Cold-Blooded Alpha by Eve Bale
Chapter Nine
After Luka made me laugh and Dayne stared at me for the longest time, he growled at Luka, and they both went off. When Dayne reappeared, he was alone, and he was even more growly than usual when he snapped at me to get up.
The pack run was over and we were going back to the house.
That was three days ago now, and I've barely seen Luka at all. I haven't seen much of Dayne either, but that's okay, I'm not complaining about how much time he's spending in his office with Luka since it's leaving me all the time in the world to explore my new home, and the forests.
It's even given me an opportunity to find a new friend in Regan. At least, I think we're friends, not that I've had many of those over the years.
She was waiting for me in the kitchen the morning after the run when I staggered down the stairs, still half-asleep.
Dayne had an unreadable expression on his face when he saw I had someone helping me make breakfast, which he warned me would be my new job going forward.
But he did nothing to stop Regan from showing me how to crack eggs without getting half the shells in the mix while on his way to his office.
Maybe it's pity that has her volunteering to be my friend, but I don't care.
I don't even mind cooking because Regan prefers to do the eggs and bacon, and I like mixing batter and doughs for pancakes and muffins. I like how scientific it feels to weigh all the ingredients out and take care to do it right.
I'm not expecting to make anything as good as the pie from the diner, or the cakes that Keith in my old pack used to make. This isn't about me being a pastry chef or making a career of it, but I like the control it gives me. I like knowing that I'm capable of doing something that turns out good, instead of messing it up the way I do everything else.
Things can still go wrong, of course, too long in the oven, or mixing too much, or not mixing enough. But mostly, it turns out okay, and even Dayne will pick up a muffin I've baked and bite into it without inspecting it for several seconds as he did the first and second day. What he's looking for, I’m not sure—maybe eggshells?
One afternoon just before dinner, while Dayne is doing whatever keeps him so busy in his office, he's staying up so late into the night that I rarely see him except at meals, I let Regan talk me into chilling in the den with the rest of the pack who are chatting and playing a game on the PlayStation 4, instead of hanging out by the lake.
It's not a place I feel comfortable in yet.
Like I said, being around people isn't easy for me, and I'm conscious I'm still an outsider to the pack, even though I'm Dayne's mate.
The rest of the pack has to know Dayne isn't showing the least bit of interest in me since I'm not wearing his scent, even though we've been sleeping in the same bed every night since I arrived.
While sharing the worn couch with Regan, when she asks about mine and Dayne's mating ceremony, I think nothing of telling her it was a traditional moon-blessing since none of them were there for it.
Distracted watching as a man with a scar running down one eye, long white-gray hair, and a sword battles with a towering beast-like creature on the wide-screen TV, it takes me a while to notice I've become the center of attention.
Regan clears her throat. "You mean you and Dayne had se—"
"Yes," I say, still staring at the game—The Witcher, I think one of the pack said it was called. "We did."
When the beast launches a sudden attack and the white-haired guy does nothing to defend himself, I glance over at Marshall, the guy I thought was Miller, the pack's third. I find the reason he's stopped tapping at the controls is to stare at me. And he's not alone.
But that's not all I've missed in my total absorption watching the game. All conversation, laughter, all sound in the den has ground to a halt.
"What is it? What's wrong?" I ask, as I take in the now silent pack spread out all over the couches, and stretched out on the thick wool rugs on the floor.
"Wrong? What could be wrong with an outdated ceremony that only serves to humiliate—"
"Regan." It's Dayne, and in his voice is a growl of warning.
Regan promptly shuts up and I turn to find him standing in the doorway where he's silently appeared.
"I don't understand," I say into the silence. "It's a traditional ceremony. All the packs do it."
"Maybe they did in the eighteenth century," someone, it sounds like Marshall, mutters under his breath.
Dayne doesn't bother with words this time. His growl is low and silences the room better than words can, leaving behind a faint taint of fear. And not all of it is mine.
Regan's words are rattling around in my head. Confusing me, yes, but unnerving me even more with a truth I'm not sure I want to—or even sure that I'm ready—to face.
What does she mean no one does the ceremony anymore? How do couples mate if not under the moon? For once my need for answers overcomes my fear.
"Are you saying there's another ceremony?" I ask no one in particular.
"Talis." Dayne is all alpha when he says my name, in expectation of perfect obedience. Of submission.
My eyes meet Dayne's, and he's gazing back at me steadily.
Seeing the look in his eyes, I know it's pointless to expect an answer from him. He's warned the others to not say anymore, so why would he shut them up if he wanted me to know the truth of the moon-blessing ceremony?
But that doesn't stop me from turning away, my eyes searching the quiet room.
