Cold-Blooded Alpha by Eve Bale

Chapter Twenty-Three

This time it isn’t Dayne being the one closed-off and distant, it’s me.

The quiet contentment which silenced the ever-present fury of my wolf disappears.

In the hours since Dayne outright lied to me, I’ve felt it brewing—building.

The fury, that is.

He and Luka stayed out for so long that I’d been in bed for hours when I heard them slipping back into the house, before Dayne’s office door opened, and the low hum of their conversation cut off entirely.

I have no idea when he came to bed.

It’s the middle of the night when I wake to the heated press of Dayne’s arm wrapped snug around my waist.

I grind my teeth so loud I know if I don’t get control of myself, I’ll wake him up. And a confrontation like that, when I’m only just barely holding my wolf back won’t be good. For anyone.

So, I slip out of bed and go to the bathroom.

Not to use the toilet, but to get a grip on myself.

Almost an hour passes before I return to bed, making sure I keep as far away from his side without ending up on the floor.

The sky is brightening when I finally feel calm enough to close my eyes.

Only what feels like minutes later I’m ripped from my sleep by the incessant beeping of the alarm I’m borrowing from Jenna. Without it, there’s no way I’d wake up before ten.

Once again, my fury nearly overtakes me that all of this, this waking at stupid o’clock is because of Dayne. Dayne and his stupid desire for me to make breakfast.

Not that you’d be able to guess the state of my mind.

On the surface, I’m cool and calm, and not a hint of emotion passes my face.

I know this because I make damn sure of it when I stare at my reflection in the mirror after showering and brushing my teeth.

All through breakfast, I smile and chat away with Regan and Jenna while Dayne sits beside me. Close enough for our arms to brush against each other.

But inside, I’m screaming.

And after, I rise and clear the table.

Dayne remains seated in his chair with a mug of coffee in hand, which is unusual since he’s always in his office with Luka doing… whatever the hell he’s always doing, and he’s watching me. I can feel the weight of his stare on me, yet he doesn’t say a word.

It’s strange that nearly two days ago I was on my way to letting him into my heart. Potentially on my way to loving him because of how happy he made me on my saddest day. But clearly, I was reading too much into things because no mate would tell an outright lie the way he did.

Mates don’t lie like that.

Not to each other.

“Talis?” Dayne’s voice is a rumble of sound behind me as I plunge my hands into the sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes to fish out the first plate.

I could shove it all in the dishwasher, but today I need something to keep my hands busy. I need to focus on something outside of myself, instead of the hurt and the betrayal inside.

“Yes?” I grab the brush and start scrubbing before forming a pile on the counter beside me so I can rinse them all out once the sink is empty.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong?” I’m a little rougher than I would like with one of the plates, and it clashes loudly with another. “What could be wrong?”

I move onto the next, and then the next, stacking them.

All the while my anger is building, growing, blowing out of control. So much so, I’m regretting having chosen to wash the dishes.

The last thing I should be doing right now is handling anything breakable.

On the heels of my thought, the sound of broken crockery echoes loudly, and I suck in my breath as a sharp edge cuts into my palm.

Even though I didn’t hear him move, Dayne’s hand is there, gripping my wrist as he steps close enough for his body to press against mine.

I tense and try to yank my hand free.

“Stop struggling.” His voice is mild as he unplugs the sink and turns on the faucet.

He holds my hand under the stream of cool water, revealing the jagged slice on my palm. It’s no longer painful, and already I can feel it healing.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs close to my ear.

I stare as the water tinged red with my blood disappears down the pipes, leaving behind a few soapy dishes and mugs sitting at the bottom of the sink.

“Nothing is—”

With a growl, he spins me around and leans his hips against mine, trapping me against the sink, and glaring down into my face. “Don’t. Lie.”

My bitter laugh fills the kitchen. “Funny you should mention lying.”

Dayne’s gaze sharpens as his eyes search my face. “What does that mean?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” I say, and move to slip around him.

He doesn’t move a muscle. “How about you tell me instead?”

I make another attempt to escape. “How about I don’t.”

I let him see this is not something I’m backing down from.

Even though I know I shouldn’t be meeting his gaze like this, I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes away.

Something inside me won’t let me.

In the silent kitchen, where a few remaining pack members have no doubt abandoned their breakfast to see how this new clash between us will resolve itself, we stare at each other. Dayne and I.

Feeling liquid sliding down my hand. I ignore it.

“I gather from your words you’re accusing me of lying to you,” he says.

“Do you? How clever of you.” My voice is so thick with sarcasm that I don’t miss someone—if I had to guess I’d say it was Jenna—sucking in a breath.

Silence.

“Oh, is this you trying to intimidate me?” I say, cutting like a whip.

Despite my fury, I can’t let myself go so far that my wolf uses it to force a change. I can’t let Dayne see the wolf in my eyes, so I use brute force to keep her buried.

“No.” He presses closer, making sure I see his eyes shift from man to wolf, and back again. “You’d know if I was trying to intimidate you.”

“Why did you even mate with me?” I can’t hold back my question anymore. I need to know. Why the hell am I even here if he’s not even going to pretend to treat me like a mate?

“Because I wanted you. Why didn’t you tell anyone it was your birthday?”

We stare at each other.

He wanted me? Why the hell would he want me? And how did he know it was my birthday when I can’t imagine uncle would have told him?

“I asked you a question.” His tone warns me to not even think about fucking around.

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do something about this cut, or don’t you care that I’m bleeding all over the floor?”

His gaze dips to my bloody hand.

Easing back a step, he grips me by my hips and turns me, one hand closing around my wrist and the other going to the faucet.

Then he’s stepping closer, as he runs more water under my hand.

Although everything in me wants to fight, to shove him back again, when Dayne lowers his head and I feel the press of his lips against my hair as one arm goes around my waist, I close my eyes and go still.

I lose track of time as he holds me.

When I feel my hand going numb from the cold, I peel my eyes open. “It’s stopped bleeding.”

Why does he feel so good pressed against me? Why is it when he holds me like this, he just sucks up the need, the desire for me to fight?

For one second his grip tightens around me, and I hear him inhale deeply before he raises his head, slowly, as if he’s forcing himself to do it.

“We’re having a football game tonight, and a BBQ as we do for every pack member’s birthday. You won’t disappear into the forest today. And after, you and I are going to talk.”

With my gaze fixed on his hand wrapped around my wrist, I don’t say a word.

This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

But why then do I feel a rising sense of panic, the knowledge that I’m not going to like what he has to say. That his idea of talking is going to involve more than just his answering my questions, and that he’s going to expect answers from me.

Answers that’ll involve talking about Uncle Glynn.

“About what?” I ask, my mouth going dry, even knowing he won’t tell me.

“Everything.”

My heart lurches, and I’m sure he must hear it, yet he chooses not to comment on my strange response.

And with that, he releases me before he steps back.

I hear him walking away, out of the kitchen and down the hallway to his office, but I don’t turn around.

As I keep my gaze fixed on the jagged cut on my palm, one word keeps repeating in my head. It’s a word that strikes terror straight to my heart.

Everything.