Sydney
The sun hasn’t risen yet when a peel of anguished cries thunders down the hallway. Brie’s image flashes in my mind–Brie being held to that altar while Gabriel taunts me, taunts her–and I’m out of bed in a second.
My heart hammers against my ribs to the point I find it hard to fill my lungs with air. The entire room spins, and I can barely get my bearings.
But then I remember where I am. The deep navy wallpaper and dark wood crown molding comes into view as gray, early morning sunlight ghosts through the silken curtains.
I slowly sit on the edge of my bed and lower my face into my hands.
It was just a dream. Another nightmare. Everything is fine. Brie is safe with her parents in Veiled Valley. Everyone is safe and secure.
Another faint cry sounds from down the hallway, and I’m up again, sprinting through the near silent second floor toward the source of the sound.
My mind revolts against my body. I can’t slow down. My heart thunders in my chest as I yank open the door to the small sitting room connected to Sarah’s bedroom expecting to find her dead on the ground, her neck slit from cheek to cheek, and Gabriel holding her son in the air by his ankles but…
“Get out!” she shrieks, trying to cover her exposed breasts.
I close my eyes and turn for the door, mumbling an incoherent apology at the very moment I run directly into the doorframe.
“Fuck!” I hiss, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I step to the side and try to edge out of the room.
“Alpha–wait,” Sarah whispers, sucking in a breath. It’s obvious I startled the hell out of her when I barged in here without so much as knocking. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’m sorry–”
“Don’t apologize,” I rush out, not risking a glance at her over my shoulder in the event she’s still exposed from the waist up. “I shouldn’t have–”
“It’s all right, it’s your house. I’m sure his crying woke you–”
“I was awake–”
“I’ll try to keep him settled so he doesn’t bother–”
“Neither of you are bothering–”
“I don’t think he’s used to being so warm,” she says loudly, drowning out my rushed reply. We’ve been talking over each other, trying to explain both of our actions.
I slowly turn to look at her. Her cheeks go pink as she cradles the baby like a football, her other hand resting on her chest, where the fluffy, baby blue blanket I picked up at the store yesterday covers her breasts.
“He’s been cold since he came into this world. This must be a shock for him.” She gently bounces him, her violet eyes locked on mine in the darkness.
I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like hers before. Right now, they're pale lavender. When I found her in her apartment yesterday morning, her eyes had burned like polished amethyst, a much darker, richer shade.
I thought about those eyes all day yesterday while I roamed the NZ with Ryan looking for her landlord to no avail.
I spent the entire evening at my father’s castle grilling the Alpha of Crescent City, Magnus, about his lack of control of the mile-long piece of territory that technically falls under his jurisdiction.
Then I came home and immediately went to bed, sleeping for the first time in what feels like years.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.
I blink, hurtling back to reality. “I am. I didn’t mean to barge in here like that and startle you. I thought something was wrong.”
“You’re not used to babies crying,” she says absently, adjusting the blanket.
I turn away again, my hand gripping the still open door, as she adjusts the now sleeping baby in her lap and makes quick work of slipping her arms into what I believe might be one of the fancy pajama shirts Cosette got me for Solstice a few weeks ago.
I chew my lower lip for a moment before turning back to her. “I’m just not used to having guests in my home. That’s all.”
She nods, her eyes downcast on the baby.
I haven’t heard her say his name yet.
I should leave. I should give her some space. I should go find Cosette and ask her again how yesterday went, prying every detail out of her until I get the full picture.
But I stay, my feet locked in place.
“Do you have family you can call?” I ask.
She shakes her head, rocking the baby. “I don’t.”
Curiosity gets the best of me as I gently close the door and step with silent feet to the ottoman across from her. “What pack were you born into?”
Her eyes meet mine as I sit. “I’m not sure. My parents never aligned themselves with a pack, from what I know about them.”
“Then you were born in the NZ?”
“No, I wasn’t.” She keeps her eyes on me as I rest my elbows on my knees, sitting only a few feet away from her.
Still, from this distance, her scent briefly clouds my senses. She smells like lavender soap, which is likely Cosette’s doing. A vanilla and bourbon hair oil has been laced throughout her long, stick-straight blonde hair. But there’s something else behind all of that, past the scent of milk and baby-powder.
I can’t describe it, but it's something familiar.
“How did you end up alone?”
She looks back down at the baby and runs her knuckle over the curve of his cheek. “I grew up out east, on a rural farm. It was a group home,” she tells me, refusing to meet my gaze. “That’s where I learned my trade. I’m good with plants. As a teenager, I came here to Crescent City to attend school and studied botany.” She smiles wistfully like some memory now takes up space in her eyes, but blinks, and the vision clears, leaving what I can only describe as tattered remains behind. “I never finished school. I worked at one of the greenhouses in the city and saved up until I could start my own shop, but I… I chose the wrong place, apparently.”
She meets my eyes again, searching.
“Did Cosette explain that you’re not in trouble for anything?”
She swallows hard, glancing at her son. “Yes, she… she did.”
I nod, watching the torrent of emotions play over her stunning face.
She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I remember feeling exactly like this the first time I saw her when I came to her shop a few months ago. There’s an exotic air about her, something both new and ancient, like she was crafted by some long lost god or goddess.
Even in the dim light, she shines. I wonder if she’s aware of it.
I look away from her, staring out the window instead. The sun is still barely above the horizon, but it’s cloudy, and snow falls in gentle, silver sheets. “There’s a cottage in Shadowcrest that’s being prepared for you. It should be ready by tomorrow.”
“What? But I’m not–I’m not part of your pack.”
“That doesn’t matter. You have nowhere to go, and you have an infant with you. I can’t allow you to return to the NZ.”
