Page 4 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

That surprised her. “Romantic? Marrying some guy for money?”

“I’d argue that this is way more than that.” Suzanne sipped her wine, and Claire held her breath. She loved it when Suzanne got philosophical. She didn’t talk much about the murky world of taking money from rich men she’d dabbled in for much of her twenties, but what she did say always fascinated Claire. “I mean, if these men wanted sex, they’d hire sex workers—they’ve got the money, they’ve got the connections, it’s easy. And if they just wanted a woman to make them feel like a big man, there’re a million girls like me who’d stroke their egos for days in exchange for something off their Amazon wish list. But these guys want awife, you know? That’s something else. I don’t know, maybe I’m being sentimental. Maybe they’re just creeps who’ve turned everything into a transaction.”

“Some of them, maybe,” Claire said. “But surely there are a few out there who are just …lonely.” She chuckled. “You know this is a whole genre of romance novel, right?”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Suzanne said dryly. “Have you ever written one?”

Claire shook her head. “Never got around to it. They’re pretty popular, though.”

“Why not now? You said you were thinking of changing genre, right?” Suzanne lingered over another profile—a broad-chested, square-jawed man on a beach, looking visibly annoyed at something just beyond the camera. He cut an intimidating figure, but what really held Claire’s attention was the baby he was holding protectively against his chest, cradled there with a gentleness at odds with the irritable look on his face. Whoever had included that photo had known exactly what they were doing—it felt like her insides had melted into a warm, gooey puddle.

“Well, there’s my male lead,” she murmured, only half joking.

“I’ll send you some screenshots if you promise to dedicate the book to me,” Suzanne said with a wink. “Oh, and I’ll want VIP tickets to the premiere of the film adaptation, obviously. And a cameo.”

Claire laughed, and the two of them returned to the trashy romcom that was still playing in the background. The couple had finally resolved their differences, and the swelling music told her that they were about to share their final kiss. They didn’t return to the mail-order bride app that night, but when Claire plugged her phone in before bed, she saw that Suzanne had forwarded the screenshots. She read over the profile a few times in bed, the glow of the screen on her face. Suzanne was right…there was something strangely romantic about the idea of marrying someone you’d never met. Maybe she’d look into it a little more…

For research, of course. Only for research. Claire only wrote about unbelievable romantic adventures—there was no way someone like her would ever live one.

Chapter 2 - Darion

The days were beginning to blur together. Walking down to the beach from his cottage, Darion realized with an uneasy jolt that he couldn’t remember what day it was. He paused by the tree line, frowning at nothing as he tried unsuccessfully to work backwards. What had he done yesterday? What had he been doing all week? The only event that was fixed in his memory with any real conviction was the island’s most recent demon attack. That had been weeks ago, if not months…and even that had been far from eventful. Barely a handful of scraggly, fragile demons, an attack so easily defeated that every wolf on Kurivon had been convinced it was a distraction tactic, drawing their attention from the real attack that was coming. But no such attack had come. The lorekeepers confirmed it—demonic activity on Kurivon was at its lowest point since they’d first arrived over two years ago. The war, at least for now, was over.

That was a good thing, of course, Darion reminded himself as he continued on the familiar path through the trees toward the island’s most sheltered beach. That was the best news any of them could have hoped for, especially after the turbulent few years they’d had. Getting three separate wolf packs settled on the same tropical island was difficult enough without the addition of the constant threat of demonic assault. Some part of Darion had never really believed they’d manage it. He’d expected war between the packs, or defeat at the hands of the demons—if he was really honest with himself, he’d expected to lose his own life long before this kind of peace was achieved. The long-term goals of the settlement, of course, were to establish a peaceful community of wolves who’d live in harmony on the island, their love and connection keeping the demons at bay for good. He’d just never imagined that he’d still be around when that goal was actually reached.

Best not to get complacent, he reminded himself as he made his way through the trees. A few months of low demonic activity didn’t mean they were out of the woods entirely. And just because the packs were all more focused on getting settled and getting to know one another right now, didn’t mean they could afford to let their guard down on the military front. Demons loved complacency. All the old stories stressed how important it was not to let your defenses slip just because things seemed peaceful. There were still regular patrols of the island, and Darion had taken to making his own unofficial checks of the place when he wasn’t officially on duty. It was getting to the point that he knew the shape of Kurivon better than he knew the layout of his own cottage.

Truth be told, he didn’t like his cottage that much. He’d preferred the early days on the island, when they’d slept in tents or on the floor of the old library, the only building that had been there since before their arrival. His cottage felt too big for him. Something in him chafed at the pointless luxury of it. Why did one wolf need all that space? A living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms,fourentire bedrooms—it was absurd. He’d managed to find a use for one of the spares at least, setting it up as a nursery for when his baby niece came to stay, but the other doors in the hallway ground on his nerves every time he walked past them. Excessive. Wasteful.

