Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

Chapter 10 : Next Time

I had to wait to sneak into his study. I still didn't know how many people lived in the house and occupied the dozens of rooms within its walls. Someone would snitch on me if I was seen creeping around in his wing of the house, that was for sure. So, I sat in the common room, warming my toes by the fire and pretending to read a book until the last of the people lingering around the dining room table retreated to their rooms.

I waited a while longer, listening to creaking pipes and faint voices until total silence fell, broken only by the dying fire in the hearth. The wait had been excruciating, but I knew I had at least a few minutes to view the map before having to sprint back to my room.

Jared's quarters were on the third story and accessed by a tight, walled-in staircase that creaked with each step. I winced every time I put my foot down. Someone had said that Jared and his crew gathered in a tavern nearby most nights. I was safe. Right?

The corridor outside of his study was dark, especially with no moonlight coming through the single window that lit the hallway. I fumbled around, one hand on the wall as I felt my way down the hallway, blinking frantically to try to adjust my vision to the darkness.

I found a doorknob and pushed it open, stepping into a room, but it didn't smell like dust and parchment. It was pitch black, and I felt along the wall for a light switch. I'd come to find out that some parts of the house were wired for electricity, all thanks to a single crude windmill at the far end of the village. I figured Jared, being their fearless leader, would have electricity in his wing of the house at least.

I took a blind step into the room, reaching along the wall in my search for light, but was met by the sharp scent of the laundry soap and the feeling of fabric against my cheek. I reared back, swinging my arms against what I believed to be an assailant, and dropped the book with a sharp thud on the floorboards.

"s**t1" I whispered, fumbling as I reached forward, my fingers grazing what felt like shirts and coats hung on a rod. “Just a closet,” I breathed, bending down to retrieve the book. It wasn't where I thought it'd landed, and I stepped further into the closet, Jared's clothing brushing against my head as I finally located the book and stood swiftly upright.

But my movement had sent a tremor through the clothing, and something above my head slid from what I believe was a shelf, and knocked me cleanly in the skull.

“Ouch! Damnit!"

I backed out of the closet, holding my forehead as I felt along the wall for another door. My hands brushed against a doorknob and I gripped it, pushing my way into what I knew was his study.

I sighed with relief, pulling a cord along the wall that set the study in a warm amber glow. An antique clock was ticking away in the corner of the snug room, and the light of the dusty, cobweb- covered chandelier reflected off bottles of fine scotch and whiskey sitting on a bar cart.

I felt oddly comfortable in the room despite the fact that I wasn't supposed to be there. It was dusty and smelled of leather and... manly things. It smelled like Jared.

I looked around the room, finding the space where he'd pulled the book from the shelves along the wall. I put the book back as gently as possible, then turned to the desk.

I tucked my hands behind my back in an attempt to stop myself from touching anything and leaned over the desk, scanning the map.

"You really have no sense of boundaries,” Jared said behind me.

I jumped, then quickly composed myself, but my body was heating rapidly as adrenaline began to course through my blood. He walked across the room, soundless, and poured himself a drink.

I glanced at him, then looked back at the map. I couldn't focus anymore, not with Jared making himself comfortable on the old leather sofa directly behind me.

“I never met someone so light on their feet,” I said through gritted teeth. “Are you sure you're not a dancer instead of a warrior?"

“I'm not a warrior," he replied. “And I'm a great dancer, if you care to know."

I turned my head to look at him fully. He was sitting on the sofa in a casual manner, his ankle resting on his opposite knee and one arm extended along the back of the couch. He looked ruffled, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing smooth, carefully crafted muscles that gleamed in the soft light.

He was comfortable, maybe even vulnerable, and he was waiting for my next move.

“Can I help you find anything?" he asked sarcastically, swirling the dark liquor in his glass.

“I was returning the book.”

“Why?"

“Because I've read it already, several times. I could recite it front to back.”

