The Curse Of The Alpha’s Mate

Chapter 6

The rest of the journey to the Lysidas mansion is a complete blur to me. At some point we reach the airport, and I’m ushered into a private jet; Fauna sitting opposite me and keeping her eyes on my every move. I haven’t been on an airplane for so long, and flying feels like a new experience, but I don’t enjoy it. I can’t. My stomach stays in knots.

By the time we finally land in Lost Angels City, I am tired from overthinking and being watched like a bacteria under a microscope. It’s hours way past midnight, and the interior of the limousine that picks us up from the airport is warm. I find myself dozing in and out of a much needed slumber.

“We’re here.” Fauna announces.

I snap out of sleep with a ragged gasp. I had been dreaming of drowning. My eyes adjust to the bright lights as we approach the Lysidas mansion —a place I once called home.

It’s less of a mansion and more of a gothic castle built with gleaming stones and ivory marble. It looms ahead of us like a palace dragged out of a fairytale; evergreen vines creeping up the high walls, the hidden cameras blinking down at us from the shadows like a thousand eyes, and large trees shivering without a breeze.

Here, the air is sickly sweet. I remember it as the car slows to a stop and my window rolls down. There’s the scent of rotting fruits and blooming flowers; of death and decay, growth and rebirth. But above it all, my father’s cologne— a scent of overripe plum, amber, and smoke permeates the air, like he has established ownership over the plants themselves.

When the hum of the engine dies, the night plunges us back into a freakish silence.

It wasn’t odd for the pack house to be so quiet at night. My father had put in place a curfew, which no one dared to cross.

I strain my ears to hear the familiar gurgle of the water fountain not far off from the main entrance, but my ears pick up nothing except the defiant music of night crickets. The view of the maze garden up ahead is a war of vibrant green and shadows, with only a single lamppost shining it’s florescent light on the paths we used to run through with Fauna and Marcelo; giggling and laughing until we were out of breath.

Five years; it feels like forever, but really, nothing has changed.

A man clad in black suit opens my door and I step out, unsteady on my feet, dread settling back in as the familiarity of the place vanishes. I thought I’d never be back here. I prayed I’d never be back here.

This time Fauna takes the lead, and wordlessly, I follow; my eyes searching the pavement for cracks where stubborn flowers poke through. I find none.

I feel so out of place in my oversized Fiona Apple merch t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and squeaky yellow Nikes.

“You will be having dinner with Father.” Fauna says, her words echoing off the walls as we take the spiraling staircase leading to the upper floors.

My stomach drops. “It’s almost three am.” I point out, my voice embarrassingly squeakier than my shoes. I clear my throat, hoping to sound less like a rat. “And I’m not hungry.”

She says nothing. We both know it’s not a choice. At least not mine to make.

The interior of the pack house feels grey; duller and more lifeless than when I left. I’m sure more werewolves have left the pack now; gone rogue or found a way to escape the clutches of my father without getting on his bad side.

Two hefty men stand guard by the door that leads to the alpha’s chambers. When they see Fauna, their heads dip low in respect, before going back to being stoic statues of protection.

The fact that my father keeps bodyguards in his own pack house says a lot about how he deals with the people meant to be under his care and protection.

Fauna knocks once on the mahogany double doors, and then pushes the door open, pausing to motion me ahead first.

I wish I can stand outside his chambers, away from him, forever, but I can’t, and so my limbs move past the door and into the hallway that leads to a small dining area.

“Oh? Have you grown taller, Fiona?”

The blood in my veins freezes. Fear clutches my heart in a death grip, and my throat goes dry. I am ashamed to admit to myself that despite all the years, I’m still very much sacred of him.

My father smiles, flashing his predator sharp canines. He’s sitting at the head of the small dinner table, with two empty chairs on either side of him, and various dishes arranged neatly on the table. The florescent light casts a crude rawness to his pale skin and black hair highlighted with grey hairs; his sharp eyes cutting through me, looking more wolf than man.

He has always been more wolf than man.