"There is, isn't there? Dayne and I didn't need to have sex in front of the pack. That's what you meant, isn't it?"
No one answers, and no one will meet my eyes. But just before Jenna turns her face away from me, I catch the unmistakable pity flashing across her face. And that's when I know.
Once again, Uncle wanted another way to hurt me—to humiliate me in front of the pack, and he could do it so easily since he never let me attend mating ceremonies and pack events. I would never have known if he was lying or telling the truth when he told me sex in front of the pack happened in every mating.
He must have found it fucking hilarious how uncomfortable the prospect of having sex with a stranger in front of the pack made me. No wonder he didn't want me and Dayne meeting to get to know each other before the ceremony. Probably, he thought that Dayne would give his game away.
No doubt he would've loved rubbing it in my face if Dayne hadn't insisted we leave at the very night of our mating.
I'm surprised that Dayne would've agreed to it if it wasn't necessary. Unless Uncle made it a condition of whatever arrangement they have with each other. But it still strikes me as strange since I've met alphas before—not many, but some—and they never would have agreed to do something they didn't want to.
There are a couple of events that stick in my mind, and both times Uncle was in search of an alpha he could palm me off to in exchange for something, land or money, or whatever the fuck he wanted but didn't want to work for.
He took me to one when I was thirteen, and luckily for me, the alphas made Uncle leave because I was too young to be mated. They threatened to gut him if he even thought about bringing me back before I was eighteen.
To this day, I'm still bitter that they recognized Uncle treated me like shit, but none of them did anything to help me.
Later, not long after I turned eighteen, he took me to another alpha meeting in southern Colorado to get me mated to an alpha who had something he wanted. But once again, no one wanted him there, so he took it out on me, and was so worried someone would hear me crying after I ran off to lick my wounds we left.
We weren't there for even twenty-four hours before he took me home again.
I wonder what Dayne traded to get me, and why, since I'm so worthless to everyone else.
Without another word, I stand, forcing all my hurt and pain from my face, shoving all my emotion in a well deep down. It's close to overflowing, this well inside me, but for at least another day all I can hope is it will keep Dayne from seeing how deep my pain goes.
The silence in the den is so unnatural, I feel even worse that I'm the cause of it. I've heard them down here when I'm up in my room—laughing, joking, being happy and normal.
But the moment I step into the same room with them, I make things awkward. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have let myself think for even a second, I was one of them. Not when I know I never will be.
Refusing to lift my head, though I can feel the weight of their gazes following me, I make my way to the door, and to where Dayne is standing in front of it.
"Excuse me, please," I murmur, keeping my eyes on the ground.
When he doesn't move, I attempt to slip around him, only he mirrors me. He says nothing and I get the sense he's waiting for something. What? I can't say.
By now I know I can't speak, so I swallow hard, struggling to hold back the thing in my throat threatening to choke me.
My wolf paces in the cage I've trapped her in, enraged, a snarling, furious predator wanting nothing more than to use her claws on Dayne. To make him move.
The extent of her fury stuns me. She always wanted to protect me from Uncle, but the things he did to her were just as bad, if not worse, than what he did to me. If I let her out, I don't even have to guess what will happen—what she'll do.
I force her back, and she fights me every step of the way. It feels like it takes minutes, hours, when I know only seconds have passed. Finally, I have enough control over her that I can speak.
Raising my head, I meet Dayne's eyes. "Please excuse me, I'd like to get started on the dinner," I say, my voice soft, passive.
He gazes back at me blankly, and for a second, I catch the brief flicker of some emotion, but I know I can't be right. What have I done to disappoint Dayne?
But before I can think too much about the mystery of Dayne's disappointment, he moves out of my way and I step past him, keeping my gaze fixed on the kitchen door down the hallway.
I feel his gaze boring into my back until I step into the kitchen and leave him and the awkward silence behind, going straight to the refrigerator where I start pulling ingredients out to make a casserole.
The casserole is one I've made before, or rather one Regan made, and although she's usually the one to cook the dinner, this is a meal I've seen her throw together and I know I can replicate it with little effort since it's just chicken, rice and veggies.
Once I hear the conversation pick up, and the sound of the game in the background, I take a quiet breath and return to the refrigerator after depositing the first armful of veggies and meat on the counter.
But I don't grab the rest of the items I need. I use the door as a shield to hide me from anyone who might surprise me, and when I'm sure no one is in danger of following me into the kitchen, I bow my head and let all the tears I've been holding inside fall.
I'm sure no one hears a thing. Over the years, there's one thing I've learned to do better than anyone, and that's crying so quietly that no one can hear.
