The Alpha’s Pen Pal (Crescent Lake Book 1)

WESLEY

I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Never in my life had I been so wrong about something.

I thought for sure we would wrap everything up and wash our hands of this whole situation with Amber Forest by Sunday. But Sunday came and went. And then Monday. And then Haven’s birthday. And then Wednesday.

Almost a week. Almost a whole fucking week had gone by, and we were no closer to having all the evidence we needed than we had been before I pretended to agree to this stupid union.

Tim was drawing it out, demanding proof of our sincerity, asking us for things he had no right to ask of us before he’d give us the access we needed. But we had to play along, had to agree, and keep up our facade.

And that’s how I ended up agreeing to a small, private mating ceremony with Nicole that was scheduled for late Friday evening. I wouldn’t actually go through with it, of course, but it was the only way he would give us the account information for the merger.

And despite that, what he gave us had missing details. We just had to hope it would incriminate him enough—that the missing info would be enough to force the council to pull his title and dig more. We were still waiting to hear from them.

The ceremony would just be us, our parents, and one witness each. He didn’t care if his daughter’s mating ceremony was extravagant, as long as her luna ceremony was.

After I’d agreed to that stupid request, I’d shoved my phone into the bottom of my dresser. I couldn’t bear to see text after text and call after call from Haven come through and not answer.

It killed me and my lycan to ignore her, but it wasn’t worth the risk it would bring to her safety for me to answer. Or sneak out to see her.

I’d drunk myself into a stupor the night of her birthday, sitting in my dining room with Seb, Nolan, and Reid to make sure I didn’t leave to go find out if we were mates. I’d wanted to—I’d wanted it more than anything.

But I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold myself or my lycan back if she was my mate. So I stayed locked in my house, pretending I was the epitome of a playboy who just used her.

I didn’t even want to think about how she must feel. It had to be worse than how I felt. She probably felt used and abandoned. And it was all my fault, just like when I lost her the first time.

A knock on my front door brought me out of my spiral, and I answered it, surprised to find Nicole and Benjamin on my front porch.

“What?” I snarled, annoyed at their faces.

Even though it wasn’t their fault their dad was being a right pain in my ass, they were still a reminder of how, once again, I had fucked up and failed Haven.

“We come in peace,” Ben said, lifting his hands in surrender, a thick envelope held in one.

“What’s that?” I grunted, gesturing at it as I stepped back to let them in.

“It’s what you need,” he said, passing in front of me and walking to my dining room table.

“And what is it that you think I need?” I asked as I closed the door.

“Evidence?” Ben said with a small laugh, sitting down.

“All of it,” Nicole added as she sat next to him.

“How’d you get it?” I asked as I sat down across from them.

“I’ve had it. My dad is too cocky sometimes. He left it sitting out on his desk. I made photocopies of it. I’ve just been waiting for a chance to get it to you,” Ben replied.

“What does your dad think you’re doing here, then?”

“Nicole said she wanted to spend some time with you. Before she leaves for her ‘bachelorette’ tonight.”

“He thinks we’re fucking,” she said bluntly.

My lycan growled in my head, and I let one spill out of my mouth, too, not bothering to hide it from either of them.

“Oh, stop it,” she said. “You know I don’t want you like that. I want my father gone and locked up just as much as you and your father do.”

“Why?”

“He’s an ass,” she said, crossing her arms.

“He’s the reason our mother is dead,” Ben confessed.

“He killed her?”

“He might as well have,” Nicole grumbled.

“He cheated on her. Constantly. She finally gave up.”

“I’m sorry,” I told them. “Why don’t you just challenge him?” I asked Ben.

“Because I want everyone to know what kind of man he truly is. If I challenge him, that doesn’t happen. But if I help expose him, then everyone sees him for what he is. And I’ll have people who know I’m nothing like him. People who will vouch for me.”

“Thank you,” I said as I took the envelope from him. “I’ll get this to the council before the end of the day.”

“You’ll still need to keep the pretense of the alliance. Let him think you still plan to go through with the intimate union ceremony on Friday so the council has time to make their move. If you back out now, he’ll get suspicious, and who knows what he’ll do.”

I sighed but nodded. “I know. I don’t want to, but I know I have to.”

“It will be over soon, and then you can work on making it up to your girl,” he said.