I don’t answer his question. I’m too afraid to speak, but I hope he sees my silence as a little defiance and not a visible proof of fear.

The glint in his eyes intensify. “Come, take a seat.” He says, gesturing to the empty seat on his right. His hand goes to the bottle of expensive wine, but he pauses. “Ah, you too, Fauna.” His gaze goes to the other chair.

“Yes, father.” Fauna replies mechanically.

I follow her and we both take a seat.

“I don’t remember you being mute, Fiona.” He comments almost jokingly, but I don’t miss the underlying warning in his tone. He pours the wine, pushes a full glass in my direction. “Drink.”

I stare at the wineglass. It looks like blood in a fancy cup. I feel nauseous. “I don’t drink.” I’m thankful my voice doesn’t waver.

Across the table, Fauna’s gaze flickers to me, but her expression is unreadable, and she drops her eyes to her lap before I can get under her poker face.

“Interesting.” He says. The corners of his eyes crinkle. I can sense his amusement just as much as his cologne has poisoned the air. “Well, a pity since I’ve already poured it.” He pouts; an unnatural movement on his fiendish face. “And it’s fine wine…” his eyes shift to Fauna, “we can’t have it wasted, now can we?”

She understands the command without him asking. “Yes father.”

I watch her gulp down the wine with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Something is wrong. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out what is happening.

Fauna coughs; once, twice, and then she chokes. Her hand goes to her throat, her eyes widening. She wheezes, struggles to breathe.

Our father laughs.

It is a sound that has haunted my nightmares; his laughter; a howling, throaty noise that echoes and rings in your ears long after you’ve heard it.

My fingers grip the edge of my chair until my knuckles turn white. Pure anger flashes hot in my system, and along with it comes the grief of being powerless. But if I show him that it still affects me, he’d only use it as a weakness; a leverage to control me with.

“You still play your old games, father?” I say nonchalantly, but there’s an edge in my voice, and my eyes stay glued to Fauna as blood begins to drip from her nose.

I hate her. I hate them both. I hate that guilt still chokes me even years after all that they’ve done.

“Oh, do you remember when we used to play games like these when you were little?” He shakes his head, reminiscing traumatizing memories like his daughter isn’t next to him, choking on poison.

And how can I ever forget?

It was a sick and twisted rule of his; a way to pit us against each other and grow the seed of hate between me and my twin sister. Whenever one of us did something wrong, the other would be punished for it. Every time I disappointed him, every time I wasn’t the daughter he’d wanted, every time I showed the weakness of being human, Fauna would face his wrath.

And every time she failed a mission or didn’t train hard enough, I’d be the one to receive her punishment.

Blood sputters on the tablecloth, staining the white satin underneath and soiling the food. Cutlery and a bowl of broccoli soup clatters to the floor as Fauna falls to the ground, convulsing. Her cries are silenced by the sickening gurgling sounds of blood in her throat.

I will not give in.

He takes a fork and a knife, wipes the blood with a tissue paper without so much as a glance in her direction, and digs into a plate of chicken. “You know, wolfsbane is very—“

“Please.” I cut him off, my voice breaking. I don’t try to stop the tears that pool in my eyes. “Please, stop. Please father, enough.” I’m shaking; from fear, anger, and helplessness. If I had taken the wine, I’d be the one bleeding on the floor with wolfsbane in my system. But he knew I wouldn’t drink it. Of course he knew. And wolfsbane is more dangerous to werewolves than it is to humans, and he knows that.

“Please, she’s dying…”

For all her might and arrogance, she’s on the floor writhing and howling in pain, because of me. I can only imagine how excruciating it must be. It’s even worse that her body is trying to fight it so hard; to heal, but failing miserably.

I hate her, but I’m not willing to have her blood on my hands.

The corners of his lips tug up in a grotesque smile. “Welcome home.” He says, and I know my sister will finally get the antidote. And I know she’ll hate me a little more for being the cause of her pain, and for saving her.

But all fight has left my body. Yet again, my father has won.