Thirty Nights with the Alpha King

“I have a proposition,” he smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. “You will remain here at the castle until the next full moon. If you don’t fall in love with me by then, I will let you go. However, if you do fall for me, you will remain here as my queen, and I will make all your dreams come true.” He brushes his nose against mine, sending shivers of electricity through my body. “But rest assured, my lady, that I will do everything in my power to make sure things go my way.” “But I love Nick,” I say, gathering my courage to resist his advance. “I love the goodness in him, which you so clearly lack. And at the end of the thirty nights here in this stupid, creepy castle, I will choose to return to Earth with him, where my family is waiting for me.” I suddenly realize that they are probably looking for Nick and I right now, frantically worried. Will they call my parents to let them know I’ve gone missing? Will they think Nick and I ran off together? “I want to see him!” I cry out, tears threatening to spill over. “I want to see Nick. Let me see him!” King Nicholas stands up straight, allowing me a moment to breathe. He takes a step back, eying me closely with a scowl on his face. “You insolent girl,” he says, clucking his tongue. “I’m not accustomed to being spoken to so defiantly. I should throw you down there in the dungeons with him just to teach you a lesson.” “Fine, then do it!” I say, meeting his gaze in a challenging way. Truthfully, his menacing expression frightens me, and I don’t want to find out how he would punish me down there. However, I can’t let him win, so I continue to hold his gaze with my chin held high, even if it is just a ruse. “I don’t belong to you!” I interrupt, my voice rising in frustration. “You literally just met me!” “You may care only for him now, but you will come to feel the same for me very soon. And at the end of the next thirty nights, you’ll feel even more deeply for me than you do for him, because I can give you things that he can’t. I’m going to treat you like a queen, and you will want for nothing except for my c**k to be buried deep inside of you night after night. You’ll be on your knees before me begging to stay when the next full moon arrives.” *** CHAPTER ONE Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It sounds like a manufactured disease for weak-willed women, like hysteria. And yet, this is my daily reality. CFS is the reason I’m standing on my grandparents’ doorstep in the middle of nowhere, A.K.A. northeastern Utah. The fresh air will do you good, my mother said. But she and I both knew that my parents were just frustrated with me, watching me throw my college scholarships, my prestigious internship – my entire future, really – down the drain. When I finally made the decision to drop out of college, my father said I was “lazy,” and that I needed to “get my act together.” This fatigue is all in your head, he said. We’re all tired, but that’s life; that’s being an adult. So here I am, on a remote ranch over a hundred miles from the nearest city, on a parental-prescribed “spiritual journey of self-discovery and mental healing.” Whatever the hell that means. I haven’t even had the chance to get up the stairs of the front porch before my grandmother comes rushing out the door. “Addy!” she exclaims, enveloping me into her warm, comforting embrace. “We’ve missed you so much, my dear.” “I’ve missed you too, Grandma,” I reply honestly. I clutch at her, resting my cheek on her shoulder. It feels like she’s helping me shoulder my emotional burden just by hugging me, and I heave a heavy sigh to release some of the tension in my body. “How are you feeling?” she asks, stepping back and looking me up and down. “You’ve lost weight since I saw you last.” “How can you tell? It’s been almost six years, Grandma,” I say with a weak laugh. “Yes, but I still follow you online and see your photos,” my grandmother protests. I smile. My grandmother and I have kept in touch through social media all this time, which helped me feel as though she was not so far away. I used to spend every summer here at the ranch as a child. However, as I got older and more ambitious, the summers quickly filled up with activities, internship opportunities, and a social life, and our family vacations to the ranch became shorter and less frequent. Eventually, we stopped coming altogether. “Come, let’s sit down while your grandpa brings in the luggage,” my grandmother says. “I just squeezed some fresh lemonade.” I take a seat on one of the wicker chairs as she scurries inside. From the porch, I see my grandfather unloading my bags unhurriedly from his old Chevy pickup truck. He drove over two hours just to pick me up from the airport in Provo, and we drove another two hours back. He let me fall asleep on the ride, since I was left completely exhausted from walking through the airport that morning.  Having grown up in Los Angeles, I could never understand why people chose to live so far away from the city. However, as I look across the quiet, unspoiled landscape, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. The tall grass stretches out in a vast expanse around the farmhouse in all directions, and in the distance is the ridge of the mesa, stretching upwards toward the setting sun. Large trees dot the scenery, growing thicker near the base of the mesa. The tree closest to the patio still has a tire swing hanging from one of the branches. I smile as I remember how I would waste the entire summer away on that swing as a child, playing with Nick Ourey and his siblings. The Ourey Family are the ranch caretakers, helping my grandparents with the cattle operations. As my grandmother steps out from the kitchen, I turn to look at her. “When will Nick stop by? I haven’t spoken with him in so long.” “Oh, I’m sure he’ll stop by sometime tomorrow,” she replies, taking the seat beside me. She pours a glass of lemonade and hands it to me. I notice her wrinkled hands as I accept the glass gratefully. She hasn’t seemed to age much since I last saw her, although her thick, dark hair is more silver than I remember. It’s pulled back in a long braid, and loose strands of hair