The Alpha's Princess Mate

7

CAROLINE

It's over. I sighed, closing my eyes. The mission had gone smoothly; a dead Alpha, no blood, and no traces pointing towards my father or me.

And a wife and a seven-year-old son mourning a good man, a vicious little voice inside my head seethed. Immediately, I shut it out; exhausted as I was, guilt wasn't something I could deal with now.

I probably would have slept in my bed tonight, as long as daddy dearest didn't have one of his little surprises in store for me. After all, he'd left something on hold during our last conversation; knowing him, I was pretty sure it would come back and bite me in the ass when I least expected it.

"I'm hungry," Gavin grumbled, his nose glued to the window as he admired the sunset. I couldn't hold back a smile: the fearless warrior, the loyal guard, with the wonder of a child in his eyes. "Don't they have anything to eat?"

"Plane food isn't really good," I sighed. “We'll get something at the airport. We'll land in thirty minutes".

He nodded, turning back to look at the sun, and I started leafing through the airplane magazine, full of things that I wouldn't have bought anyway.

"Hi!" a little voice exclaimed from above my head. I looked up and noticed a small stuffed koala protruding from the seat in front of me.

There's a child back there, I realized, and the thought hit me like a punch in the stomach.

A kid. Just like the son of the Alpha I'd killed.

My mouth went dry.

"Hi! Is anyone there?" the child waved his stuffed koala.

Gavin gently squeezed my hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb.

Come on, Caroline.

"Hi, koala," I said then, trying to keep my voice steady and cheerful.

"His name is Sparkle!"

The kid's smiling face peeked out from the headrest, and I couldn't help but smile back.

“Hi, Sparkle,” I greeted the koala. "And who's your human friend?"

The child blushed. “My name is Mike. And yours?"

"Maeve," I lied with a smile.

“Hi, Maeve”. A mischievous, almost expectant smile.

"Hello, Mike".

His smile became one of pure joy. "We're friends, now!" he laughed, holding out a little hand towards me for me to shake. “Do you want one of my sweets? My dad bought them for me”.

My stomach tightened with shame, with guilt.

What right did I have to talk to a child after the horrible act I'd committed only a few hours before? How could I shake the hand of an innocent creature when mine were dirty, dripping with the blood of hundreds of people guilty of being in my father's path?

Monster.

The word rang in my mind, loud and clear, painfully true. As much as Gavin might tell me it wasn't true, I knew the truth; and the truth was that I was a monster.

"What a great dad you have," I whispered in a low voice.

Mine had never bought me a bag of candies. Or a toy.

The boy brightened up and threw himself into an accurate and enthusiastic description of his dad, of how wonderful he was and how much he loved him. He listed all the games they played together, told me about the tree house he'd built for them, about the pepperoni pizza they'd cooked the week before.

Keeping a mask on my face wasn't hard; I'd been doing it since I was younger than Mike. But when the plane finally landed, and Mike hugged me goodbye, the mask began to c***k.

Gavin was quick to wrap his arms around me, wrapping me in a protective bubble; and as soon as I was invisible to prying eyes, I let the mask be completely dissolved by my tears.

I don't know how long we spent sitting there on the chairs in the waiting room, hugging; at a certain point, however, the last traces of anger, disgust, and guilt disappeared, moving away with my last tears, leaving me so empty that I felt too light.

"How are you feeling?" Gavin muttered, gently stroking my back.

"Good". A lie. I didn't feel good, I didn't feel bad. I felt nothing.

He pursed his lips - he knew I was lying, but he didn't insist. "What do you want to do?"

Forget.

And luckily, I knew how and where to do it.

Gavin gave me a long, worried look. "Are you sure?"

I smiled. Not of contentment, but savoring the feeling of freedom and lightness that would come. "Absolutely".

Needless to say, the next morning, I woke up with a terrible headache: the sun coming through the windows and the insistent knocking on the door didn't help in the least.

"Give me a second," I managed to mutter, tossing and turning in the duvet.

"It's Clarice, Your Highness," the voice of the housekeeper rang from beyond the door. "Your father wants to meet you with the utmost urgency."

