f*******n by the Alpha

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

The sun is just starting to dip low, spilling golden light through the trees as Mark leads me down a narrow path I've never noticed before. I keep my eyes focused on the ground, wary of tripping over hidden roots in my haste to keep up with his confident strides. Since becoming his wife, there's been an invisible thread pulling taut between us—a mix of duty and something I can't quite place. A longing for something more, perhaps? I shake the thought away.

"Watch your step," he says, glancing back at me with a hint of concern. His black hair catches the sunlight, giving him a halo that seems at odds with the intensity of his brown eyes. They always seem to be searching for something I'm not sure I can give.

"Thanks," I reply, grateful for his attentiveness despite the awkwardness that has settled over us like a fog since our wedding. He reaches out a hand to steady me as we descend a gentle slope, and I’m struck by the warmth of his touch.

"Almost there," he promises, and I hear something new in his voice—a note of excitement, maybe even vulnerability. It's enough to make me lift my gaze from the ground and really look at him for the first time today.

We emerge into a small clearing, and I gasp at the sight. A blanket is spread out on the grass, weighed down at the corners with smooth stones. A basket sits to one side, flanked by two flickering candle lanterns that seem to keep the encroaching shadows at bay.

"Mark, this is…" The words trail off as I take in the scene, a romantic picnic straight out of a dream I didn’t know I had.

"Surprise," he says with a half-smile, running a hand through his hair. "I thought we could use some time away from everything. Just the two of us."

I nod, spellbound by the effort he's put into this. We sit down on the blanket together, and I watch as he unpacks the basket—cheeses, fruits, a loaf of fresh bread, and a bottle of wine. It's simple fare, but somehow perfect.

"Here," he says, handing me a glass filled with the deep red liquid. Our fingers brush in the exchange, sending a thrill up my arm.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking a tentative sip and finding it rich and smooth.

We talk then, about inconsequential things—the weather, the pack, the forest around us. Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly when he tells a story about his childhood, chasing his brothers through these very woods. The sound is foreign to my own ears, and yet it feels right.

"Your laugh is beautiful," he says suddenly, his eyes locked onto mine. There’s no teasing or pretense, only raw honesty. And something in the way he looks at me stirs a warmth in my chest.

"Nobody's ever…" I begin, but falter under the weight of his gaze.

"Ever what?" he prods gently, leaning closer.

"Made me feel so… seen," I whisper, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.

"Then I'll just have to make you laugh more often," he replies, smiling. That smile—it’s like a c***k in the armor he usually wears, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the Alpha title.

It happens then, almost naturally. The laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and we're drawn together as if by some magnetic force. My heart hammers in my chest as he leans in, and I find myself closing the gap. Our lips meet in a kiss that starts tentative but grows bolder, firmer. It's a kiss that speaks of promises and unspoken desires, that bridges the distance between duty and want.

I don't think about anything else but the here and now—Mark and me, the setting sun, and the soft whisper of leaves in the gentle evening breeze.

The sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and blushing pink. Mark's hand finds mine, his fingers entwining with my own. It feels natural, comforting even, and I can't help but lean into him, my head resting against his broad shoulder.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I hesitate, knowing I should push away thoughts of Alex—his mischievous blue eyes, the way his smile ignites a reckless kind of excitement inside me. But with Mark, it's different; it's as if every moment adds another layer to an already deep bond, one that's rooted in something far more profound than mere attraction.

"I'm thinking that this... us... it's not what I expected," I admit softly.

"How so?" Mark's voice is low, laced with a curiosity that seems genuine.

"Growing up, I always thought that being with an Alpha would feel oppressive, like I’d be living under someone's shadow." I lift my gaze, meeting his brown eyes, which hold none of the arrogance I once associated with power. "But with you, I don't feel overshadowed. I feel... safe."

"Is that a good thing?" His thumb caresses the back of my hand, sending a ripple of warmth through me.

"More than good," I confess, feeling the walls around my heart crumble just a little more. "It's everything."

Mark's lips curve into a soft smile, one that reaches his eyes and transforms his entire demeanor from imposing Alpha to something akin to vulnerable. He leans in, his forehead pressing lightly against mine, and for a fleeting second, I imagine a life where doubt doesn't cloud my heart, where the choice between duty and desire isn't a choice at all.

"Mark…" The word is a whisper, a concession of the emotions I've been fighting since we met.

"Shh," he soothes, placing a gentle kiss on my temple. "You don't have to say anything. Just let yourself feel, Isla."

And I do. I let myself sink into the sensation of being wanted, of being cherished by someone who sees beyond the surface. It's terrifying and exhilarating, much like the leap from human to wolf—a transition that always comes with a rush of freedom and fear.

As we sit there, the blanket beneath us now a small island in a sea of twilight, I realize I'm falling. Falling for the strength in Mark's embrace, for the tenderness in his touch, for the promise of a tomorrow where I could love without reservation.

But even as my heart yields to the man beside me, the image of Alex, with his untamed spirit and charming defiance, lingers in the shadows of my mind—a reminder that the heart is a complex creature, capable of harboring more than a single longing.

"Whatever happens," Mark whispers, as if he senses the turmoil within me, "know that I'm here. For you, Isla. Always."

And in that moment, with the scent of pine and the soft rustle of leaves as our serenade, I believe him.