her eyes, and he fought the sudden, fierce desire to go to her side, to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. For a woman who’d looked like she was ready to tear his throat out a minute ago, how could she suddenly look so small? “They’re drawn to sadness. You know that.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” he said, a sudden coldness in his chest and a roaring in his ears that threatened to drown out the conversation entirely.

“Of course I’m not,” she said, rubbing her forehead tiredly then wrinkling her nose as her hand came away damp with fresh blood. “But did you really think it was a coincidence, that the attack happened the same day you—rejected me?” He could see how much it cost her to say the words, saw her grinding her teeth.

“I won’t be blackmailed,” he said, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest. “If you’re threatening to tell the pack that the demon came after you and Korvi because of what I said—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Belmont,” she snarled, seething frustration suddenly vivid on her tear-streaked face. “Tell the pack? Are you kidding? If that was what I wanted, don’t you think I’d have done something about it in the last eight years? I’d rather die, Belmont. I’d rather be dead and buried than for the pack to know what a weak, pathetic fool you made me. I was weak for a day, and that weakness cost the lives of two of the people I loved most in the world. And if you have any kind of honor, or any kind of positive feeling left for me in that cold, icy heart of yours—you’ll promise that you’ll never tell them, either. I couldn’t stand that.” She took a deep breath, and he could see her shivering—though whether with pain or with anger, he couldn’t tell. “I don’t want to blackmail you, Belmont. The only thing I care about now is protecting the pack from demons. If I could’ve died for them in that attack three days ago, I would have.”

Belmont didn’t often find himself blindsided in conversations. What was it about Venna that he’d felt it about four times since they’d started talking? To disguise how thoroughly off-balance he felt, he poured water into cups, first for Venna, and then for himself. She held her cup with the awkwardness of someone who’d been drinking from streams for a long time, sipping at the water with her silver eyes burning a hole into the table.

“I won’t be telling anyone,” he said finally, and the flash of gratitude and relief in her eyes was too quick and too vivid to be manufactured. “It’s not relevant to the situation at hand, anyway. You’re an exile, Venna. That means you can’t be here. You should never have come.”

“I had no intention of being here,” she said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “I was going to make sure they made it safely through the city gates, and that was going to be it. Then I got knocked out in the fight and that was that. The pack brought me here, Belmont, I didn’t come of my own volition. Didn’t you see that my hands were tied? Literally? Half dead, and Raske still bound my hands.” She shook her head, and he couldn’t tell if the smile on her face indicated respect or revulsion. “He’s even colder than you, Belmont. Though I don’t doubt you’ll get there one day.”

Before he could respond, Venna’s eyes widened, and her head snapped around like a wary animal being startled. It didn’t take him long to hear what had caught her attention—footsteps, and the familiar voice of Yara calling goodnight. Rylan was coming through the front door, bundled up in a jacket that was a little too heavy for the mild evening outside. Belmont and Venna both froze, staring at each other, both at a loss for what to do.

“Hey,” Rylan said, staring at the stranger at the dining room table—and in that moment, Belmont realized that his son would never have met Venna, never have even seen her. “You’re the one everyone got mad about at the funeral.”

Belmont looked at Venna, expecting to see her looking uneasy or defensive. What he hadn’t expected was to see her looking like she was about to burst into tears of joy. She was gazing at Rylan like she could hardly believe he was real. “You—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat before she tried again. “Oh, you—you must be—you look just like your father.” Rylan frowned and glanced automatically over at Belmont before the realization dawned.

“You knew Marroc?”

“Enough,” Belmont said flatly, rocketing to his feet fast enough that the chair skittered out behind him across the wooden floors. Venna hadn’t taken her eyes off Rylan, and Belmont’s fists tightened at his sides at the sight of the expression on her face. “Rylan. Go to your room.”

“Wait,” the boy objected, still staring at Venna. “Whoareyou?”

“None of your concern,” Belmont snapped, feeling frustration seething in his chest. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now—not in the aftermath of a funeral they’d just held for half the pack, not with Venna covered in dirt and blood and looking like some kind of savage beast they’d dragged in half-dead from the wilds, not with Rylan still barely acknowledging the death of his mother, let alone healing from it… this was no time to introduce him to a family member he’d never met. “Rylan, I told you to go to bed.”

But there was a familiar glint of defiance in Rylan’s eyes as he tilted his chin up and met Belmont’s eyes. “I don’t want to,” he said, and for a moment he looked so much like Marroc that Belmont almost gave in completely. And then he steeled himself.

“I don’t care what you want,” he said, letting just enough of his anger show in his voice that he saw Rylan recoil a little in surprise and unease. “You will do as you’re told. Now.”

He could tell the boy wanted to argue… but he could also see something very much like fear in the boy’s eyes as he hesitated. Feeling like an absolute monster, Belmont held himself still, let himself loom silent and wrathful in the center of the room. Again, he felt that curious sense of detachment take him, as though he was looking at himself through the window of the cottage… and it was no surprise when the figure standing there like an angry statue was the spitting image of his own father.

“I hate you,” Rylan whispered, then bolted past him and down the corridor. Belmont waited for the slam of the door, let himself take one breath while the air in the room settled, then turned his gaze to Venna. She took one look at him, and he saw her deciding against whatever it had been that she’d opened her mouth to say. Good, he thought, jerking his head to beckon her to follow him. Damn right people should be a little bit frightened of him.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were out of the house and striding down the walkway.

“Back to the library,” he said without looking at her, and this time when his voice shook he wasn’t sure if it was with anger or something else altogether. “You’ll stay under guard with the Senior Lorekeeper until I decide what’s to be done with you.”

“Belmont—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, wheeling on her. “Don’t you say a word about my son or my leadership. You’re lucky you’re alive, exile. Keep that in mind the next time you think of testing my patience.”

She didn’t respond, lapsing instead into a sullen silence that reminded him, horribly, of how he’d tended to react when he was younger and his father lay down the law like this. At least she was complying with him now, he told himself. At least she was doing as she was told.

If only that didn’t make him feel even worse.

Chapter 6 - Venna

Great. She was a prisoner again… and this time around she’d lost a lot of her captor’s goodwill. Syrra met them at the doorway, and when she looked at Venna the mixture of worry and disappointment on her face made her feel about two feet tall. Belmont was burning at her side like a torch—she was doing her best not to look at him, knowing how easy it would be to set him off, knowing she’d be unable to stop herself screaming right back in his face. And with tensions on the island as elevated as they were, that would likely spell disaster.

“Venna is to be considered my prisoner,” Belmont said, his voice back to its usual icy calm, but the look of surprise on Syrra’s face told Venna how significant this escalation in her status was. “She is awaiting sentence. I confer her to your care on the condition that she not be allowed to leave the library until further notice.”

“Understood, Alpha” the lorekeeper said, her voice as serene as his, and she tapped absent-mindedly at the handle of the ceremonial knife at her belt as she spoke. “I’ll see to it that her doors and windows are warded—and her wounds are redressed,” she added, her neutral expression darkening slightly as she took in the damage Venna had done.

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