Rejection on the Alpha #1

CHAPTER 12: Testing The Ruler

Martin was playing a dangerous game, he slept soundly next to me, half naked and contrasting compared to the shadowed sheets of his covers. While guests were present, we had to act in love, but what I saw in his mind earlier this night was a deceptive plan I knew was likely targeted at me, but how he was going to utilise it was still unknown. I couldn’t see that far into his thoughts, I couldn’t target his feelings the same as he can, I’m worried that’s a part in accepting a bond I never wanted in the first place.

I stare at the doors to the room, escaping was out of the question, but something was urging me to get out of the room, find something called the Roman library and meet someone there. In silence, my feet walked, the door opened, I didn’t feel compelled more so than someone suggesting the thought into my mind, and I move along corridors I still had yet to know. Each wall too similar, each wooden floorboard that had its own creak, it’s own pattern.

That got infuriating.

Until I found the golden plate with Roman engraved and I raise a brow when I open it, revealing just who was seated reading an old script, in a chestnut robe with golden eyes that meet mine from his seat. I step inside, bowing, “Cardinal.”

“No need for formality, child. How are you?” He asks me, standing from his position. I move towards him and embrace my old professor.

“Drowning.” I say truthfully.

“As are most for newly mated alphas. I’ve heard the stories, the rumours, but I thought they were just that, rumours?” He wonders, sitting down beside me while I relax muscle and skin, looking at him before needing some sort of head rest.

I inhale deeply, “If only they were. No, it’s probably all true. I didn’t know elders would come to check each candidate before the tournaments?” I question, facing him now.

He sighs, lowering the book to the table, reading about flowers. Interesting.

Not, while he was an excellent professor, I’d never call him fun.

“The anger an alpha male can emanate is far too destructive for my liking. Have you heard of a flower known as the Black Dahlia? Superbly intriguing, with its intricate and poisonous qualities. Nicolai grows it in his private balcony, you should look into locating that.” He says.

I still as I look at him, “What did you say?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh, a forget me not spell, what a boring hag your mate is? If you can even truly call him that. You do recall I have a certain insight on things. When you and the man you know as Martin, more so his middle name, consummated a rather forceful agreement in the Alexandrian library downstairs, he made you wed him. Cheeky male, but quite daft, I’ve removed what he tried to make you forget, you’ll recall it soon enough. Hopefully before you must show your skills in front of the other elders and myself, won’t that be a laugh.” He chuckles. Always speaking like branches in a tree, says one thing, hence one branch, and moves on to something different enough to be a separate branch, but still part of the same tree.

Now I’m being cryptic.

All I’m saying is he’s giving me information in all sorts of directions, I need to find out how they’re related, “This kind of training was in your high school class of mine, lecture thirty—best to review, you’ll be surprised how handy high school is. No matter your choice of words regarding prison with outside privileges but still a five year sentence.” He tells me, patting my hand.

I blink, “Black Dahlia, a poisonous flower on his own private balcony, how’d you find that?” I start with. How’d he find the time to notice that too?

“He drinks it in his tea to control his lycanthrope around you. You should look into his heritage, you might see reason behind his aggressive behaviour. But then again, I wouldn’t go easy on him.” He tells me, as if we were just discussing the weather.

“You called him Nicolai. Nicolai—what?” I ask.

He gives me a look, “Child, you cannot be that naive—he has not and never has been a Julius.”

I freeze where I am, my blood thinning and running ice cold and that’s not just because of the weather.

“If—if he’s not a Julius...then what—um—what is he?” I sit up, staring at him in a manner so intense I think I might break. I felt it, that strange crack in my heart. What was he saying? Point out the obvious, professor.

He studies me, “Your mate is a princeling. Darkling as a matter of fact, before he was exiled.”

I stare at him, “Exiled?”

My voice wasn’t mine in that moment.

Nicolai Darkling.

That son of a bitch, “Before you go to kill him again, I believe we do need to talk. It’s in fact of vital importance, regarding a prophecy I know may frighten you, dear, but it is imperative you—are you listening? Celestine. Celestine Colton, this is important.”

I couldn’t hear.

I couldn’t see.

That bastard was dead, fucking dead, “Excuse me a moment,” I breathe out, before I’m running, my feet know where to take me, I shove past the other line of elders, almost stopping when a shiver of something electrical shoots down my spine when I breath past one of them and see the piercing blue eyes before it fades and I keep running. I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t pause. Not for a moment.

