Page 15 of Cruel Alpha: Season Two
“Very well, ma’am,” a server says. “I’ll get this to Lady Radcliffe right away.”
I nod as she exits, and then I grab another swatch of fabric. In my peripheral vision, I notice Creed watching me. When I glance over, meeting his gaze, there’s a faint smile and a telling look in his eyes. It’s a look I’ve only been given from a handful of those on Cas’s staff, but I recognize it immediately.
It’s respect.
And, apparently, this is the moment I’ve earned Creed’s.
8
A Bridge Too Far
Caspian
“Are you pleased, sir?”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, unable to find a single flaw in Mr. Trenton’s work. He’s served as the High Chamber tailor since my grandfather was clan alpha, and his skill level guarantees his position is secure.
“Perfect as always, Allen. Thank you.”
He bows with a faint smile, then gathers his things. Holding my breath, I pray he leaves quickly, so I don’t have to keeppretending. Pretending that a well-fitting suit makes any of this better.
He’s done and closes the door behind him, leaving Archibald and I alone in my dressing room. My movements are rough and angry as I undo the tie from around my neck, then snatch it off. Archibald stares as I yank off my jacket in the same manner.
“Are you all right, Sir? Is the suitnotto your liking?”
“It’s not the suit,” I grumble.
“Then, what is it? Is there anything I can do?”
I lift my gaze to meet his in the mirror. “Not unless you can somehow cancel the introductions scheduled for tomorrow.”
As the hours pass, and tomorrow draws closer, I’m boiling over, frustrated with the state of things. Archibald’s expression softens when he seems to finally be putting two and two together.
I hate this. Everything about it actually—the idea of accepting these women into my home, the thought of doing so causing Annalise pain.
“Damn it!”
My shoulders heave when I stop halfway through unbuttoning my shirt, fighting the urge to slam my fist against the mirror. And it isn’t until I begin to pace with hopes of settling my anger that I notice anothertremor rippling down my arm to my hand.
When I grip it to my chest, without needing to peer up, I feel Archibald’s eyes on me. “Have a seat, Sir. Please.”
“I don’t need to have afuckingseat. What I need is to be whole, to be as strong and virile as an alpha is meant to be. Not some… broken piece of shit slowly losing control of his own body.”
Quick, shallow breaths puff from my nostrils as I seethe, gritting my teeth as I think of how ironic it really is. To be born into our clan’s most formidable bloodline, only for thatvery bloodline to be tainted with a hidden weakness. One that guarantees my reign will be cut short.
“Perhaps we should consider canceling tomorrow’s festivities. I’m beginning to wonder if the excitement of the event isn’t the cause of your…malady.”
“My maladyis the reason tomorrow’s event is necessary, Archibald.” I glance down at my hand, feeling the vibration of it against my chest as I hold it there. “And the sooner the better.”
I don’t say as much out loud, but the episodes are becoming far more frequent, and I fear it’s only a matter of time before they worsen. When I glare at Archibald’s reflection, he lowers his head.
“Very well, Sir. I only wish I could make sense of things.”
“There’s nothing more to make sense of,” I snap. “With things progressing so quickly, there’s no telling how long I have left to produce an heir. Taking multiple mates puts the numbers on my side. The more offspring I can produce, the better off our clan will be, because should the eldest ever show signs of having inherited my illness,there will be viable options for replacement. Options that would mean the clan has a chance to be ruled by an alpha who isn’t… broken.”
The room falls silent, and I reflect on my decision, wishing there were some other way, but there simply isn’t.
“I understand, Sir, but perhaps if you returned evenoneof Phaedra Bellrose’s calls, she?—”