“My shop is there–”
“My warriors cleared it out yesterday.”
When I meet her eyes again, her cheeks are a deep crimson. She looks at me with uncertainty, maybe even skepticism. “Why?”
“Because you’re alone, penniless, and my morals won’t allow me to just toss you back out in the street.”
“We’re not your responsibility,” she argues, clutching her son to her chest.
“I’m an Alpha,” I tell her.
“You’re not myAlpha,” she retorts with a shocking amount of attitude.
I raise my brows at her.
“I mean,” she corrects, clearing her throat and mumbling something under her breath before continuing, “I’m not part of your pack. You don’t need to rescue me. I appreciate this, though.” She waves a hand around the room. “But we’ll be fine.”
“Where exactly are you planning to go, Sarah?”
“Anywhere, I guess.” She adjusts her weight in the rocking chair. “Somewhere I can work, for one. I don’t need your charity, Alpha Sydney. I don’t like feeling useless–”
“You are not useless,” I tell her, holding her gaze for a few seconds longer than I need to, but something in her tone sets me off. It sounds like she’s been told that before, that she’s useless, and it makes me want to find whoever said that to her and rake them over the coals.
“You don’t know me at all–”
“You’re going to stay in Shadowcrest,” I cut in with finality. “And if having a job would make you feel better about it, it’s your lucky day. I have a job for you.”
She narrows her eyes, and I realize she isn’t weak, submissive, or docile at all. The memory of meeting her for the first time months ago flutters back to me, reminding me our exchange had been cordial, but I was her customer.
Not her captor, which she obviously thinks I am right now.
I don’t know her well enough to realize I’ve made a mistake by telling her what she’s going to do.
Sarah does not like being out of control, apparently.
And it shows in her next words to me.
“And what is that?” she asks, tilting her chin. “Are you going to keep me as a breeder?”
I glare at her. “What gives you the impression I’m interested in you like that?”
She glares right back at me.
“Plus,” I continue, waving my hand in her direction, “You’ve been recently… bred. If I were to have a breeder, I’d choose someone able to do so immediately.”
Her scowl sets alight a fire in my chest I’ve never experienced before. I fight against the sensation of my lips trying to pull into a smile.
Apparently, a little food, warmth, and rest is enough for the real Sarah to come back to life, and I really enjoy her, but I’m not sure letting her know that is going to help my case right now.
How does one help someone who doesn’t want it?
“I am going to make sure you and your son are secure within my pack. You’ll have your own home. You’ll have access to everything my pack has to offer. Schooling for the baby when he comes of age, health care–”
“At what cost?”
“Helping my mother with her upcoming party.”
She stares at me in shock then goes entirely pink in the cheeks. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious. She needs a florist to help her finish preparations for the party taking place at the botanical gardens this weekend. You’re a florist–”
“A botanist–”
“A botanist,” I correct, cutting her off. “Therefore you’re perfect.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Why would you think there’s a catch?”
“I just don’t believe any Alpha would be so willing to step in and help a stranger, let alone a packless one. I have nothing to offer you, Alpha Sydney–”
“Sydney is fine,” I tell her.
Her eyes fade from pale lavender to polished amethyst. I make note of the change, still wondering if I’m imagining it.
“So you’re giving me a job working for the queen in exchange for a house?”
“In exchange for joining my pack.”
Sarah stares at me, her mouth slightly parted. The corners of her lips turn up at the edges like she’s about to smile and thank me, telling me I’m the best Alpha in the entire world, and whatnot.
But she lets out a cackling laugh instead.
“What’s so funny?” I hiss as she chuckles, tears in her eyes.
“What do you take me for?” she asks, patting her son on the back.
“Do you not trust me?”
“I don’t know you,” she replies in a near whisper as the baby starts to wake up. “I can’t just say yes and hope that your word is good. I have him to think about!”
“Exactly,” I grind out. “I don’t understand your confusion–”
“I’m not confused. I just don’t–” her expression twists, her eyes growing darker than before, if that’s even possible. “I just want us to be safe, that’s all.”
“What can I do to make you believe that you are?” I hold her gaze, my chest going impossibly tight. Sarah’s brow pinches as she looks down at her son.
The baby is nearly bald save for a light dusting of dark brown hair on the top of his head. I haven’t seen him with his eyes open yet, not that it matters. They’d still be the inky-dark, colorless spheres most newborns have.
But I see Sarah in a different light all of the sudden. Streams of dried tears shine like threads of silver in the soft daylight starting to filter through the curtains.
She’s right. I don’t know her. I don’t know why she ended up alone, if that was something she decided or if she was abandoned, but her distrust is clear.
I am just another man trying to cage her in.
“What you accomplished,” I begin, and her eyes slowly raise to meet mine, “with your business… it’s phenomenal. You’re very talented, and yesterday morning I came to find you to ask for your help with my mom’s party. When I found you in that apartment I….”
I wanted to tear the place to shreds. I wanted to hang Mr. Foxglove from the exposed rafters and let him freeze to death for putting her and her baby in that position.
“I couldn’t leave you behind. But I can’t let you go back for obvious reasons.” I motion toward her son, and finally, Sarah shoulders slump, and she exhales deeply.
“I’ll repay you.”
“No,” I say, standing. “There’s nothing you need to repay me for.”
She watches me walk toward the door.
“Will you come down to breakfast?” I ask, but she shakes her head. “I’ll have it sent up, then.”
“I was thinking of naming him Callum,” she says abruptly, and I stop in my tracks.
For whatever reason–like I’m guided by some unseen force–I say, “That’s a nice name, but I like the name Blake, better. I always imagined I’d name a future son Blake.” And then I leave the room.