The Alpha's Commoner Bride

Chapter Four – Blunt Truth

Jaxson

It’s easy to say how I got my role as the lead warrior in the royal guard; and it’s not the relation to my father, King Alpha Kennedy. I worked hard to be the strongest warrior, the most endured fighter, and it shows when I walk through a crowd. Everyone smells the royal bloodline and when they look, they see a warrior, strong and fierce. I refuse to give up in a fight, or bend to the will of anyone that tries to challenge my father or the royal pack. 

Royals are the picture of prestige and strength, a group of wolves so damning in size and strength; we are the apotome of unfiltered perfection.

We heard rumors of rogues searching for casinos to rob, most of those coins then taxed to the royal pack and if there’s one thing my father doesn’t like to be messed with, it’s his gold. Rogues are mostly harmless, a majority of them useless, puny commoners. 

They can’t stand authority. 

They really can’t stand me. 

My warriors halt, the smell overwhelming in the woods as the wind brushes up the mountainside. They’ve got the lower ground, which is perfect for us. I reach through the link, telling everyone to take their stance, surround the group, while the stench shifts from gruesome and dirty to something sweet and familiar. 

In the same whiff, it’s also new to me, calling to my wolf from a distance. 

There’s a scream, the sound rather alarming alone but my wolf perks at the noise, both of us instantly understanding what is happening here. That smell, that sound of a scream, is familiar in one way and one way only. 

My mate.

“Rogues,” I say, hollering, my body trembling to rip them each apart until I find the source of that floral, sensual smell. “Find them and kill them all!”

Everyone shifts, including myself, charging toward the crowd of mutts hiding in the bushes like cowards. My warriors rip through the weaker rogues, killing them off one by one, but I aim straight for the floral scent, something so heavy on my heart by the sound of her scream. I need to find her, I have to see who she is and more importantly, why my mate was screaming in such a distraught fashion. 

I pounce over the back of a rogue, spotting a small, pale body pressed beneath him. He was too distracted to see me coming, his hands once laced on the hips of a she-wolf who lays shuddering in the grass, her clothes torn to shreds all around her body. She shivers, although covered in sweat, fighting for every breath like she’s being choked.

I rip off the circle of cloth hanging around her throat, hoping it helps. 

The sounds of fighting still lace the woods around us but I shift back to a mortal form, kneeling over her, her skin burning hot to the touch. She’s taken something resembling poison, but she’s alive, so I can only assume she has dabbled in a potion of some kind. 

It doesn’t fool my nose or my wolf.

She’s a f*****g commoner. 

That’s when the other scent hits me even harder, watching her writhe in pure angst and agony, battling to stay conscious. I don’t even think she realizes I am here, or who I am, curling into a ball to ease the pain of a process that is only healed quickly by one specific act. 

She wreaks of alcohol, though, also tainted by the blood of her wounds. One of the rogues charges at me and I don’t flinch, one of my warriors snapping a bite into his neck, his blood splattering everywhere and yet I can’t pull my focus off of the little female underneath me, weeping and rolling back and forth, trying to find relief.

I couldn’t possibly help her while she’s in this state, her mind fogged with liquor. 

But the longer she pants in heat, the stronger the smell of her hormones shed light on her identity. I know better than anyone here about how royals are drawn to the sensual scent of a commoner’s blood. It calls to all of us, fueling our power and our harsher side. 

Most royals f**k commoners for the fun of it, knowing they couldn’t possibly fight back. Some of them do it to get their release and then kill the stray, leaving behind no chance for an heir that is a half-breed. 

But my wolf pities this girl, the one that smells just like my mate should smell, and the intoxicating feeling of needing her trust overwhelms me. I don’t want to hurt her, and I can’t dare to frighten her further, but I have to help her get through his pain one way or another.

“Okay, come here,” I say, attempting to sooth her while I pull her to sit up, what’s left of her clothes falling to the ground while I tilt her upright. She gasps, screaming in pain, her head falling back while she threatens to pass out. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, laying her back down, my heart breaking at her whimpering. 

Commoners are weak already. She’s practically limp in this state.

She weeps harder, grabbing at her stomach, her jaw locked and her knuckles white. 

“Dammit,” I groan, conflicted how I should do this. “I’ll make this pain go away,” I say at last, the sounds of the battle around us finally dying down; there is only silence in the woods except for her labored breaths. I have to fix this now. “Relax, mate. Just relax.”

