Page 5 of Alpha’s Wife

“She’ll come around,” I say easily, “they always do. When she does, I’ll take what I need.”

He smirks and rolls on his heels. “And the fact she’s so obviously your mate?”

I wish I could wipe the smirk off his face, but I know that would only prove some kind of point he’s desperate to make, so I temper the urge.

“She’s a tool, nothing more,” I tell him. “I don’t want the compilation, so I’m not acting on it.”

“You keep telling yourself that, brother,” he says, turning to go. “You are a great strategist, but you’ve never once been able to lie to me.”

He walks off down the path, and I don’t even attempt to have the final word; I never do with him. My wolf strains in my chest, wanting to go back to the witch, but I force myself in the other direction.

I will have to go back. I will have to get to know her and make her willing. But I’ll do it when I’m clear-headed and have a plan that won’t crumble the minute she starts talking.

Chapter 3 - Selene

I’ve been his wife for almost a full day, since dawn, but only seen him for around four minutes since the old man declared us mates and I felt the mating contract snap into place.

They came for me at first light, Bram and two women, one carrying a dress. Bram looked almost embarrassed as the women informed me the alpha was waiting and offered to do my hair. Obviously, my hair was already done, so I shrugged the suggestion off and weighed my options. Knowing this whole situation is fake, and a simple ceremony won’t give him access to the bond magic, I decide to let him have his charade.

So, I walk down the hill, and I ignore how handsome Ronan looks even when he’s trying to look disinterested. I see the gold in his eyes.

I tell myself that Maren will reverse all of this as soon as possible and I’ll shove that mating contract down his handsome throat. And then I let Bram walk me back up the hill. The whole thing took less than four minutes, and Ronan barely spoke to me; he didn’t follow me. But I knew he’d turn up again. Like clockwork. So, I wait.

It turns out you can get used to almost anything—even a kidnapping or fake mating contract, it appears. Especially if the man who took you keeps turning up every evening to lose at chess.

I’m still counting the nights, still running my fingers along the wards every morning for the break I haven’t found yet, and I certainly haven’t forgiven him for kidnapping me. But somewhere over the last week or so, the initial panic has settled into a routine that isn’t altogether unpleasant. I choose more books from the shelves, the boy, Bram, brings my food, and in the evening, Ronan arrives to sit across from me, refuses to answer questions, and loses at chess. He appears to think he’s a great strategist, yet his chess performance suggests otherwise.

Tonight, he’s already two pieces down and doesn’t seem remotely bothered.

“You’re cheating,” he says, as I take his knight.

“I’m a witch,” I say, sliding it off the board. “We don’t need to cheat. We’re just smarter than the wolves.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” he mutters.

“It’s what the board tells me,” I reply, tapping the side of the board where his casualties are piling up. “Your queen is next, by the way. I’d apologize for showing you up yet again, but we both know I don’t mean it.”

The corner of his mouth does that thing that’s almost a smile but not quite. I’ve started mentally cataloging when I win one, which is something I refuse to examine.

The fact remains, it’s not fair. How one man can be so fascinatingly handsome and broad, making the cabin feel smaller and more intimate just by being here, and yet be completely off-limits by virtue of the fact that he’s my enemy? I’ve decided the best way to handle it is to carry on beating him at chess and avoid looking directly at his face.

I need to stay focused.

He moves a pawn badly, and I wonder, not for the first time, if he should focus more, too. I glance over at the stack of books he brought with him tonight, all herb lore. I mentioned a couple of days ago that herb lore for healing is one of my interests, and now he turns up with books. Is he trying to be nice, or is this just manipulation? I hate that it still made me feel warm inside, so I crush the feeling flat and take his queen instead before finishing the game swiftly.

“So,” I say lightly, the way I’ve asked every night, “are we going to talk about your silly plans, or are we doing the dance around it again?”

“We’re going to dance around it until I say so,” he replies, just as lightly.

“You know, most kidnappers at least break into a monologue. I expected a monologue by now. The grand plan. Perhaps a maniacal laugh or two.”

“I’m not most kidnappers,” he replies smoothly.

“No,” I agree, before I can stop myself, “you’re really not.”

It lands with a bit too much honesty, and we both clock it. His eyes lift from the board and land on mine, dark and steady. The cabin suddenly feels even smaller, the fire crackling next to us, and my pulse racing for a man it has no business racing for. A man who drugged and kidnapped me. I’d be insane to be swayed by a few games of chess and a bit of witty, if frustrating, conversation.

I look back down at the board first. I always look away first, and we both know it. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me on the right side of dignified.