Cruel Alpha, Season One (Wolves of New Eden #1)

1. The Invitation

1

The Invitation

Annalise

Aunt Geneva flutters through the archway, entering my room in a billowing cloud of pale-yellow chiffon. The halls of this estate are her runway, and the robes she parades around in are as grand and over-the-top as every other thing about her.

My body shifts when she drops down onto the bed, buzzing with excitement. I can, literally, feel it when she settles close, the energy moving over my skin like tiny electrical currents.

It’s a wolf thing, and it’s presently causing me major anxiety.

“Can I… help you?” I ask, definitely sounding a bit curt. It’s unintended, but she has a habit of interrupting my evening reading. And always when I’m getting to the good parts.

Completely ignoring that her timing is terrible, a girlish giggle bubbles up from Aunt Geneva’s chest. “Do you have any idea what this is? Or what it could be?” she asks, switching her words.

Lowering the book from my line of sight, I finally notice the gold envelope pinched between her forefinger and thumb. She squeals with a laugh when I pluck it from her hand, examining the official, black seal pressed to the flap. In my peripheral vision, I’m aware of the glimmer in my aunt’s eyes.

“It’s from the High Chamber,” she says, stating the obvious. Every resident of the Northern Quadrant knows only correspondence from the alpha’s administration arrives in such grandiose packaging.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” she asks.

“Yes, just… give me a second.”

I’ve been waiting for this moment. Having submitted petition after petition, there’s a ray of hope that my argument has been heard. It goes against ages of Clan Centauri tradition for women to remove their aprons and rubber gloves to embark on an endeavor involving anything not having to do with her domestic work, but I’ve rejected that narrow ideal since childhood. Since I felt that first quickening in my heart, revealing that my destiny is to bring about change for our quadrant.

Now, it’s possible that the patriarchal bullshit is finally on the cusp of extinction.

“For heaven’s sake, Annalise, would you please just open it?”

My aunt’s incessant screeching shortens my time to savor this moment. With a grumbled, “Fine,” I carefully lift the seal, which would be far easier if I weren’t trembling.

But how can I not tremble?

What if it worked? What if Alpha Caspian is actually considering my stance? In the very near future, women in our quadrant may finally be given the right to choose their life’s path.

Quickly scanning the printed words, I read them a second time. Only, a bit more slowly than before. Because if I’m not mistaken, this isn’t just a letter.

It’s an invitation.

Seeing my face fall slack, Aunt Geneva can’t handle the suspense and snatches the paper. Then, a dramatic gasp leaves her.

“Alpha Caspian wants to meet with you?” she asks, maybe thinking her eyes have deceived her, too. But then, realization seems to set in. “My gods, Annalise! Do you have any idea what this means? No one, and I mean no one, receives invitation to visit the High Chamber!”

Hearing those words leave her mouth, it’s confirmed. I’m not insane. My book falls to the floor with a thud when I shoot out of bed to celebrate properly, doing a mashup of every cheesy dance known to wolfkind. Yes, I’m rhythmically challenged, but who freaking cares? I’ve just been invited to visit the High Chamber!

The magnitude of the good news has fully registered for Aunt Geneva, and she’s on her feet, too, but not to mimic my spastic dance. She’s at the armoire, thinking she’ll decide what I’ll wear tomorrow.

She pushes one dress after another aside, floor-length gowns in varying shades of yellow, cream, and white—the basic palette of our dress code here in the Northern Quadrant. I’ve worn those dresses to various charity events and cotillions over the years, but I certainly will not be wearing one to meet with Alpha Caspian tomorrow.

Now, to break this news to Aunt Geneva.

“How about this one?” she chirps, doing an about-face with the lemon-toned strapless pressed to her chest. I wore this particular piece to a wedding last season and have no plans to ever wear it again.

When I approach her to gently slide the hanger from her manicured grip, she frowns, watching me return it to the armoire.

“Aunt Geneva, I know you mean well, but I don’t think that’ll work.”