fall around her dark eyes. They are serene, yet alert. “Ah, fresh lemonade!” my grandfather exclaims, dragging my suitcases up the steps. “Pour me a glass, would you, Winona?” “Of course,” she replies, giving him a smile as he enters the house. Then she turns back to me. “He’ll take your bags up to your room. Do you need any help unpacking?” “No, I’ll be okay, but thank you,” I reply. “Oh, my dear, you look so tired,” she sighs, examining me closely. “I can see it in your eyes. They seem faraway.” Most people would be offended to hear they look tired, but I feel the opposite. In fact, I’m relieved that someone is able to see my invisible illness. I’ve heard the phrase, “but you don’t look sick!” so many times, as if I couldn’t possibly be feeling terrible if I don’t have any visible symptoms. No one seems to believe me. But hearing those words from my grandmother, I feel validated. “I’m so glad this pandemic is over,” my grandmother continues, shaking her head. “Your grandpa and I drove all the way to Provo twice to get both doses of our vaccines, although the Oureys still refuse to leave the ranch, even to get vaccinated.” “They aren’t vaccinated?” I ask, feeling anxiety rise in my chest. I have to remind myself that I’ve already suffered the illness and been vaccinated, but the idea of being around others without a mask is still unsettling to me. I don’t want anyone else to experience what I’m going through as a long hauler, or worse, wind up in the hospital…or dead. “No, although they really don’t interact with too many people, unless they come to the ranch,” she replies with a shrug. “So, I’m not worried about it.” “How are things here on the ranch?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “Oh, you know, ‘same old, same old,’” she replies, waving her hand dismissively. “Nothing you need to worry about. Why don’t you catch me up on you?” “There’s nothing to tell,” I shrug. “I’m not really doing anything these days.” “Oh, Addy,” she replies, clucking her tongue. “You’re giving yourself a chance to heal. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” “Except this is chronic, Grandma,” I sigh. “I might not heal from this.” I take a sip of lemonade. It’s not quite as sweet as I remember it, and I can hardly smell the lemon fragrance as the rim of the glass comes close to my nose. But nothing tastes or smells the same anymore. At least that’s one symptom that seems to be improving with time. I can feel my grandmother’s eyes on me, not knowing what to say. I’m not sure what I want her to say either, so we just sit there quietly sipping lemonade. My grandfather, thankfully, interrupts the silence, stepping out and taking a seat in another wicker chair across from us. “Here’s your lemonade, Bob,” my grandmother says, passing another glass to him. “How was the drive?” “Pretty quiet,” he grunts, although he gives me a wink. I smile back at him, happy to keep my long nap a secret from my grandmother, and relieved that he doesn’t seem upset that I ignored him for the past two hours. He has much fairer skin than my grandmother, who is a descendant of the local Ute Native American tribe. His blond hair has given way to gray wisps on his bald head now, which he keeps covered with a cowboy hat. He is wearing his signature plaid button-up shirt with a collar, which is tucked into his belted denim jeans and leather boots. I take after my grandfather’s side, with long, blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin that burns too easily in the sun. In fact, I’m probably too pale after more than a year of being stuck inside the house. Addison Byrne is my given name, although everyone just calls me Addy. Byrne is my grandfather’s surname, descended from the first Irish immigrants to America. My grandparents bought this land decades ago and named it Byrne Ranch, raising cattle and making a decent living here in Utah. They raised my father here, but he left for California as soon as he could save up for a car. “Who’s that?” I ask, squinting my eyes in the direction of the setting sun above the mesa ridge. At the base is a cloud of dust, which is being kicked up by another old Chevy pickup truck, nearly identical to my grandfather’s. “Must be one of the Oureys,” my grandmother replies with a small frown. “It’s a bit late in the day for them to be out.” “Something must have happened again,” my grandfather mutters. “Again?” I repeat. My grandparents don’t answer me. They watch silently as the plume of dust grows closer, the truck speeding full steam ahead across the ranch toward the farmhouse. But when the truck comes to a stop in front of the porch, I am surprised to find a young, attractive cowboy jump out of the driver’s seat. I admire his thick head of raven hair and tanned features, the strong muscles and broad chest tight against his white t-shirt, which hangs casually over a pair of jeans and hiking boots. The mysterious figure takes off his cowboy hat, revealing his face. When his deep, brown eyes catch mine, I feel my breath catch in my throat. “Addy?” he says in recognition, his voice much deeper than I remember. “Nick? Is that you?” I reply, completely stunned. This is not the lanky, awkward boy I used to spend my summers with as a child. Nick has definitely grown up. “I can’t believe it!” he exclaims, hopping up the steps towards us. I stand up to give him a hug in greeting. His arms wrap around my shoulders, enveloping me into his strong, warm embrace. His chest feels hard and muscular against me, and I bring my arms around, sliding my hands up his back. I catch the faintest whiff of leather when my nose grazes his shoulder, but it’s gone in an instant as my olfactory senses fail me once again. Damn. The hug is over far too quickly, and he steps away from me, grinning widely. “Wow, it’s great to see you! I had no idea you were coming out this summer!” “Yeah, it was a sort of last-minute decision,” I say vaguely. “Uh, do you want some lemonade and we can catch up?” “Actually, I can’t,” Nick replies, his face turning serious. His gaze lingers on me for just a moment longer before he turns back to my grandfather. “Mr. Byrne, I came here straight away after I found her. There’s been another cattle mutilation.”