The Curse Of The Alpha’s Mate

Chapter 9

Roughly thirty minutes after Fauna leaves, a knock comes from my door.

I haven’t gone down for breakfast, so I automatically assume it’s one of the maids sent to bring me breakfast or to ask me to come down for it.

I clear my throat and tug down at the silk fabric clinging to my body. I had nothing else to do so I thought of trying on the damn thing before the maids arrived. I should’ve known that a dress like this is impossible to shimmy into unassisted. I can’t reach far back enough to tie the crisscrossed straps properly, and as such it keeps slipping off my shoulders.

Another knock.

“Come in.”

The door swings open, and I yelp, stumbling and almost tripping back onto the bed. I gather the fabric of the dress and clutch it close to my body, hopping it doesn’t slip.

“Excuse me?!”

“Fiona? Fiona? Oh my goodness it’s really you?! You’re back! I thought Fauna was lying!”

I blink back dumbly at the man standing by my doorway with a grin wider than his shoulders —and they’re really, really broad. “Do I know…” I gasp, my eyes popping out of their sockets as recognition hits me like a ton of bricks. My jaw hits the floor and I slap a hand over my gaping mouth. A strap from my shoulder slips, but I’m too astonished to care.

“Rezo?! Marcelo Rezo?!” I can’t believe it! My gaze gobbles him up. Where’s the tall wimpy, nerdy boy with thick-rimmed glasses, an awkward gait, shabby brown hair and the shy smile I know?

I dart over to him.

The glasses are gone —they were never meant to stay. In their place are a pair of large honey brown eyes, sitting on a sharp, sculpted face. He towers over me —as usual, but his bulky, muscular body is new to me. I almost reach out and poke his biceps that strain under a blue shirt.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” I say jokingly, grinning up at him. The good memories rush in, and I feel my heart swell with happiness and a little pride.

He looks so different. So much… better.

“Come here!” He says, and I’m pulled into a bear hug; my bones squashed under the strength of his arms. It feels like being held by a big, warm pile of bricks slowly squeezing the life out of you.

I pat his lower back cause I’m too short to reach his shoulders. “Dying, from a hug… is a real thing.” I wheeze out. I’m sure my lungs are collapsing from the pressure.

“Oh s**t…” He lets me go instantly, smiling sheepishly. “I’m so sorry.”

My eyes go wide again. “Marcy? Did I just hear you use a swear word?” I ask in disbelief. The last time I’d heard him say something remotely close to a cuss word was five years ago when he said ‘Einstein’s backside be blasted.’

A flush creeps up his neck, but he smiles, glancing at the floor shyly. “You still remember that stupid nickname.”

I grin. He might’ve changed a lot physically, but the shy boy I know is still there.

“Of course I remember.” I reply, playfully smacking his arm. “How have you been? You’ve… changed.” My eyes devour him again. He’s grown really pleasing to look at. “It’s a good change. You look really good.” I compliment.

Marcelo’s blush deepens, but when he glances at me, his whole face turns into a riot of blotchy red. He clears his throat, drops his gaze to the floor and scratches the nape of his neck.

“You, too.” He mumbles, voice tiny and rough. “You… look great.”

My eyebrows go up in confusion until I peek down at myself and realize that the dress has slipped low enough for my cleavage to be on display. I quickly turn sideways and curse under my breath, tucking back a stray lock of hair.

“Um— thanks.” I reply awkwardly, gathering the straps of the dress and throwing them over my shoulders to at least maintain a little more decency.

“Uh, yeah…” Marcelo spares another glance at me, freezes. His face contorts into confusion. He gestures to his cheek. “What happened to your face?”

My hand shoots to the little bruise on my cheek. “Oh, this?” I try to feint nonchalance. I wave it away, shrug, thinking of a believable lie. “Ahaha, it’s nothing. I just—“

His confusion turns to understanding, and then to anger. His chiseled jaw goes tight. “It’s your father isn’t it?” His voice is dangerously loud, and there’s a growl in it.