I don’t say out loud that I’m twenty-one and capable of selecting my own clothes, but I’m certainly thinking it.

“If I’m going to earn the alpha’s respect tomorrow, I’ll need to dress the part. He’ll never take me seriously if I’m talking social transformation and political strategy while wearing Leavers Lace.”

The pout that curves Aunt Geneva’s lips means I’ve deflated her mood. And to make sure her displeasure is clear, she plops down on my bed with a huff.

“Gods forbid that you actually wear something sensible while standing in the presence of the most important man in our quadrant tomorrow.”

“I will be wearing something sensible,” I counter. “It’s just that your idea of sensibility and mine don’t quite line up.”

Despite my words being spoken gently, she’s silent, stewing in frustration. Her gaze follows as I move toward the chest of drawers, then it sounds like she’s just choked on the entire string of pearls fastened around her neck when I pull out a pair of khaki cargo pants. It’s the cherry on top when I add a neatly folded, white tank to the pile.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” she cringes.

A devious grin curves my lips. “Not only am I serious, I’ll also be wearing… wait for it… a ponytail!”

“Someone ring for an ambulance. I might actually faint!” Her voice carries up into the beams of my ceiling when she goes for full drama. “All that lovely raven hair and you’d just rather hogtie it with a rubber band?”

I ignore her rant and fold my outfit before placing it on the valet in the corner.

It’s times like this that I’m reminded of how restrictive our quadrant can be. Here I am, a full adult, under the thumb of my closest living relatives. Simply because Clan Centauri law prohibits young women under the age of thirty from living on their own. All must either reside with their mate or with family. The only exception being if she’s the sole survivor of her bloodline, and also has yet to be selected by a partner. Sure, there are perks to being bonded within a family, but it perpetuates the idea that women are too frail to stand on their own two feet.

And apparently, it also perpetuates the idea that we cannot make clothing selections without the aid of our guardians.

“What on Earth are you two going on about up here?” My uncle pops his head in, pressing his large shoulder against the frame of my door. The bald spot at the crown of his scalp glistens with a clear substance, catching light from my chandelier. I can only guess he’s back on the hunt for an effective hair-growth serum. He gives the appearance of a man half his age—young and virile in almost every way that counts—but his thinning crop has become his mortal enemy.

Clearing my throat to fight back a laugh, I pretend not to notice the goop dripping near his ear.

“Well, your wife is currently pitching a fit because I’m not wearing a ballgown when I?—”

“…visit the High Chamber,” Aunt Geneva cuts in, finishing my sentence. “But it’s not just any visit. She’ll be face-to-face with Alpha Caspian, and she plans to wear those godawful pants with a zillion zippers and pockets to commemorate the occasion.” She pauses to point toward the clothing I’ve folded and set aside. “Just imagine what everyone will think of us if word about this gets out, Mitchell. We’ll be the talk of New Eden. And not in a good way.”

With my back to them, I roll my eyes before speaking. “You’re overreacting. And even if you weren’t, that still wouldn’t be reason enough to present myself to the alpha, or anyone else, as something I’m not.”

I turn just in time to catch Aunt Geneva glaring, having noticed that my tone became more serious.

“I don’t think that’s what we’re saying at all, sweetheart,” my uncle’s gruff voice cuts in.

He’s a big guy, and he had a reputation for being somewhat of a brute in his day. However, he’s gentle with us, his girls—a foursome consisting of my aunt, myself, and their twins Elizabeth and Winifred, both of whom are away at finishing school. I’d envy them for being free of this place, for being allowed to breathe, but who the hell wants to attend finishing school?

“You’re a free spirit, and we love that about you,” Uncle Mitch says, “but maybe consider your aunt’s suggestion. Just this once? Who knows what could come of this whole thing?”

Those words nearly slip past me, but at the last moment, they snag in the tangle of my thoughts. As I begin to process my aunt and uncle’s reactions, my eyes narrow with suspicion, and I meet their gazes, crossing both arms over my chest. There’s hope in my uncle’s eyes, and I’ve seen that look on his face before. It was present when Oliver Cuthbert’s son, Brendan, stopped by to ask Uncle Mitch’s permission to court me last season.

