The Alpha's Temptation

Eltanin’s expression became cold as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. His clefted chin appeared so angular that it could cut metal. All at once, he turned away from her and walked to his table. He walked to the far end of the shelves that were on the left. He bent down and turned the handle at the bottom after turning the locks on it. The small door of the shelf opened with a g***n. He took out a red leather-bound grimoire and closed the panel. It made an even louder g***n as it closed, as if hating its occupant’s absence. Eltanin kept his hand placed over it for a while until the door stopped making the sound. It was as if he was cajoling the shelf to quiet.

When he turned back to her, he found that Tania was waiting for him near the library’s cold hearth, surrounded by the morning light that filtered through the window. She looked ethereal as she stood there draped in soft rays of the sun. She was looking at him with doe eyes—a pallid queen in his tunic and breeches. He was angry when she had mentioned Morava’s name, but now—the fact that she was in his clothes gave him a sense of belonging. Once again he felt like touching his fae, playing with her long silky hair and kissing her all over the face. His pulse thrummed hard but he tried to maintain a serene face.

He closed in on her and half expecting that she was going to say something about ‘improper things’, he circled her with the grimoire in his hand, breathing in her scent—citrusy and misty. It was impossible to stay away from her. She was unclaimed, utterly innocent and was unaware of the world of attraction. Maybe, he had to do something to attract her to him. When he came to stand in front of her, he saw that she had tilted her head. Shoving those thoughts out of his mind, he asked, “Which ancient language do you know the best?”

“Zharlis,” came the prompt answer.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing his chin to the cushioned chair beside him.

Rolling up her sleeves, a little more, she sat down as her eyes fixated on the grimoire. It was as if something inside her bloomed in response to looking at it. There was no way she knew what it contained but a smile came over her lips. She took a deep breath as if taking in the scent of the old paper and the rain-on-mossy-boulders scent of magic—magic that she never even dared to speak about in the monastery. The irony was not wasted on her because the monastery was a place where magic dwelled like it was its second home.

The spine of the grimoire didn’t bear any name, just a rose vine snaked across the length. That was strange because all the grimoires bore the authors or in this case sorcerer’s name.

Eltanin opened the first page of the grimoire and there was nothing written on it. “Do you know the words that can reveal the text?”

Tania focused on the blank page and then closed her eyes. This wasn’t Zharlis. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the page. This was Isgash, a lesser-known ancient language. “This isn’t Zharlis. This grimoire is written in Isgash.”Belongs to © n0velDrama.Org.

“Can you open it?” he asked.

She nodded once. The words that she had to speak would be a pact with the grimoire to be read correctly, without filters. She whispered in Isgash:

“Itsha maneno ya giza

Ninadi kukoma keli”

Summon the dark words

I promise to read you truly

A soft breeze blew over the page, turning the first leaf over and revealing the text in the second leaf. Surprise flickered through Eltanin like a cold rush of air. He inhaled sharply when he heard her flawless chants. He didn’t know this language but he was sure that her intonation was correct and it compelled the grimoire to open and show its text. His gaze traveled from the grimoire to her as his mouth hung open. He leaned over her head. “You have been well taught at the monastery,” he said, appreciating Menkar’s pupil. The Shaman had taken a lot of interest in teaching her. “Menkar is a good teacher.”

Tania’s lips curled up in a semblance of a smile as she looked at the grimoire. She tipped her head up as a pale blush rose on her cheeks at his compliment, her eyes becoming like the crescents of the moon as she smiled, soaking in the lovely feeling that she rarely felt formed inside of her. She shook her head gently and said, “Your Grace never taught me, however, he allowed me to learn all the ancient languages because I had wanted to. The servants in the monastery are not allowed to read or write, but when he became aware that I could read and write without any formal knowledge, he accepted my request to learn the ancient languages, though with reluctance. After that he allowed me to borrow books from the library, but I taught myself.” Her blush spread to her neck and below the tunic. This was the first time she had ever mentioned this to anyone.

She recalled when she was just fourteen summers old, she had climbed the narrow and low attic that was just above the library at the Cetus monastery. She had used the old and worn rafters of the wooden ceiling to push herself onwards. She wriggled herself through the narrow attic on her hands and knees as the air around her reeked of rodent droppings and mold. In the darkness of the space, Tania reached behind a loose board, moving it slightly and peered through an oval shaped hole at the monks who were reading the books with a proud look on their faces. Oh, how she envied them. She had asked her master for a book of the advanced languages, but he had refused her outright .

Tania closed her eyes remembering the book the monk beneath her had been reading. She had followed him for five days because he was reading the ancient Zharlis script. The monk would hardly read three pages before he would fall asleep on the table beside the book as usual. Quickly, she had brought out a piece of parchment from the inside ties of her gown, one she had stolen from the trash, and a piece of lead. She started copying the ancient symbols. She had to make it quick. In the process of turning the parchment over, she propped her elbows on the loose board. The board had splintered beneath her, causing her hand to fall through the hole it created and she sank into the rotten wood up to her shoulders.

The monk who had been sleeping, whirred and looked up at her arms that dangled out of the ceiling. She heard hurried footsteps and found herself staring into the eyes of the two men staring back at her.

“Tania!”

Tania paled. This was the last thing she needed.

“Come down!”

She managed to wriggle out of the attic through the hole. Then she jumped through it into the open space, landing on her feet nimbly.

“Tania, you dimwit slave!” the librarian lashed, his gray eyes beading. The other monk gaped at her as she removed the spider webs from her hair and brushed the dust from her gown.

“I— I am sorry,” she said, wincing at the glares they casted at her.

“How many times have I caught you here Tania?” asked the librarian, as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is the fourth time, my lord,” she replied innocently.

The pissed off librarian grabbed her upper arm and dragged her out of the library as she clutched the parchment and lead in her hand tightly while the other monk watched her being dragged out with a smirk on his face.

The next thing Tania knew was that she was thrown in the dungeons after receiving a beating from her master’s man, who she later came to know was his hunched spy.

“That is good,” Eltanin’s sharp voice brought her back to the present. “I want you to read and convert the language of this text into the common language.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied, becoming alert. He was so close to her that it was impossible to ignore the warmth that radiated out of his body to hers.

“Once this is done, I have more work,” he said, forcing her to look up at him.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Tania said with wide eyes. Their faces were so close and she thought that if he inched closer, their noses and lips might brush against each other. And for the first time, Tania found herself looking at his beautiful bow-shaped lips. A memory flashed across her mind. It was like deja-vu. She felt like she was staring at the same man who she had met here in the palace during her last visit. Her heart stuttered to a stop. The king was so… beautiful.

Why were her memories so addled that she didn’t remember the features of the man she saw the last time? It was as if someone had wiped all images from her mind and had done so in a hurry because the haze of it was still there. She hadn’t felt this helpless in her life.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She snapped her eyes to his. “N—nothing, Your Highness!” She hoped that her heart stopped pounding so hard whenever he was near. And she hoped that he would step back. But Eltanin—