Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter Romance

Juliet

The bodyguards are still spraying Lucas's blood off the rocks with a garden hose when the food-and the coffee-finally arrives.

The server turns a blind eye to the carnage the same way he turned a blind eye to my handcuffs and proceeds to set down enough food to feed fifteen people. There are two omelets-one with vegetables and one with spicy sausage and mushrooms-French toast, strawberry crepes, avocado toast with arugula and goat cheese, two sides of bacon, a green smoothie for a palate cleanser, and a heaping helping of homemade whipped cream.

Jean-Paul digs in with gusto, leaving me to watch him stuff food into his mouth while the puddle of bile by my feet grows cold and the last traces of my cousin are washed away into the drain at the edge of the roof garden.

I killed him.

I killed little Lucas, the boy who took such joy in stealing my butterfly wings from my room and wearing them during the winter solstice celebration. He was only two and so delighted with his own mischief that I couldn't get mad at him, no matter how dented and torn the wings were by the end of the night.

Now Lucas will never become a man, never join the kinder, gentler pack I long to lead, never grow into his massive jawbone or make his teenage dreams come true.

I try to tell myself that I only did what I had to do. That I had no choice. If I hadn't given him a name, Jean-Paul would have killed both of my cousins.

At least now, Bethany has a chance.

But my gut continues to roil with shame and self-loathing, which is no doubt precisely what Jean-Paul had in mind. With this one, horrific action, he's made me his accomplice. I'm complicit in his evil and I will never be the same. I've proven I can withstand incredible amounts of personal suffering, but can I withstand the guilt of giving the kill order for an innocent member of my own family?

I don't know.

And I hate Jean-Paul even more for it.

Unfortunately, this level of hatred isn't good for steadying the nerves, and I'm too rung out from the trauma of what happened to risk an escape. I'm still trembling from the adrenaline rush of my terrible choice and from watching one of my cousins slump to the ground while the other was dragged away wailing in grief and terror.

"Come now, eat up," Jean-Paul says around a mouthful of bacon. "You'll need your strength for the day ahead. You have a dress fitting in just over an hour and then an appointment with my stylist right after that, at her salon in Old Town. Afterward, you'll have your makeup done, also at the salon, and then we'll need to do a rehearsal run of the ceremony." He hums a little tune as he wiggles in his chair and stabs another bite of French toast. "So much to do, so little time. But that only makes it more romantic and exciting. Truly, this is a day we'll never forget."

"What happens to Bethany now?" I ask, my voice sounding thin and distant to my own ears.

I briefly consider that I might be going into shock-my hands are so cold, and I can't seem to quit trembling-and hate myself even more. I can't afford to be weak. If I'm going to get Bethany and myself out of this nightmare, I have to pull myself together. He shrugs. "Oh, the usual. She'll be stripped and given a blanket too thick to be used for a noose. The cells in the sub-basement are cold and the rats are more stubborn than our exterminators give them credit for. But that can be a good thing. Sometimes, my warden gets busy and forgets to feed the prisoners for a day or two. If they get hungry enough, they can always snack on a rat." He winks. "One of the benefits of being a wolf shifter. Rats don't taste half bad when you're furry. How about you? What do you eat in your phoenix form?"

I swallow, wincing at the raw feeling at the back of my throat. I reach for my coffee and take a small sip, willing it to stay down as my mind races.

How am I going to get Bethany out of that dungeon? Could I do something bad enough to get myself locked up, as well? Then at least I'd have a chance of taking her with me if I were able to escape.C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

Jean-Paul snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me flinch. "I asked you a question, love. Oh, and don't think of trying to run away from me now. If you do, I'll kill Bethany. And that would be such a shame. If my nose wasn't betraying me, I'm fairly certain she's pregnant. You know that home-baked bread scent female wolves get when they're expecting." He hums around another bite, this time of strawberry crepe that leaves a small spot of red at the corner of his puffy lips. "Such a sweet, maternal smell, and Bethany was ripe with it. It would so sad if she never had the chance to welcome her little one into the world because her selfish cousin was desperate to escape a perfectly lovely offer of marriage."

He points the tip of his knife my way. "Your father warned me that you're stubborn and defiant, Juliet. That's why I had your cousins brought here as leverage. If you weren't such a recalcitrant girl, both Lucas and Bethany would still be living their happy little lives, oblivious that you even still walk the earth. Think on that as you sit there, refusing to eat, proving you can't even be trusted to take care of yourself, let alone your family or friends."

I meet his gaze, fighting to keep down the coffee I just drank.

This is all a sick game, psychological manipulation intended to crush my will to escape. I know that.

But still...it's working.

If I can't find a way to take Bethany with me when I run, I won't run at all. In just a few hours, Jean-Paul has shackled me more firmly than Gorey's circus ever did. And he knows it.

"Here, mon coeur, let me make you more comfortable." He reaches over with his tiny key, unlocking the handcuffs and freeing my wrist from the table. Why bind my body, after all, when he's wormed his way so thoroughly into my head? "There, now you can eat with two hands. I highly recommend the bacon and a few bites of omelet if you can't manage anything else. Protein will keep you going until the wedding jitters are over and we're celebrating with my people. My butlers are decorating the grand hall as we speak and my first in command knows a fabulous DJ. Not as good as a band, but we do what we can on short notice."

