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

11. Choose

11

Choose

Annalise

This… isn’t me.

My eyes are locked on my reflection in the mirror, as I sit perched on an armless chair in front of the vanity. The stylist I’ve been appointed, Lady Eliza Gilreath, has me all dolled up, like a toy fresh out of the packaging. It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning and from the moment I rolled out of my new bed, and my feet touched the ridiculously plush carpet beneath it, the frenzy has been nonstop. For reference, I’m already fully made up, stuffed into a corset, and literally stitched into a dress that’s been custom made just for me.

‘Luxury’ at this level is what Aunt Geneva’s dreams are made of, but these were never the things I fantasized about when my head hit the pillow. Here, living in this estate with the alpha, it’s as though I’ve somehow stumbled onto an alternate timeline where nothing makes sense, and nothing feels familiar. Especially since discovering just how easily I seem to forget who I am, seem to forget my principles. But I’ve recently found a new sense of resolve, and I intend to hold on to it.

It was my singular misguided encounter with the alpha that jolted me awake from the daze, setting me straight. That night, I learned how persuasive he can be, and I’m also now aware of how my moral compass seems to malfunction in his presence. But the wonderful thing about wonky compasses is that they’re easily recalibrated.

So, that’s what I’ve focused on this past week.

Recalibrating.

It was impossible to avoid Caspian altogether, but with how busy he’s been with clan affairs, it was easy enough to steer clear of him. Most of the time, anyway.

However, there were still those moments.

Moments when we’d pass one another going in opposite directions down a hallway, and I couldn’t avert my eyes from his quickly enough. Moments when he’d enter a room, and I’d only remember he’s a brute after I’d taken a second to admire the way his shirt clung to his chest and biceps. He, of course, always seemed to notice and smiled a little just before looking away. That reaction—cheeky with undertones of arrogance—implies that he believes he knows something. But whatever he suspects I think about him, or feel for him, he’s wrong.

Lucky for me, my things arrived from my aunt and uncle’s home the morning after what I now not so affectionately refer to as The Drawing Room Incident . Unpacking and arranging my book collection in the library has kept me busy. It’s also made it easy to refocus my thoughts when they slip.

And, unfortunately… they do slip.

Flashbacks of Caspian have become a regular occurrence now, railroading their way into my head more frequently as the days pass. I envision him all the time. Mostly just as I’m about to fall asleep, or when I undress. And it’s always the same visual—his wicked stare fixed on me as his mouth settles between my thighs for that very first taste.

Seated at the vanity, my eyes fall closed now, as the memory floods my thoughts again. I quickly remind myself that despite what my body has to say about it, that experience was awful, and it can never ever happen again.

Ever.

The sound of my bedroom door opening has my eyes flashing toward the threshold just as Lady Gilreath and Lady Waverly—the stylist and the dressmaker—return with more tools in hand. They’re in a rush, tugging me in all directions to pull off the finishing touches of the look half a moment before the doorway darkens again. Only, this time, there’s not another friendly, cherubim face here to apply lipstick or more crystals to my dress. This time, it’s Archibald.

The ladies, who were all smiles and giggles just a moment ago, have now stepped aside and are standing expressionless with their hands clasped in front of them.

“Ms. Breedlove, it’s time,” Archibald says, but there’s only one small problem with that statement.

“Time for what, exactly?” The question leaves me with a sharp edge, but only because, in all the commotion, no one’s bothered telling me where I’m expected to be so early.

“I’m afraid Alpha Caspian has requested that we allow him the opportunity to explain once you join him downstairs.”

I stand with a huff, gathering the heavy dress in both hands as I stomp toward the door. Archibald leads the way, but Lady Gilreath and Lady Waverly stay behind. My steps echo through the halls, and my heart beats just as loudly. As we take the stairs, I try to imagine what this could possibly be about. I’ve already had a meet-and-greet with the staff—Mrs. Melinda Fitzgibbons, the head chef; Zara, Caspian’s administrative assistant; Lady Penelope Radcliffe, the social coordinator; Sir Thomas Waverly, the head of security; Duke Blake Putnam, the secondary clan advisor, Viscount Lawrence Hawthorne, the clan historian; Lady Amelia Fairmont, the librarian and assistant to the historian; and the most peculiar of them all, Jezebel, the estate’s herbalist and medical authority.

There can’t possibly be more members of the household to be introduced to. If there are, to hell with trying to remember their names on top of everyone else’s.

Archibald comes to a halt outside the large double doors that lead to the grand hall. I hear male voices across the threshold but can’t make out what’s being said. Then, once Archibald knocks, the voices fall silent as footsteps echo.

I hold my breath, watching the growing shadow beneath the door. It swings open and Caspian stares back, causing my eyes to widen with surprise. It’s not that I didn’t expect him to be present, or even that it’s so strange that he opened the door instead of a servant, but because… my heart leapt at the sight of him.

Which is completely, one-hundred percent unacceptable.