Ugh.

Fucking awesome. His Majesty wishes to meet his favorite killer. Who knows who I'll have to kill this time. A puppy? Who does the great king Malcolm fear now?

Rummaging in the nightstand drawer, I pulled out a couple of pills and gulped them down with some water, then dragged myself to the vanity.

I really did look horrible. The kind of look that makes you realize you're absolutely in need of a long, long day at the spa.

And by many, many liters of champagne.

Grunting, I managed to go to the bathroom and jump into the shower; the smell of alcohol and sweat, both mine and all the other people that were in the club was just too much. So, I scrubbed myself thoroughly with the sponge using the most fragrant shower gel I could find, topping it all with matching lotion and perfume.

I declared myself ready only an hour later, at noon, and walked into my father's office as if nothing had happened.

As I expected, he was irritated, and the look he gave me as he poked at his own roast chicken could have killed me.

"Good morning, Your Highness," the butler, who'd served him, greeted me. "Are you hungry?"

"As always," I replied, smiling back at him. "What's for lunch?"

"Honey roasted chicken with fried asparagus," he said. “I'll go get you some”.

When he left, taking away my father's perfectly clean plate as well, Malcolm planted his cold eyes in mine, staring at me from over the desk.

He was more than annoyed.

“Tell me, Caroline,” he drawled. "Is your brain so undeveloped that you even fail to understand the meaning of urgency?"

"If you'd rather me show up smelling of alcohol and vomit, just say so," I retorted, settling in the chair. "So? What's so urgent? Any mission?"

"Not for now," he said. “I currently have no enemies so important to require your specific attention. Of course, this doesn't relieve you from your duties as captain of my Elite, so fear not, your bloodlust won't suffer. The service I require today is of a different nature”.

That put me on the defensive, and I felt my muscles tense as the fight-or-flight instinct worked its way into me.

If it's not murder, it's political, I thought. Something big.

Several names and situations immediately jumped to my mind to which his "request" could be connected; other kings, ongoing wars, enemy races.

Gregory, the butler, came back just then, with my tray of food in hand. When he reached down to serve me, I saw a hint of pity in his eyes, which fueled my concern even more.

What do you know, Gregory? I asked him.

Total silence.

"Please let me know when you're done, miss, so I can clean it up for you," he just said before closing the door behind his back.

I knew my father wouldn't talk until I finished eating, so I hurried to finish my lunch - which wasn't difficult, since it was amazing. Curiosity and concern were devouring me, and I feared and waited for when he would finally declare his intentions. As I ate, he did absolutely nothing to hide how little my presence affected him; he silently continued signing papers for a few minutes, and then stood up, turning his back on me to look out over the Thames from the large window.

When he heard the clack of the tray on the desk, he finally spoke.

"I guess you know," he said. "That vampires are preparing to wage war on us."

"So what?" I snorted, shrugging. “They always do, they're vampires. A little werewolf venom is enough to knock them down like many undead pins".

"The problem is, it looks like they've learned that teamwork is much more efficient than being lone killers," he explained. “They're organizing themselves, and they've even elected their own ruler. Perhaps you know him - Lord Edward Multon, Earl of Ashton”.

My stomach tightened - I knew Multon. I had a scar on my hip that kept me from forgetting him or the horrible feeling of his claws sinking into my flesh.

"Again; so whar? Do you want me and the Elite to eliminate the problem?"

“Sending the Elite would be too obvious, and wouldn't be taken well in the supernatural world,” he shook his head. “Multon has made no threats so far, but it's clear he wants to intimidate us. So I, too, have decided to make a political move, and not a military one - but one that will send a very specific message”.

"You really enjoy hearing yourself talk," I snorted. "So please, reveal your great and ineffable plan, Your Majesty."

He turned slowly, his austere features lit by the afternoon sun. A chilling smile crept across his face, and I felt my stomach go cold - I knew that smile. I'd learned to fear it.

It was the one he did when he found a way to solve a problem and torture me at the same time.

"Smile, sweetie - you're getting married."