The Alpha's Temptation

Getting out of bed, he went to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror: He looked like shit. No; he felt like shit. The cold water splashed on his face made no difference at all to the dark circles under his eyes, and neither did it beat back the darkness that hovered in his mind.

He ambled to the dining room. Food had been placed down already by Ewan. Eltanin sat at the head of the table and served himself sausages and mince pie with vegetables.

Tomorrow, he would surely put an end to his problems. He would see Morava and agree to marry her. There was no way in hell that he would be able to find this mystery girl in such a vast kingdom. If he sent his soldiers to find her, chances were that the information would be leaked. It would only make her life more difficult. More people would be after her, and they may end up killing her. The thought made him tremble, and he pushed his plate away.

Who was the Fae girl? Why was it that he couldn’t smell her wolf? Too many conflicting emotions marred the rest of his night. In the end, however, just before the moon surrendered to the horizon, he made his decision. Why not marry Morava?This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

He would marry Morava — and mark her.

—

“Get up!” A deep voice rattled Tania to her bones. The stink and cold and constant hunger made her weak. It had been three moons since she had returned from her adventure. Ever since she had arrived, she dared not speak about what she had seen in the Eslam Forests. Her handler had assumed that she had drunk too much and, hence, had failed in her mission.

She was sitting on the hay in the damp monastery dungeons. She had dreamt of freedom but found herself here. For what? For a mission that she was sent on without any training. How was it her fault that she didn’t know what Rigel looked like? She had tried to find him. If only she had another chance.

Wolf-less slaves like her rarely got one chance, let alone two. Instead, they were sent to the dungeons to die of starvation or of disease. No one cared for them, because they were of no importance to the priests. That’s why Tania tried to make herself as useful as possible. She had learnt seven ancient languages and had hoped that one day the monastery would see her value — but, while few had mastered all the languages, many had conquered each of them. She had only mastered two truly hard languages, and even then, she was not alone.

She considered that she might spend her eighteenth summer in the free air, yet today she was here, in a darkness that would never end. Tears streamed from her eyes; her stomach growled with hunger. It had been three days of one slice of bread and one watery stew each and every day. Her birthday was a curse.

Her chain of thoughts broke when she heard a clank of metal against metal and boots clicking on the floor. She narrowed her eyes to see the source of the voice, making out the hunched silhouette of her handler. He carried an oil lamp, whose dim light projected a large swaying shadow behind him as the lantern swung in his hand.

Chains in the other cells rattled.

“Take us out!” one prisoner shouted.

“Please free us!” cried another.

Tania’s teeth chattered at those pained voices. Frightened, she huddled in a corner, hoping that he wouldn’t beat her again. The first day, he had whipped her with his leather belt, the gashes still fresh on her back. She hadn’t healed well.

The hunchback approached the iron bars, lifting the lamp to see her better. “Get up!” he snarled. “Master wants to see you.” _{ρꪖꪕᦔꪖꪕꪫꪣꫀ​ꪶ​}

Shocked, Tania helped herself up with the help of the wall, but she was so weak her legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees. Was her Master going to kill her? Faintly, she whispered, “It wasn’t my fault. I tried to find Prince Rigel—”

“Shut up!” he bellowed. He placed the oil lamp on the side. Unclasping a large iron keyring from his belt, he sifted through them and found the one that opened her cell. “Come out,” he said, seeing that she was still not standing. “We don’t have all the time in the world for your drama. You are not the queen who needs an invite just to step out of her holy cell!”

The words didn’t hurt her, because she was used to those kinds of words. The priests, the guards, the servants— basically all those who had their wolves passed snide remarks to those who didn’t. The wolf-less were shunned, untouchable. Kept in separate quarters, away in a derelict building. But that was their home. Even there, however, those with more power treated those with less, horribly. Tania was the one who, despite her knowledge, was horribly handled, and it was mostly out of jealousy because she was Menkar’s personal slave. Yet, she never complained.

Tania was given a very small closet under a stairway to live in. Compared to her prison, her tiny closet was a luxury.

The spy came near her, towering over her.

“Please, I didn’t know where he was. And I tried to find him!”

He slapped her into silence. “Shut up, you miserable wench! It was a mistake to take you there.”

She landed on the damp ground with a whimper, her l*p split, and stars in her vision.

She felt his hand seize her upper arm. He pulled her up and dragged her out of the cell. It took time for her to get up, so she crawled on her knees to keep his pace. He shoved her onto the ground, and she coughed as she stumbled to her feet.

He locked the cell again. The shadows around her flickered as he lifted the oil lamp. He kicked her from behind, and she stumbled forward into a heap. “Will you get up, dimwit? I don’t have time to treat you like a princess!” He cursed her under his breath. “Ever since you have come from the Draka Palace, you have started to think of yourself as royalty, huh, rodent?”

Tania crawled away, whimpering, but he snagged her up on her feet. She swayed like a leaf as he dragged her out of the dungeon. As soon as she was out of the dungeon, bright light blinded her. She closed her eyes, still being dragged away, but she loved the warmth of the sun on her skin.

He took her to the library where Menkar waited for her. Menkar was sitting at his desk, adjusting documents from front to back.

“Master,” the spy murmured, nudging her forward.

Her lips swollen, Tania fidgeted with her threadbare gown. Swamped with guilt she stood in front of Menkar, who did not acknowledge her. Her gaze went to a white owl perched on a stand, then to a pitcher of water on the table. She licked her lips greedily.

Finally, when Menkar looked up, he stroked his white beard that reached down to his chest. The High Priest of the Cetus Monastery stared at her, his face stern, his nostrils twitching at the way that she smelled. “We have received a message from Prince Rigel,” he said in a deep throaty voice.