Creed and Dimitri are at either side of the alpha, their gazes shifting to him when he stands before me, speechless. Slowly, Caspian scans my dress—or rather he scans me in this dress—and I’m so focused on his reaction that I don’t miss how his throat bobs when he swallows deeply. He seems to enjoy how the expensive, navy blue silk clings to my breasts and waist, before flaring at my hips, flowing all the way to the floor.

Now, I’m the one who swallows, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

Caspian steps aside, and I finally notice there are people standing behind him—a line of women dressed as elaborately as I am this morning. It’s as I inspect that line that I recognize two girls at the end of the row. My cousins, Winifred and Elizabeth. Their faces brighten when they momentarily lift their gazes to meet mine, only to lower them again as if they’ve been told not to make eye contact.

Wait… were they told not to make eye contact?

“What is this?” The question falls from my lips. I haven’t directed it at anyone in particular, but Caspian answers.

“Your maiden selection,” he says.

I have so many questions, but my throat seizes with fear, worrying that it will somehow backfire if I call attention to the fact that not all these women are strangers to me.

My thoughts shift to the list of protocols that were typed up and slipped beneath my door one morning this week, as Caspian promised. I’m inclined to abide by them. Not out of respect for the one making the ridiculous demand, but out of fear of what might happen to my family if I don’t.

Protocol number who-gives-a-fuck: Never question or challenge the alpha’s authority in a public setting.

But the list never said anything about discretely asking questions, so I lean to my left to whisper into his ear.

“Were they forced to be here?”

Caspian’s gaze slides to me as we stand side-by-side, staring at the lineup.

“No, Annalise, they weren’t forced to be here,” he answers through gritted teeth. “They’re here of their own volition and, believe it or not, they consider it an honor to serve you.”

My breathing quickens. “Then, why haven’t they spoken or even looked at me?”

He sighs and I get the feeling he’s annoyed by this sidebar conversation, but it feels necessary.

“Because they’ve been trained not to speak in your presence unless spoken to. And, out of respect, they must also keep their eyes to the ground. It’s improper to gaze upon a noblewoman, or nobleman for that matter, without their express permission.”

There’s a twinge of sickness in my gut as I steal another glance at the girls. Winifred’s blonde curls frame her child-like face. You’d never know she’s recently turned eighteen. She could easily pass for several years younger. And Elizabeth’s reddened cheeks make me feel protective, knowing that only happens when she’s nervous or afraid.

This estate is no place for either of them, but… what if at least one part of what Caspian said is true? What if they are here of their own volition? The idea of it has a streak of selfishness jolting through me, feeling a rush of excitement. It’s brought on by the possibility of having someone under this roof who actually knows and loves me. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having them stay.

“You’re worried about your cousins,” Caspian whispers next, and I feel my eyes widen with surprise yet again, realizing he’s aware of the connection. “If it eases your mind, your maidens will always be under your care. No one will have authority to command them but you, and their accommodations here will be comfortable.”

My breathing quickens while I consider his words, silently questioning whether they’re to be trusted.

Caspian steps away, moving closer to the seven who have been brought in this morning for selection. I remember yet another protocol and straighten my relaxed posture. Apparently, it’s believed that the entire world will fall to ruin if I’m not poised and the picture of regality at all times.

“These women have been hand-selected from Arista Nova Finishing Academy,” Caspian explains. “They possess a wide range of helpful skills. There are seamstresses and artists among them, and they’re all extremely well-read, which I thought you’d appreciate,” he adds, locking eyes with me for a moment before continuing. “Of the seven who stand before you today, you’re to select four.”

With that, Dimitri steps forward and walks over to the lineup, stopping in front of each girl before moving on to the next. Eventually, I’m able to see he’s handed them each a card, numbered one through seven. Dimitri steps back and Caspian’s gaze lands on me again.

“Make your selections, Annalise,” he commands, and I’m consumed with discontentment.

If it were up to me, I’d send them all home to their families. This all feels so… unnecessary. But it seems to be the alpha’s desire that not only will I be trapped here, but so will four of the girls standing before me.

“Two, five, six, and seven,” I force out, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Perfect,” Caspian says while Dimitri silently escorts the three not chosen out of the hall.

Archibald approaches the line now and introduces the women one by one. “I present to you Ms. Guinivere Howard,” he says, and number two steps forward to curtsy. “Ms. Tabatha Mosely.” This time, number five steps forward, lowering in submission just like the girl before her. “And lastly, we have Elizabeth and Winifred Lark.”

My cousins step forward next, briefly meeting my gaze before they follow the other girls’ lead, momentarily stepping away from the line to curtsy.

I play my role, pretending I’m not moved in the least having them here. However, knowing they’ll be close by, under the same roof… it feels like my heart might explode.

From the corner of my eye, I see Caspian watching me, but I don’t dare meet his gaze. It’s impossible not to wonder if this was all by design—requesting girls who attended Arista Nova, making sure Winifred and Elizabeth were among the seven. If that’s the case, the gesture would almost seem… sweet.

Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes and dismiss the absurd thought. I stare straight ahead in an effort to avoid yet another knowing smirk curving Caspian’s lips. He may have brought my cousins here on purpose, but there’s one problem with favors.

They always, always come at a cost.