But what really bothered him was the constant reminder that, unlike most of the island’s other wolves, Darion lived there completely alone…and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

The sun was bright when he emerged from the trees, and he blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the glare coming off the white sand of the beach. This was far from Kurivon’s only beach, but it had become the community’s favored swimming place as a result of its geography. Two bluffs at either end of the long crescent of sand meant that the beach was sheltered from the rough ocean beyond, and the waters were calm and placid on all but the stormiest of days. That made it the perfect place for the island’s youngest inhabitants to play in the water while their parents spent a few restful hours in the warm sand. There had been more and more time for leisure like this over the last few months; as the demonic threat slowly lost its immediacy in the minds of the community, more everyday activities began to take priority.

And on a day as fine and clear as this one, it was no surprise to see that the beach was crowded with what looked like every wolf on the island. Darion hesitated in the tree line for a moment, feeling an uneasy prickle run down his spine, then gritting his teeth at the cowardice of it. Lately, he’d been growing less and less comfortable in crowds. Absurd, for a man who’d spent much of his life as the leader of one of the largest wolf packs in their part of Halforst, the world the packs of Kurivon had emigrated from. But after a clash with his brother that had endangered every wolf on the island, as well as almost costing both their lives, Darion had stepped down as Alpha. Now, his brother Reeve and his soulmate Lyrie took care of both packs—or, more accurately, they led the new pack that had been formed by the union of the two.

And where did that leave Darion, he wondered? In theory, of course, he was as much a part of the pack as he’d ever been. He and his brother had mended their relationship considerably since the nearly disastrous battle a year ago, and his authority in the pack had been restored. Reeve and Lyrie deferred to him as an equal, and most of the island’s wolves still called him Alpha—especially when it came to military matters, to the defense and protection of the community. But in his heart of hearts, he still felt like a stranger in their midst. Like some hermit they’d taken in, a lonely old man whose presence they tolerated out of pity.

He shook his head sharply to clear it, annoyed that he’d allowed himself to wallow in such pathetic rumination for so long. The only thing worse than being pitied by others was being pitied by yourself. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He’d spent the last two years of his life defending this community with his flesh and blood, and he had the fading scars to prove it. Not everybody could have the life he saw when he looked around this beach; not everyone was destined to end up frolicking with their children in the sunshine and a soulmate at their side. Knowing that he’d been part of the fight to protect this world—that was enough to satisfy him.

“Darion!”

He heard his brother’s voice and stiffened instinctively. For all that their relationship had improved by leaps and bounds over the past year, his body still harbored some of the resentment he’d carried for so long. The two of them had been enemies for decades, since his twin brother had left their pack behind to strike out on his own. Sometimes he could hardly believe that they were members of the same pack again. He made his way across the sand, pausing to allow a couple of wolf pups to frolic past, spraying him with sand as they chased each other. Reeve was grinning broadly when he reached him.

“It’s nice to see you in the sunshine.”

“Busy out here,” he observed. As his voice rasped in his throat, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken aloud to someone. There wasn’t much cause, living alone, patrolling the island solo…he cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, feeling the keen eyes of his brother’s soulmate boring through him.

Lyrie had been his lieutenant and protege for years, second-in-command of his pack, and was one of the best and bravest wolves he’d ever known. She also had an unpleasantly accurate instinct for when he wasn’t feeling good. She knew better than to pry, of course—she knew him well enough to work around his explosive temper—but in the last few months especially, she’d asked more than a few thinly veiled questions about how happy he was, here on the island. Was that why they’d invited him to join them this afternoon, he wondered? He wasn’t sure how many more conversations he could tolerate about how he just needed to spend more social time with the other wolves of Kurivon. They simply refused to understand that he wasn’t built that way. His packmates were family—he’d die for any one of them without a moment’s hesitation. But that closeness wasn’t something he experienced outside of battle. And with the long stretch of peace they’d been enjoying, there hadn’t been many opportunities for that kind of bonding.

“How’s my niece?” he asked now, hoping the question didn’t sound abrupt. Ilya was a little over a year old now, a cheerful child with her mother’s dark red hair and her father’s curls. “Still trying to become a dolphin?”

“They’ve managed to corral her,” Reeve said with a grin, gesturing across the beach to where a handful of the island’s youngest residents were playing together, watched over by a few wolves Darion recognized from Belmont’s pack. He spotted his niece at once, her wet hair plastered to her face and a look of ferocious determination on her face as she splashed around in a shallow pool that had been dug for the children to play in.

“For now,” Lyrie said, shaking her head. “I’ve never known a kid who loved the water so much. Shouldn’t have spent so much time on boats while I was pregnant,” she grinned, looping her arm through Reeve’s and leaning her head against his shoulder. “We’ll avoid that next time.”

Darion froze. Reeve jumped in hastily. “No news, no news yet. Illy will be an only child for a while longer at least.”

“A little while,” Lyrie said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’ve got a feeling it’ll be sooner rather than later, though.” The two of them were in agreement that they wanted a big family—and with things so peaceful on Kurivon, there was no reason not to pursue that dream. “I’m hoping for twins, personally.”

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