Page 30 of Come for Me
My father always thought someone was after him, which is what made him so unpredictable. I almost couldn’t blame him for being the way he was, as he was clearly sick.
It was after his brain injury that he was convinced his powers were damaged, resulting in the killing of innocents. Even worse, he would doubt his powers and think a truly ill-intended person was innocent and let them go free. I had to clean up behind him a lot.
But me? I’m in control. I’m not plagued with paranoia. My power to see someone’s intent and anticipate someone’s next move never fails me. I know the difference between purity and pollution.
What makes me unpredictable is that I don’t always care what someone’s intent is. Doesn’t mean I won’t kill you for something as minor as an inconvenience or whether I just feel like it. Sometimes, it’s not the intentions but the impact that matters. My father’s lessons on how to rule our kingdom stirred a darkness within me that even he couldn’t comprehend.
Where my father was a tyrant king, he had forged me into the ruthless overlord I am now. His paranoia made him thorough in his torturous ways. The torture transcended its purpose to discover enemy plans into my pleasure and expertise.
Guards required desensitization to handle my sessions with the prisoners, while some required orders to swallow their bile and control their composure. Where they winced and feared, I reveled and feasted upon the screams, spilled blood, and demise of my victims.
My enemies fared worse, and the she-wolves I’ve encountered were never the same once I had dealt with them. Whispers of my shocking little games had made me so renowned that few dared wish to experience it firsthand. I had a fearless reputation to uphold.
Once a true intent is unearthed, their fate is sealed. They’d die by my hand if they posed a threat to me or my kingdom. Emotion and reasoning did little to sway me. I never hesitated tokill potential threats before they actualized and spilled innocent blood.
At least I didn’t until . . .her.
My beta escorts Jack and his mutt of a son out of my office.
I look at Alaina, who appears shocked at my show of force, then sit in my office chair and pat my thigh with an eyebrow raised.
Alaina listens like a good girl and sits on my lap. I bury my face in her neck, taking a whiff of her hair. Her scent and proximity soothe my frustrations. A sense of calm puts out the fire in me as I breathe into her neck.
“Go near him again, and I will mark you whether you want to be marked or not. Am I understood?” I exhale out of my nose, followed by a hum from my throat.
She gulps and nods slowly.
“Good girl,” I say, hypnotically drawn to her lips.
Chapter Nine
Alaina
Istill. The claim of his lips holds promise of mass destruction, yet I melt into the kiss, allowing him to take possession of me. My mind whirls with the thrill of danger from kissing the devil himself. I’m gasping and struggling to breathe with his tongue drawing my soul out of me, as if the devil is tricking me into replacing my need for oxygen with his lips.
I was raised to run from danger, yet here I am, kissing him.
Alpha Jack and Caleb had only one side to the story: they didn’t know I am Dax’s mate. A clear misunderstanding, yet Dax wouldn’t hear them out. If Dax had just mentioned that, Caleb wouldn’t have touched me. It was almost as if Daxwantedto be provoked to put Caleb in his place. It was all so unnecessary.
But the devil loves to play games. Meaning none of us are safe.
I should’ve been deterred when Dax broke Caleb’s hand so easily. Instead, my wolf purred over Dax’s display of dominance. This act of violence is considered sinful. But I’m not immune to how seductive sin looks on Dax.
Dax had shown restraint because Caleb wasn’t a serious threat to him. The idea of what it’d be like if Dax didn’t hold back terrifies and excites me at the same time. My wolf feels proud to have such a strong, powerful mate.
Great, my wolf seems to be both horny and stupid.
Our kiss deepens. His tongue caresses mine in longer strokes. My pussy aching, I roll my hips against him and moan into his mouth as the friction further fuels my need. I wrap my legsaround Dax’s waist as he stands. Dax lays me down on his desk, his mouth still covering mine.
Consumed by him tugging my nipples through my shirt and his kisses, I turn my head, granting him more access.
A pair of boots come into view, revealing a man I didn’t know was here. I tilt my head back as far as I can and take in the rest of my surroundings.
Two other men stand guard at the door. Their eyes stare straight ahead, giving the illusion of privacy. But I am very much aware of their presence.
Their black leather boots connect to sleek black pants. As my eyes travel up their frames, I notice white shirts within their blazers. His men seethe danger and skill. They may look the part for a royal pack, but they are assessing threat and danger, guarding and protecting the king while his attention is focused elsewhere.
Their tall, massive frames are muscular, their strength evident with large biceps, pecs that stretch their shirts, and thick columns of thighs. They are tan, likely from their hours of training.