“If she lets me,” I muttered. “I can’t believe your dad is allowing you to have a bachelorette party.”

“Oh, what daddy’s little girl wants, she gets,” Nicole said with a sly smile as she stood up and Ben followed her. “He can’t refuse my wolf pup eyes and my pout or my whining.”

“So you’re manipulative,” I chuckled, walking them to the door.

“Only with him,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, thank you for helping us,” she added as I opened the door.

“I should be thanking you. How’d you know what my dad was trying to do, anyway?” I asked, leaning against the frame after they exited my house.

“Just a lucky guess, honestly,” Ben shrugged.

I nodded, then shook his hand. “Well, I will see you on Friday, I guess.”

“Wait,” Ben said, looking down at my hand, then back at me. “Give her your shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give Nicole your shirt. It will help make it seem like you two have been… intimate,” he said with a grimace.

I growled, and Nicole rolled her eyes at me. “He’s right, though, Wes. The more we can play this up, the better,” she said.

My growl didn’t subside, but I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it at her without a word. The only consolation was it wasn’t my favorite shirt, my Stanford shirt. That one was still with Haven.

I watched them leave, praying to Selene that what Ben had given to me would be enough and this would all be over by the end of the day on Friday. And that Haven would understand and forgive me when all was said and done.

HAVEN

The music swirled and swelled around me in the studio as I danced. My feet and legs stretched and moved me throughout the room, my anger and pain fueling my movements.

I performed each step from memory, connecting them to each other with ease, even though it had been years since I’d danced this piece.

But it was my piece. My choreography. My story and my emotions that brought the steps together.

I hit the final pose and held it, panting in the otherwise silent studio. My eyes squeezed shut as I held back the tears threatening to fall.

Applause from behind me forced my eyes back open and pulled me out of my pose as I looked to see who had intruded on my studio time.

Pale blonde hair and blue eyes met mine, and I held back an eye roll.

Imogen.

Just when I’d thought my week couldn’t get any worse. I should have kept that thought to myself.

“I’m almost done, and then you can have the studio,” I told her, moving towards the mirror to get my water bottle.

“That piece is really beautiful,” she said, stepping into the room and dropping her bag on the floor. “Did you choreograph it yourself?”

I nodded as I sipped my water. “For my Dad,” I whispered. “Not my adoptive dad, but—never mind.”

I shook my head and closed my water, then moved to the stereo to unplug my phone from the system.

I didn’t need to explain anything to her, least of all my complicated childhood and family life. I didn’t need to explain I choreographed the piece at fifteen to deal with the trauma from my childhood. That I created it so I would have a way to tell my story, even if no one but me knew that’s what the piece was about.

“You need to let go,” she said from behind me.

“Excuse me?” I asked, whipping my head around. The ends of my two French braids whipped around my neck as I turned. “What are you talking about?” I added, furrowing my brow.

“Of your center,” she clarified, walking closer, hesitantly. “At the end, when you do the attitude? If you let go, it will be more fluid and natural.”

I stared at her, not moving from my spot by the stereo.

“You have the technique. The foundation. All of that is second nature to you, and it’s lovely, but sometimes you have to let yourself let go of that strict technique. When the style or choreography calls for it. Then your dancing will really move to the next level.”

“Are you… giving me advice?” I asked.

She ignored my question. “Try it,” she said, nodding towards the center of the studio.

I turned on my music, starting it just before the spot she’d referred to. Then I walked to the center and ran through the ending section, letting go of my strict hold on my center like Imogen had suggested on the attitude.

When the music ended, I dropped the pose and turned, finding Imogen with her phone out, recording me.

“Come over here! Watch!” she said, waving me over with a smile.

I trudged over to her, trying to hide my displeasure and annoyance at having to stand near her. I wasn’t sure what game she was playing with me. She never gave me the time of day during classes or rehearsals, had all but insulted me at the gala, and now, she wanted to act like we were best friends? I was wary, for sure.

She handed her phone to me, and I watched the video, not seeing anything different from every other video I had of myself doing this piece.

“Okay?” I asked, raising my brow.

“Watch the next one,” she said, swiping it to the left and pressing play.

I blinked, flicking my eyes to her and back to the phone. I hadn’t even realized she’d been there long enough to record me when I was dancing the first time. But I didn’t question her or say anything. I just watched.