“Why exactly do you think Alpha Caspian’s sent for me?”

The two share a look, and without either saying a word, I understand. They think this is some attempt being made by the alpha to express interest in me. Has it seriously not crossed their minds that my hard work has paid off? In addition to writing multiple letters per week, I’ve trained. Hard . Day and night. No, I’m not aspiring to be a soldier, but I know I could one day have a fight on my hands.

I’ve proven myself ready for this opportunity, but it’s still not enough. In their eyes, a woman’s only place is either in some man’s kitchen or his bed. However, being mated, and eventually having children, isn’t every woman’s sole mission in life. While I understand and respect those who feel this is their calling, it simply isn’t mine.

Several prominent figures within the quadrant have gone against the grain of tradition to vouch for me, some going as far as writing letters of recommendation. Even they acknowledge my dedication. Yet, my own flesh and blood still see my worth boiled down to what I can someday offer a mate. So, of course, they believe this is all Alpha Caspian will see in me, too.

Despite the sudden sense of defeat, I keep my emotions in check.

“Well, sweetheart, there has been talk of the alpha seeking companionship,” Aunt Geneva says gently. “Now that he’s grown into his role, and things within the quadrant have settled into place, he’s finally in search of mates.”

My brow arches. “Mates? Plural?”

Another of those loaded stares passes between my aunt and uncle.

“I’ll admit, Alpha Caspian has different ideals than his father, but he was bound to be a bit less… traditional… than what we’re accustomed to,” she explains. “However, it’s not unheard of for a male, especially an alpha, to coexist with a harem.”

“It is in the North,” I shoot back, tightening my arms over my chest as my composure slips.

Aunt Geneva’s breathing quickens, having been called out on her hypocrisy. “I know that’s more of an Eastern practice, but…”

“Do you recall your reaction when Maude McArthur raised the topic at her husband’s retirement celebration? You said, and I quote, ‘Those filthy Eastern mutts and their immoral practices will be the death of all that is right and proper within the Dynasty.’ End quote,” I add, just to be obnoxious before driving my point home. “ Yet, if I’m reading the room correctly, you’d both willingly hand me over to our alpha, to be one of his many mates, simply because he has the right title before his name?”

Aunt Geneva blinks her dark eyes in my direction. I’m torn between feeling as though I’ve said too much and feeling as though I’ve said too little.

“I only fear you’re wasting your life away, taking on a cause that will take more from you than it gives,” she says. “Consuming yourself with the concerns of low-society, it’s beneath you, Annalise. We’re a family many associate with nobility.”

“You’re not a Breedlove,” I snap. “That was my father’s name, and you have no right using his heritage as a conversation piece.”

Immediately, I regret being so harsh, but I won’t take back what I’ve said because it’s all true. Outside of my parents’ marriage, my aunt and uncle have no relation to this noble bloodline they so often speak of.

Aunt Geneva lowers her head, expressing uncharacteristic humility.

“You’re right,” she says. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. I only meant to say that I wish you held a higher regard for your status, the privilege you were born into. It shouldn’t be your curse, Annalise… it should be your blessing.”

Her words cut deep, because I’ve often viewed my privilege as just that. A curse. One more thing for people to consider when summing up the total of who they think I am. Only, none would ever know I’m not precious about such things.

More often than not, the powers that be manipulate and twist this nobility my aunt has always coveted. They reshape it into something vile and ugly, something far removed from what it was ever meant to be.

“The meeting with Alpha Caspian is to discuss my plea to lift the archaic traditions currently stunting our growth, and to mend the broken fences between the other existing clans. Nothing more,” I state firmly, and what follows is complete silence.

Tomorrow, when I return home from visiting the High Chamber with only good news, I’ll accept my aunt and uncle’s apologies with grace.

Because, whether they like it or not, they will owe me at least that.