Aurora

It’s a blur of light, mixed with a lot of pain, and nothing makes sense except that I know I have to pass out for the agony to end. My mind begs to be set loose into the darkness, but nothing works. I notice the rogue is gone thankfully, his hands gripping me so tight before that I feel the aftermath of bruises on my body, my eyes finding the cyan gaze of a new figure hovering above me. 

His touch is warm, calm, trying to brush my cheek while tears file down my face. There is c*****e around us, rogues in a war and biting, whining, and death shifting through the woods and yet he seems so still, so in control, and for a moment I don’t feel the sharp pain in my stomach and my lower back. 

His hands brush down my chest, grabbing for me, the pain in my back seizing and forcing me to holler out, to beg for it to stop. He understands and lets me down onto the ground, pressing his palms to my hips while I wiggle and thrash in every direction.

“Please,” I say, unsure what I am begging for, just knowing that I need this pain to stop. It feels like death. It feels worse than it felt when Luke held another woman in his arms and kissed her. “Make it stop! Please!” 

“Shh,” he says, something so soothing in his deep, raspy voice. “I’m going to fix it,” he says, nodding slow. He moves closer, practically lying beside me. “Just breathe.”

At his words, I feel his hand slide down my hip, over my abdomen and between my thighs. He presses into my warm, wet s*x, and my body shudders in response. I lean back, letting it happen, the relief so quick to my aches that I feel almost everything around me drain away. He presses his hand down harder, rubbing me faster, somewhere in the mix his lips finding my throat, licking the aftermath of a bite mark I know bleeds there. 

I feel the punctures heal with his saliva, his kisses becoming more sensual, slower, sucking at my chest and my neck and everywhere they can reach. I try to stay still, needing his touch, needing whatever it is he is doing to keep going on. It feels too perfect. 

I whimper. He kisses the air from my mouth, and I allow it, even pushing into it more. 

His tongue brushes the inside of my cheek, and he moves his body over mine, his warmth an unfamiliar feeling while I feel like I’m frozen solid even if I drip with sweat. He continues, though, kissing me more, pressing further between my legs, and I find myself grabbing at his sides to pull him down over my body. 

A smile breaks against my lips. 

“No, sweetheart, don’t do that to me,” he says with a stiff voice, and even stiffer erection. 

His hips are hovering over mine and even then, he continues with just the use of his fingers. I arch my back, pressing against his pelvis and feeling his girth. The mere pressure of it near my warm, wet core makes my wolf whine, begging as much as I can for him to let it enter my body and relieve this pain once and for all. 

He is a stubborn stranger, working feverishly quicker to rub my wetness, to pleasure my pains and eradicate this heat from my body once and for all. I still try to get more from him, needing his body, needing all of it. I grab for his abdomen, wanting to run my hands over his shaft, but he yanks my hand away.

“You’re drunk,” he says, very matter-of-factually. “Don’t push me, sweetheart, you wouldn’t be able to handle my size anyways, commoner.”

I groan, my nails digging into his sides. 

He growls dangerously, the noise only shocking my body into more sparks of stimulation.

“Please,” I beg.

“You better finish now,” he snarls. “I won’t hold back much longer.”

His fingers push deeper, and I gasp, my legs parting as if on cue, to grant him further access. It works, too. He moves deeper, harder, and I become wetter. I tip my head back in a daze, any trace amount of pain finally withering away while I feel his finger slow with the release of pressure in my lower abdomen. 

I grab for him, needing to feel grounded, and he grinds his body onto mine. It makes me melt, his hand pulling away and then soon after, his whole body moves away too. I lay sideways, trying to catch my breath, grabbing for clothes that I no longer have. I realize too soon that any shred of fabric I had been wearing before is gone, including the makeshift gag the rogue had slipped down over my neck. 

I cower under the heavy gaze of the man who helped me through my episode. 

He’s a beautiful specimen, bright blue eyes, and he is given a long coat with decorated metals to slip into, along with a set of black pants he throws on as well. He yells at someone, for something, and I find myself clinging to a white shirt that he forces me into. I hold onto the fabric, trying to catch my breath. 

My eyelids feel heavier than ever before. 

I lay sideways in the dirt, needing to stay grounded, feeling the world fleeting around me. 

“Rest, mate. I’ll handle things from here.”