Chapter Eight
Laura had no idea she was even listed in the pack’s registry. If she did, she would’ve made sure to rip it straight out on her exit.
A Queen Candidate.
Fuck.
She knew the stories. Every generation or so, given the heir to the throne was male and mateless, trials were held to find a suitable queen. The theatrics involved each officially recognized pack sending two women that were grouped within an appropriate age range, and finalized by castle administrators–all via a pack’s registry.
It was mandatory. You either sent the candidates, or faced treason, which could lead to a death or two at worst, but guaranteed a removal from the official clan's list.
Laura recalled the last generation not needing these trials because King Reagan found his true mate.
She needed to gnaw on something. The stress this pack was willing to give her was understated.
And she didn’t deserve it.
“Tell them my name is a mistake and should have been removed from the registry. I won’t be a part of the trials, they can select someone else.” The pack could burn, for all she cared. She didn’t owe them any favors.
“The envoy will be ready to leave here tomorrow around noon,” he continued like she’d said nothing, “you are welcome to use anything in my home until you leave.”
“I said I–”
“Listen, Laura,” he interrupted, leaning in close. “I could give a fuck about what you want. You just so happened to be selected. You’re going. Period.” As he spoke, his Alpha tone increased. If she were lesser, it would’ve made her extremely uncomfortable.
Fear still ruled though, and she didn’t need to feign her reaction.
At least he dropped the pretentious welcome.
She was still frozen in place, conflicted on whether to continue the deaf argument or just try peacing out later, as he smiled.
But not the practiced smile, no, the twisted expression that shifted the shadows of his face into a terrific mold; it was the look she was used to seeing right before a beating.
Except the beating didn’t come.
“Ah, that reminds me,” Patricia returned then, bowing as she passed him the book. He turned in the direction of the common hall, taking large strides. He didn’t wait for them to follow.
Laura glanced towards the treeline, but the thought was stalled by Patricia’s hateful grumble, as the woman nudged her in the direction of the Alpha.
Laura complied, fearful of the repercussions if she didn’t at least humor them.
The sound of feet on soft grass was the only noise she could focus on. Despite it being broad daylight, there weren’t many eyes loitering either.
They drew closer to the common hall, Laura’s heart quickening with each step.
I’m gonna throw up.
Why are you still walking behind him, idiot?!
If I bail now, I’d catch them off–*
“A pity you left, truly,” Alpha Grayson interrupted her contemplation. Laura blinked, not sure where he was going with his words.
“We would’ve found a decent place for you among us. You’d been such a wonderful help in the kitchen, and I know more than a few of the boys were eyeing you.” Ick.
“You could’ve settled down. Then you wouldn’t even be in this mess,” he stated things so matter of fact.
He sighed.
“I’m sure you’ll be sent right back anyway. Then we can figure out what to do with you.”
She didn’t bother to tell him she wouldn’t be staying.
They were about fifty feet from the building when the stench hit her. Blood.
And the familiar scent of orange and bergamot...
Dread slammed her, and she felt the flicker of control she had wavering. In that split second, she released her true scent. Alpha Garrett paused, turning his head sharply to the side.
He inhaled deeply.
Laura took long slow breaths of her own, attempting to curb her new rising panic. He continued walking after a beat, not saying a word. She waited a second before trudging behind.
They entered the building; the stench grew to new heights.
Memories threatened to surface as she stepped deeper into the familiar area.
Laura inhaled and exhaled through her mouth.
The first door opened to the mess area, the place everyone gathered to eat. It wasn’t overly ornate. Four long wooden tables stood linearly in a row, all overshadowed by simple chandeliers of the same material. She remembered, when she was younger, being taken by the space when it would be specially decorated for holidays and events. Now, since it was late enough in the day for those who had gathered for breakfast to be gone, it sat empty.
They drew closer to the kitchen doors, toward the room that saw the majority of her childhood.
Just before entering, Alpha Grayson stopped and gave his Omega a pointed look. She bowed and turned, her large frame moving back through the first door they entered.
Jealous.
Laura was dying to follow.
She returned her focus to the figure in front of her. He watched her just as avidly.
The door swung open then, revealing the chef’s kitchen. Two Omegas were bustling around stainless steel, preparing for the lunch crowd. Concern marred their faces, clearly in response to the happenings of the back room, as they belatedly acknowledged their Alpha.
Laura shuffled further into the kitchen, almost too closely behind Alpha Grayson. The wall curved to the right, and they followed its path, which led to three large doors. They stopped at the left-most frame.
Mouth breathing was failing to conceal the stench now.
“You’re familiar with this place, right?” He half turned to speak to her as the door creaked open.
Brown eyes swam into view.
Michael.
She knew it from the scent, but seeing him chained from wall to wall on his knees was a different sight. He looked to have been there for some time. His face was untouched, and other than his arms being tied, his visible extremities looked fine.
“I’m so sorry, Lars, I didn’t–”
Crack.
“Shut up. Your Alpha is present.” Michael was interrupted by a harsh whip to the back; his only injuries minus the blood now dribbling down his chin from his mouth. Of course they wouldn’t want to beat him visibly, and risk stirring up issues if others were to see him in this state. A sentiment she rarely had the fortune to experience.
Michael growled low, side-eyeing the man beside him.
A chuckle sounded from beside Laura.
Alpha Grayson had his right elbow propped by his left fist. His right hand grazed his chin, his crowning ring standing stark, as he held that stretch of a look on his face.
“You see,” he clicked his tongue, “your friend Michael here stands to face treason—”
“Fuck you.” Michael’s voice came out firmly as he spat blood, a few droplets reaching the Alpha’s shoes. All eyes riveted to the stain.
Alpha Grayson looked expectantly at Laura. She had to remind herself not to kneel and scrub his shoes. He released his breath after a beat, his expression indifferent as he focused on the man kneeling in front of him.
“As I was saying, he stands to face accusations of treason and harboring an individual of interest.” He turned to fully face her again.
“But those charges are solely dependent on your choices, Laura.”
An uncharacteristic look of violence crossed Michael’s face as he struggled against the cloth now tied over the lower half of his face.
Laura’s canines ached for release. She knew the weight the charges carried. She doubted they would actually throw down the death card, but pack expulsion was a high possibility.
She glanced at Michael, his heaving form glaring at the Alpha.
Shit.
She cursed herself for caring.
He wouldn’t thrive without a pack, not with his personality, not to mention his family…
She took a controlled inhale, centering her soul for a deal with the devil.