“Shh you i***t!” I hiss, dragging him into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. “If someone hears you, you’ll get in big trouble, big guy!” I scold him in a whisper. “Son of the Beta or not, accusing the Alpha of such things will get you punished.”

His expression is tight, and he glares at me like I am my father. “He has no right to hurt you.” A frown tugs down the edges of his lips.

I nibble on my lower lip and look away. Of course he has no right. But I’m helpless and there’s nothing I can do about it. I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“He shouldn’t lay a finger on you.” He continues, fists clenched, but he’s as powerless as I am.

I shake my head. “Let it go, Marcy.” I try to smile, but it feels like a grimace. My face is taut with tension, and I’m afraid the skin will tear. “Please.” I stare at him in the eyes, silently begging him to let it go.

He sighs, shoulders stooping. “Fiona…”

“I don’t want you in trouble because of me.” I cut him off, spinning around so my back is to him. “Now shut up and help me tie these damn straps properly.”

Anything to stop him from thinking of doing something stupid.

Marcelo complies reluctantly, gathering my hair and swooping it to the side so my back is not obstructed by anything. He’s seen my scars before, and even knows the story behind how I got a few of them, so I’m not worried or self conscious. We had after-all been inseparable as children, and even through our teenage years.

His fingers brushes my lower back as he tugs at the straps; folding them into their intricate patterns.

My spine goes stiff and heat creeps up to my cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t exactly the best idea of a distraction to come up with.

He shifts closer and drops his head low. I can feel his warm exhale fanning my neck and trickling down my skin like liquid. His fingers

skim over my back again, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. I swallow down a shaky breath and struggle to concentrate on anything besides the heady scent of musk and freshly picked flowers coming from him.

My eyes droop close. Why am I like this? I feel his touch again. When will this torture end? I’m eager for him to finish fastening the straps so I can get away from this awkwardly close proximity.

“So are you… back?” He ties another knot. His voice is uneven, low, barely above a whisper. I hear him swallow thickly. “For good?”

My heart plummets to my stomach. So he doesn’t know. “I should be, but…” I sigh.

He holds my shoulders and spins me around slowly to face him. His head dips low, trying to come eye level with me as his gaze searches mine. A lock of chocolate brown hair falls over his forehead.

I resist the urge to reach out and push it back into place.

“But?” He prods almost hopefully.

I stare down at my feet. “I don’t plan on staying.” I admit.

He lets me go, nods. There’s disappointment and something a little like sadness mixing up his features. He tries to hide it with a thin smile, but he’s never been good at keeping a poker face.

“You know I can’t stay here.” I whisper, unable to look at him, and hating myself for being so selfish.

He lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “I wouldn’t forgive you if you did. Not with all you went through.”

It’s my turn to nod. Unspoken understanding passes between us, and after that, a strained silence sluggishly drags by.

“So!” Marcelo claps, takes a step back and admires my dress. He’s struggling to not blush, and to keep his gaze from sliding down to my curves. “Stunning dress.” He smiles down at me politely. “Are you going somewhere fancy?”

I don’t want to tell him. Not now at least. I don’t have the energy for it.

I wave my hand dismissively, “Nothing important,” and move to the edge of the bed, sitting down gingerly so my dress doesn’t ride up. I grin back at him. “What did I miss? Any luck with the second chance mate thing?”

He rolls his eyes, leans on the door and shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “No, not really.” He replies sadly.

“Oh…” I feel bad for him. “I’m sorry.”

When Fauna and I turned sixteen, she found out that Marcelo was her mate. All three of us were pretty close as friends, but for some reason, Fauna rejected him. It broke him in more ways than one. Not because he really loved her, but because breaking a mate bond is a painful process for both parties. Still, he claims it was a mutual rejection —they just didn’t fit together. But I can see that the pain still resonates with him to this day.

Mates mean a lot to werewolves, and I’m certain he feels lonely without one.

We don’t say it out loud, but I’m sure both of us are thinking it. If I’d been born a werewolf, I could’ve been his second chance mate.

Maybe even his first.