“See? Right there,” she exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

I frowned and rewound it, pushing her finger away so I could see better.

“There!” she cried again. “See the difference? See how it just takes that entire section to the next level?”

I nodded and handed her back her phone. I could see the difference. And I felt it, too, when I was dancing. But her sudden friendliness still befuddled me.

“Thanks,” I said, turning back to grab my phone.

“Of course,” she said, picking her bag back up and moving it over near my water bottle. “Sometimes an outside perspective or fresh eyes can make a big difference in our execution of a piece. Even one we’ve done for years and think we have down perfectly.”

I nodded again, disconnecting my phone from the speaker.

“Do you mind watching me run through one of my pieces for The Nutcracker?” she asked as I picked up my bag.

I looked at her as she sat on the floor, stretching. “Sure.” I sighed, dropping my bag back on the floor and plopping down next to it.

I crossed my legs under me and unlocked my phone as Imogen kept stretching. I checked for any messages or missed calls from Wesley, even though I knew there would be none. But I couldn’t help but hope, anyway.

I blew out a breath and tossed it in my bag, my head leaning back against the mirror and my eyes shutting for a moment as I quelled the rage brewing in the pit of my stomach. As much as she ground my gears, Imogen didn’t need my ire accidentally directed at her.

She cleared her throat, and I tilted my head down to find her staring at me. “I wanted to apologize,” she muttered.

I raised my brow at her. “For?”

“I haven’t exactly been nice to you. Or welcoming,” she said. “In truth, I was kind of jealous,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Everything is so easy for you. Not even twenty-one and already a soloist. The way you learn the choreography so easily, and your effortless performances…” She shook her head and sighed. “Meanwhile, I’m over here working my ass off to learn all these new pieces and keep them straight and make my dancing look like that of a deserving principal.”

“I work hard too,” I told her. “I put in tons of extra hours here, and I never miss a Saturday class. Just because you don’t see the work doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

“I never said my jealousy was logical. Just that it existed,” she scoffed.

“And I’m twenty-one now,” I pointed out.

“Semantics,” she said, waving me off. My lips twitched in a halfhearted laugh. “My point is, I was jealous, and I treated you poorly because of that, and I’m sorry.”

I blew out a breath. “Ballet is hard enough as it is. We should be lifting each other up, not tearing each other down.”

“I’ve never really been good at making friends,” she said with a shrug as she crossed one arm in front of her chest to stretch her shoulder.

“Me neither,” I replied with a one-shouldered shrug of my own.

She smirked as she swung her arms and then reached up and behind her back to stretch more. “Seems we have more in common than I thought,” she told me.

She stood up then and plugged her phone into the system. I stayed in my spot on the floor against the mirror as she ran through her piece, giving her feedback and laughing with her when she missed a count or messed up a step, my own stresses and worries forgotten for the moment.

“What do you mean you didn’t do anything for your birthday?” Imogen asked as she picked her stuff up, and we walked towards the door after she finished rehearsing.

“I mean, I had dinner with my old foster family, but other than that, I didn’t do anything.”

“But it’s your twenty-first! You have to do something big!” I shrugged, and Imogen sighed and rolled her eyes. “Hold, please,” she said, pulling her phone out and tapping away rapidly on it.

I paused in the doorway, adjusting my bag on my arm as I waited for her.

“Aaand done!” she exclaimed.

“With what?” I asked, just as my own phone vibrated in my hand.

I looked down at it and internally cringed as I read the text flashing across the screen, the text that Imogen had sent out to every company employee.

COME TO MOONLIGHTERS ON FRIDAY NIGHT AT 8PM TO CELEBRATE OUR VERY OWN SOLOIST HAVEN KENWAY’S 21ST BIRTHDAY!

“Imogen!”

“Haven!”

“Why?”

“Because, one, you turned twenty-one and need to shout it from the rooftops, and two, you need to stop moping about that boy. If he can’t realize what he’s missing out on by ignoring you, then you need to move on.”

I gaped at her and gave an incredulous laugh. “I’m not… I haven’t—” I shook my head and sighed. “Fine. Fine. You know what? You’re right. I deserve to have fun for my birthday. I’m not going to let him ruin it,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

“That’s the spirit!” Imogen declared. “Now, let’s go shopping for club outfits!”