The doors almost rip off their hinges, and he was already awake, I’m fuming when he just stares those silver eyes into mine, “Elias Cardinal is now a person of interest for me.” Is the first thing he says to me.

“You were looking into my mind,Nicolai?!”

He scrutinises me, “I am of Royal blood, if you truly believe I cannot figure out every time you leave my bed, you will never understand what being a Royal, let alone a mate, means.” He mutters, dropping down, pinching the bridge of his nose. My clenched fists whiten. Nikolai Martin Darkling. The exiled prince, the eldest of the Darkling heirs and yet here he was. I wanted him to feel pain for this kind of betrayal, but was it truly betrayal, or him just not wanting to show me who he was?

“The latter. Definitely.” He answers my rhetorical question.

I felt my lashes flicker, I release the tension in my fingers, “Because I won’t accept you?”

My question hasn’t caught him off guard, “Because you still don’t. At least not yet. Would you believe me if I told you I was exiled, ripped from my position on the throne because my council chose fit that my brother was better suited?” He asks me, leaning up on the pillows, his torso and chest on full display. I stare at him.

“There’s more than that.”

“There is, but only once you embrace the bond will you really know me, my reasons and why I must do everything to rein in a lycanthrope, not just a normal alpha werewolf, when every day I am pushed and pressurised to mate with you, impregnate you...even if love is not in the picture. Though, that is on your side of these courts.” He says to me, looking dark, thinned out but drained on the bed.

I stare at it, at the sheets that fall from him.

I grab the covers and slide in, he side glances me while I face him, “I saw something in your head, when you kissed me, you were laced with deception of some kind. It was dark and bloodthirsty, almost. Do you plan to kill me if I don’t comply? Is this some cliche twist that you don’t get your throne unless you have a mate?” I ask him, firing questions.

He studies me, “Those are one of the reasons, but there are more things in play. Complicated things. When you accept me, you’ll learn what they are.” He taps my nose tiredly, moving the pillows.

I rip one out from under his head, “Your name isn’t even Martin. Do you truly believe you can fall asleep after I just found out you’re the long lost heir to the Darkling throne?” He sits up begrudgingly and grabs the pillow I took. Propping it up behind him, he stares at me.

“Then let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?” I ask.

“The kind where you get answers, but I get my intimacy.” He points at me, not touching me. I stare at all of him, I wanted to say ‘No’, a part of me was yelling at me to say No, but the part of me that didn’t moves forward, closer, but not quite touching him. He leans forward, not an inch from my skin, before his head turns and nudges to the doors, they close on that silent command alone and then a kiss dances along my covered shoulder. I tense, his lips move up, “Ask away.” He murmurs, against my neck, I’m forced to drop against the propped pillows. His lips brush up, past my carotid artery before he he moves so he’s in between my legs, his arms under me.

“Why did you hide your true identity?” I ask him, tilting my head up when his forces me to do so. Those spikes strands were surprisingly soft against my chin. Fingers massage my lower back, arching me and I tense further at the feeling of something hard against my thigh.Felt like a third fucking leg, Jesus.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t—

“Because letting your council know me is putting myself in front of the red target,” He whispers against me, pulling back only a little, he stares into my eyes, “You tremble when I touch you?”

“No, I don’t.” I mutter.

He scrutinises me, “Have you been touched before?” He asks me.

“No.” I say honestly.

He brushes a finger just along the v-line of the shirt I’m wearing, it rolls down my skin, I breathe in slowly, eyeing him, but his eyes follow his finger, “Why is the council a threat to you?” I ask him.

“They hate me. They hate what we stand for.” He seductively sucks against my skin, I still the tremble, he moves my hair aside, lips that dance down my neck, he sits up and pulls me on top of him, lowering onto his back. He closes his eyes with his hands on my hips, he doesn’t move me, thank god. But he keeps me there, like this is the intimacy he spoke of, “Touch me.”

“Where?” I ask.

“Anywhere you like.” His lips accent each word he fuses into the air that catches my ears, drops down sun I process his every word. I run my finger along his brow, tracing bone, then skin, I draw it over his temple, through his hair, his grip on my waist thigh tens before it loosens. I snap my eyes to his closed ones, lowering down so my head is just above his.