I rub at my wrist for a beat, then reach for the bacon.

He's right. I will need strength to make it through the day. And to shift, if by some chance Jean-Paul can be convinced to remove the collar keeping me trapped in my human body, as well.

But I'd be lying if I said eating was easy. It's the hardest thing I've done in a while and every bite tastes like blood on my tongue.

Thirty minutes later, we load back into the limo and head through the narrow city streets until we reach a large park. I catch glimpses of trees, flowers, and a sign advertising the Montreal Botanical Gardens, but the limo takes the turn past the gardens. The driver taps a button on the remote clipped to the limo's sun visor and we move through a wrought iron gate decorated with wolves and roses writhing erotically together in a way that feels very Jean-Paul.

Past the gate, there are three large speed bumps before we reach a second gate, this one a metal drawbridge that drops inward as the driver presses another button.

He drives over the flattened gate onto an even narrower road that winds between two sets of towering stone walls.

"Why have one wall protecting your people from the outside world when you can have two?" Jean-Paul asks, clearly noticing my curious glances up toward the top of the stone, where sharp spikes stick up into the air at regular intervals. "Most would-be intruders give up once they scale the first wall. And those foolish enough to try to gain entry through the gates soon learn what eleven thousand volts of electricity can do to a body. Human or shifter, that's usually enough to ensure their first attempt to breech our defenses is their last."

I fight the urge to shiver.

If Ford's alive, there's a very real chance he'll come riding to the rescue, and possibly get himself killed in the process.

I remind myself that Ford is smart and savvy, a man who has experience dealing with psychotic despots, not some impulsive kid who's going to try to break in through the front gate. But I'm sure the walls and electrified fence aren't Jean-Paul's only defenses. He's paranoid and prepared, a bad combination that doesn't bode well for anyone trying to get in or get me out.

"And here we have a second gate with fifteen thousand volts," he says as we pull to a stop before another thicker, meaner-looking gate. He practically giggles as he adds, "The last man who made it this far was so crispy after his shock that he looked like the burnt ends of a brisket." He makes a considering sound low in his throat. "Oh, brisket. Doesn't that sound delightful? Burnt end brisket poutine will be just the thing after all the hustle and bustle of planning a wedding in a single day. I'll get the chef on that right away. You'll love his poutine. He truly has a gift for getting the fries perfectly crispy and ready to withstand all the gravy or cheese you want to pile on top."

While he places a call to his chef in French, I stare out the window as the inner wall ends abruptly, opening up into a large open courtyard with official looking buildings on one side, a mansion on the other, and a massive great lawn. At the end of the great lawn is a small, but beautiful chapel. Beyond that are taller apartment style buildings that I'm guessing are the pack dorms.

The limo pulls up in front of the mansion and Jean-Paul reaches for my hand, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. "This is it, chère. Your new home. Come, I want to show you to your rooms and give you the chance to settle in before the fitting begins. I had the wallpaper designed especially for you. It was a bit chaotic, trying to get it printed and hung in the two days since your father and I signed the betrothal papers, but my brilliant decorator pulled it off. She really is a treasure."

In just a few hours, I've gotten to know Jean-Paul well enough to know that this is another trick, another calculated move in the chess game he's playing to break my spirit and indulge his sick sense of humor at the same time. But even I'm not expecting the spectacle in my massive new bedroom, dominated by a blue canopy bed and crushed yellow velvet lounge furniture.

The design is clearly inspired by old-fashioned French toile designs, with silhouettes of people and flowers in blue on a white background. But instead of picnicking lovers, shepherdesses, or the usual pastoral scenes, this wallpaper features a girl in a sundress being ripped apart by a massive man with claws.

She runs, falls, and dies, again and again, from the top of the twenty-foot ceiling to the bottom.

"Just a little reminder that there are far worse fates than being married to a man who adores you," Jean-Paul murmurs, his gaze glittering as he squeezes my arm. "A little memento mori if you will. A reminder of the inevitability of death and how much nicer it will be to die of old age, surrounded by your children and grandchildren than as an outcast without a pack. Madame Duval will be here soon to begin your fitting. Feel free to take a shower or a bath if you'd like to beforehand or simply...sit and drink it all in." He steps back through the door, adding as he pulls it closed behind him, "See you soon, chère. Don't miss me too much."

The door closes and a strangled sound bursts from my throat. It takes a beat to realize it's a laugh.

But what else is there to do at a moment like this? It's either laugh, cry, or claw out my eyeballs and run screaming through the sumptuous halls outside like the madwoman Jean-Paul would clearly prefer I become.

But I'm not going to weep or break.

I'm going to take that shower, clear my head, and start coming up with ways to get both Bethany and me out of here. If Ford is still alive, it's the best thing I can do for him and my friends at Lost Moon.

First, I get out of here. Then, I do what I should have done the first and second times I escaped from trouble-I go straight to the source of all my problems and cut out his poisonous heart.

I drag my gaze up the wallpaper, letting the sight of the girl being slaughtered at the Circus of the Strange fuel my determination. My father did that to me. He also invaded my safe haven, may have already killed my mother, and is probably the reason she abandoned me as a child in the first place.

It's past time he paid the price for all the terrible things he's done, and I'm fully prepared to deliver justice.

I'm only in the fancy rainfall shower for ten minutes, in fact, when a plan starts to form...