The Traitor Alpha's Daughter

Stay Away From Kat

Wren’s POV

I don’t want this moment to end. I want to take her into my arms and hold her and promise her that everything will be okay. I want to grab her soft, warm, beautiful face and kiss the s**t out of her. I want to tell her that I, unlike everyone else around her, would never hurt her. I want to tackle her into that water, disappear beneath it, and never come up for air again.

I can’t do any of those things, though. Not with the way she’s looking at me—like she’s already saying goodbye.

“The Morrisons,” I repeat, desperate to keep her from leaving—not to mention, process the whopper of information she's just dropped on me. “You’re saying they killed your dad?”

She shakes her head, wading back out of the water and reaching for her clothes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I should pay her the respect of looking away, but I don’t. I can’t do anything but stare in awe at the most staggeringly sexy body I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ll be able to shake the image from my mind for the rest of my life; I certainly won’t want to. I have no idea what about me made her feel comfortable enough to strip down in front of me, but whatever it is, I'm grateful for it.

“Tell me, Alina,” I urge as I wade out and reach for my own clothes. “Please. Maybe I can help you.”

“You can’t.” She’s avoiding my gaze now. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“But surely that’s not true. If you told the cops—reported them—”

“The whole town knows who’s responsible,” she interrupts. “Just like the whole town knows nothing will be done about it.”

How is that possible? And if it is possible, does that mean she was right about the degree of power the Morrisons and Taylors have in this town?

I don't get the sense that Alina is ever wrong about anything.

“Don’t leave,” I plead softly as I step into my jeans and pull on my shirt. “At least let me walk you home.”

She laughs wryly at that, then reaches up to touch my cheek. Again, I’m struck by how pleasantly warm and calloused her fingertips are—just the opposite of Kat’s. “If you did, you’d be dead within the hour.”

Is it just me, or is she implying that she lives with Noah? Surely that’s not possible, right? She's a senior in high school.

“But you can do me one favor,” she adds. “If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Anything." I would probably jump off a cliff right now if she asked me to.

“Stay away from Kat,” she says.

And she disappears into the darkness.

- - - - -

The next week goes by even slower than the first. Alina avoids me like the plague, though I catch enough of her to notice the fresh bruise on her cheek that shows up on Monday. I try to approach her about it in class, but the look she shoots me keeps me at bay.

I don’t know what she told Noah she did when she disappeared from the club, but she seems to have convinced him I wasn’t involved, because neither Marc nor Brett comes after me. I find myself strangely resentful of that—like if she had to pay the price for that night, then I should, too.

By Wednesday, I can’t take it anymore. It’s too hard to be this close to her and not touch her, let alone speak to her. It’s impossible to pretend that night didn’t happen, even if nothing really happened that night.

So, naturally, I accost her in the stairwell before fourth period.

“Alina,” I say urgently, taking her by the arm and pressing her gently against the wall as the last of the students trickle up and down past us. “Please. Just give me a minute.”

She looks strangely numb in comparison to my own, ricocheting heart. I forgot how good she smells. “What is it, Wren?”

“He did it again.” My eyes trail to the bruise on her cheekbone, and I cringe at the sight of it. She tried to cover it up, but it's dark and puffy enough that the makeup doesn't do much good. “Was it because of that night?”

She looks away from me. The bell rings, but we both ignore it. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

It was because of that night; that much is obvious. I don’t want to know the answer to my next question, but I’m sick of wondering. “Do you live with him?"

She gives a dry laugh at that. “Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

“We live in a… compound. Not just me and him—Brett; Marc; Alice; a bunch of others you don’t know.”

“A compound,” I repeat, trying to process this. It's weird, to be sure, but at least she doesn’t literally live with him, right? “But in separate homes?”

“Yes and no,” she says again. “My mom isn’t exactly Mother of the Year. Sometimes it’s better to stay with him.”

Better? To stay with an abusive fucker than with her own mother?

“We need to go to class separately,” she says darkly. “You can go first.”

I’m not going anywhere until I know that she's safe. “Come on, Alina. Talk to me. Do you need somewhere to go? We have a spare room, if—”

“Stop.” Her voice is sad, but firm. “Thank you, Wren, but even saying these things out loud could get us both killed. We should never have gone off the other night, and that's on me. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not. And I'm not afraid of Noah or his stupid minions."

"But you should be!" she nearly shouts. As soon as she does, she bites her lip, shrinks back into her shell, and says, "It's just better if we stay away from each other.”

And before I can protest further, she leaves.

- - - - -

Kat approaches me on Friday after school.

She’s been mostly avoiding me this week. I assumed she was pissed that I left without saying goodbye on Saturday night, and while I felt a little guilty about it, I was glad for an excuse for her to leave me alone—especially after what Alina told me about Kat’s family killing her father. But when Kat approaches me in the parking lot, I don’t have much of a choice but to talk to her.

“Nice car,” she says, nodding to my Camaro. “Funny that Noah drives the newer model, don’t you think?”

“Hilarious,” I grumble darkly. “I was just on my way home.”

“I know—I’ll only be a minute.” She crosses her arms. “What did she tell you about me, Wren?”

How does she know Alina and I talked? Did she see us leave the club together? For Alina’s sake, I decide to cover. “Who are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know where you went from the Scarlet Lounge. My feelings were hurt, but I got over it… by getting under someone else.” She winks.

I let out a nervous laugh, but I’m not feeling at all amused. There’s something eerie about her—something I never noticed until now.

“I could make you want me, you know,” she says, taking a step toward me. “It would be all too simple.”

I don’t even want to know what that means.

“It’s not really my style, though,” she continues. “Seems a little desperate, don’t you think?”

I really don’t have any idea what this crazy b***h is talking about. (And "crazy b***h" is not a term I use lightly.) Is she threatening me? Offering to bribe me? Something else entirely? “Look, Kat—you’re a pretty girl, and you’ve been sweet to me. The last thing I want is to offend—”

“Uchh,” she scoffs. “A pretty girl. God, I hate that. Do you know how many guys over the years have dismissed me as a pretty girl, and then turned around and begged Alina f*****g Marks to let them into to her dirty, little cunt? It should be a felony. She’s trash, Wren. She’s got trash blood, trash money, and a trash reputation. The only thing going for her is her looks, and believe me, they’ll fade a lot sooner than mine.”

I’ve never wanted to hit a girl before, but I’m resisting the urge right about now. Jealousy isn't pretty on anyone, but especially not her. “That’s enough. Go home, Kat. This is an ugly side of you.”

Her light blue eyes—eyes that don’t hold a candle to Alina’s in intensity—darken at that. “Ugly?” She repeats. “You want to see ugly?”

Okay, now she’s definitely threatening me.

“Watch your back, Wren,” she growls. It’s not like the growls that Alina’s friends seem fond of using; it’s less animalistic and more smooth and sultry… almost like a siren’s song. “That might just have been your last straw.”