“What do you stand for?” I ask him in a dead whisper.

His eyes open, they’re tired and masked again as he searches my eyes, “A dictatorship, one kingdom to rule every clan,” He mutters, reaching up to move a strand of my hair, “I’ve never met someone so beautiful.” He whispers.

“I do not care for beauty, but honesty.” I murmur.

He raises an eyebrow, “You do not care that I think you’re beautiful, or are you embarrassed, thinking no man would call you beautiful? Even as a little girl who just wanted a home but was stuck watching other kids get greeted with one?” He’s been in my head, I shouldn’t be surprised, in fact I wasn’t.

I look over his forehead, “And you—the polar opposite. Having a home, a family, but not wanting any of it.” I’ve been in his head too.

He slides a hand up my shirt, tapping my spine, rolling his fingertips down and then back up in a soothing, calming notion that has me wondering what is in his gaze that is stopping me from killing him now. What is in his words that poetically try to capture my attention? Or my pity?

“Touché.” He whispers.

“Were you afraid to tell me who you were?” I ask next.

He sighs, “When I first saw you, after waiting so many years, I’d finally found the woman who is supposed to be my lifeline, the support and the love I wish I saw in my parents, I was going to right their wrongs. I was going to make my female happy. Funny how desire changes once you stare it in the face...or in this case, her green eyes that never smile.” A shot shoots down my abdomen. My eyes penetrate his.

“You have not given me reason to smile.” I argue.

He grips my wrist to keep me caging both my arms around his head, “I have you just keep holding back.” Then he lifts up and kisses me, long and hard. I inhale, relaxing my limbs, forcing myself to relax them as I curl a short strand between my fingers, he cups the back of my thigh, the other curls around my ribs as he smooths a sweet, but demanding kiss against me and soon do I realise it’s not sweet, it doesn’t elicit sparks, but he heats his abdomen against mine. My shirt is removed, and I forget.

I forget for a second that I wore no bra. He smiles in the kiss, flushing down against me after we’re turned, “I haven’t asked enough.” I grumble. He clasps me down, pinned under him and I know I don’t flush, but I still feel. I feel the beat of his rushing heart a it matches his eyes. His skin of hard planes while I felt soft, breasts weren’t hardened and it brought that challenge into those eyes again. Silver storms that looked ready as he lowers his head down and kisses along both.

“Then ask twenty after this.” He pants against me.

A part of me wanted to let him keep going, but it wasn’t right now. He kisses up my thigh, inhaling, “At least some part of you wants me.” He says against my skin, I understood the female anatomy, I didn’t understand this though. Is this what he called intimacy. I guess it was, compacted in passion and desire and frustration. However, he must feel my change of mood.

He grabs my shirt and places it next to me, hips lower down to mine, “You’re missing out on this.” He groans against my ear, his hips move once, a light thrust. A gentle brush—fuck it, whom I kidding, there’s nothing gently about what’s hanging between his legs. He was ready too, perking up in response, wanting, wanting, wanting. He grumbles in against my neck, soothing down against me, he stops moving.

He stops moving.

“Next question.” He mumbles against my skin.

His shoulders were just over my bare chest, he moves, kissing my chin, tilting my head back and all. He presses butterfly kiss up my neck, fingers that squeeze my curls as if he were squeezing the blankets, “Will you use me to get your crown?” I ask him.

“Will you run from me to fix your life?” He asks me.

I snap my eyes open, “Wait, what?”

He pulls my arms around his neck, fingers that massage my lower back, “You’re terrified of me. Not because you’re scared, but because you’re scared of what I can change in your routinised little life. Do you not see what I can give you? Do you not see what I can elicit if you dropped your shields?” —if I removed your clothes is what he fucking means, “—do you not understand the power you will have on a throne we will both cherish and run together? Must I paint a clear picture or will you see that no one,no one,would refuse me and yet all you have been doing to us is destroying the love we can have for each other? The life I would give you if you just clasped my my and let me lead you, let me guide you?”

Let him control me?

He studies me, “Sometimes, yes.”

My eyes sharpen, “A king is nothing without his Queen,” I whisper.

He nods down to me, “He truly is. Think of the people we would serve, the things we could do, the laws we can change—”

“But a Queen can be everything without her king.”

My bite is sharper than his.

His eyes darken.