Page 17 of Cruel Alpha: Season Two
Creed steps toward the door, opening it half a second before we step out. “Understood, but may I ask where you’re headed?”
My pace picks up, and I’ve got tunnel vision as I answer. “To find my brother.”
9
His Side
Caspian
Dimitri’s voicethunders down the hallway. Then, a powerful thud follows, echoing as I open the door to his quarters. He’s carrying on so loudly that he doesn’t hear me enter, observing his tantrum.
“What the fuck did you do?”
Hearing my voice, my brother falls silent as his rant ends, but his shoulders are still heaving with every labored breath he takes. Slowly, he turns to me, sweat dampening his face.
“Is this what it’s come to? You haven’t even heard my side of things, and you’re already taking her word as law?” he scoffs. “She didn’t waste any time running to herbeloved alphafor sympathy, I see.”
“I haven’t spoken with Annalise.” I pause to let that sink in, that she didn’t come whining to me at the first sign of trouble, and something flickers in his eyes at the realization. “Luckily, a concerned member of my staff thought enough to inform me of your outburst. They figured I should know what happened, so I could get out ahead of any brewing issues.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t attempt to guess who may have spoken up, but I wouldn’t give Creed up even if he did.
“You want to be heard so badly, so speak. Tell me your side of things.”
He begins to pace, his shoulders heaving with rage, and a low growl rips from his throat.
“There’s no order here.That’smy side of things,” he says. “Rank used to matter.Bloodused to matter. Now, there’s no respect. I may not be their alpha, but the same blood pumping throughyourveins pumps through mine. It used to mean something when I spoke.”
“You’re bitching to me about power?”
“Don’t fucking patronize me,” he growls. “Ever since you brought that scourge into the High Chamber, it’s like the clan’s been infected with a disease, eating away at all that our father, and ourfather’sfather, worked so hard to build.”
Dimitri has been crafty since we were children. Especially with his words, but I’m always thinking one step ahead of him.
“The only wolf in this room with the qualifications to hold aState of the ClanAddressis me, so save your sentimental speech and your bullshit. Tell me… what the fuck… happened.”
His glare hardens, and I feel him resisting submission, but my rank forces him to cower.
“I was in the South drawing room, doing my job,” he adds through gritted teeth, “when one of thoseincompetentmaidens broke a bottle of wine right at my feet, soaking my clothes, my shoes…”
Listening to him rant, my brow tenses. “How did you react?”
“Likeanyman would when he’s been disrespected. I pulled her to me and demanded that she clean it up.”
My brow tenses, thinking there’s more, but he falls silent.
“Did she refuse to do so?”
“No,” he seethes.
“Did she smile? Did she laugh? Did she show some other sign of finding amusement in your misfortune?”
There isn’tanyanswer that would excuse his actions, but I’m digging to see what exactly set him off.
“No.” His tone is somehow harsher than before.
I step closer. “So, what I’m hearing is, someone made an honest mistake, and your response was to humiliate them. Does that sound about right to you?”
“It wasn’t about whether she made a mistake or not. I saw an opportunity and I seized it.”