We stared at each other for a moment, a tense silence passing between us

“I know you're after the map,” he said. “You could've just asked to see it."

“You would've said no."

“I would have warned you that planning what you believe is an escape from this house is futile at best. My crew and I would be the least of your worries if you tried to go off on your own.”

I let his words settle between us for a moment as I pondered my next move.

"We're not the only crew of bounty hunters. We're not the only packless rogues, either. It's not safe out there for a woman traveling alone-"

“You know nothing about me,” I cut in, my voice trembling with frustration.

“You're right, I don't. But I assume you're not from here. You're not from... this realm, are you?"

I didn't answer, but I held his gaze. He nodded, his eyes boring into mine.

"Who are you?" he asked, and not for the first time.

“It doesn't matter."

“If you're in danger, I need to know." I squared my shoulders, preparing my next cutting remark but he beat me to it. “And don't say that I am the one putting you in danger, Eliza.”

"Aren't you, though? How am I supposed to just trust that you mean well when I am a practical prisoner?" I asked

“You're not a prisoner.”

“Then what am 17"

Jared flexed his jaw, looking more than annoyed by my questioning. When he said nothing more, I turned back to look down at his desk, seeing the sketch of what I believed to be an amulet of some kind sticking out of a book. I reached for it, not caring that Jared was watching me, and unfolded the paper.

“What do you think it is?" he asked from behind me, his voice dropping an octave.

I glanced at him over my shoulder, noticing his abrupt change in demeanor. He wasn't sitting comfortably anymore. He was rigid, and he was genuinely waiting for my opinion.

"Are you designing a necklace for your sweetheart?" I teased, but he continued to stare, his gaze shifting to the paper as he rose from the sofa with a soft grunt.

“It's an artifact from Lycaon's time," he said, taking the paper from my hands. He was leaning on the desk next to me, close enough his thigh brushed against mine. “I've been looking for it for years.” “Why?

He didn't answer right away, but he had a distant look in his eyes. For a moment I thought... I thought maybe he was going to open up to me a bit, to tell me why he had a study like this and about his interests in history and academia. We were obviously alike in that way, and maybe in other ways, too.

“I just want to find it," he said simply.

He looked up from the paper and met my eyes. We were incredibly close to each other now. I could reach out and run the back of my knuckles over the dark stubble along his jaw if I wanted to. My fingers flexed at the thought, but I curled them into a fist.

What was wrong with me?

“I told you this room was off limits,” he breathed, folding the sketch back into a square.

“I know." It was all I could think to say.

“I also said there would be a punishment for this,” he continued. The air was heavy between us, rippling with what I can only describe as electricity.

"And I asked you if that was a promise,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly, and not out of fear. I wanted to... kiss him. I wanted him to throw me against the desk and have his way with me. My mind and body were at odds as he leaned forward, his breath tickling my cheek. I closed my eyes involuntarily, totally and completely under his spell.

"Get out," he said hoarsely, as if, at least for a moment, he'd been under the same spell as well and had realized it, just like I had.

The spell broke against his words, shattering to the ground at my feet. I stepped away from him, noticing the cold look in his eyes. Fury ripped through me, drowning out the heat burning through my core.

“What is your problem?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain.

“My problem?" he growled. “My problem is your blatant disregard for authority. You're fearless, and you shouldn't be. You have no right to be sneaking around.”

“But you think it's perfectly appropriate to have access to my room and-"

“I was trying to do something nice for you," he interrupted in a cutting tone. “I brought you that book because I thought it would be something you'd be interested in!"

"You were testing me," I bit out. “I see that now. It's almost like you were waiting for me to come in here."

“I need to be able to trust you," he snapped. “I have no idea who you are or where you came from.” “You brought ME here," I argued. “You didn’t have-"

“I wasn't going to leave you behind." His voice echoed through the room, and I went still, catching the faint tremor of raw emotion in his tone, something I was sure he'd meant to keep hidden.

I didn't know what it was about Jared that kept me on edge. I didn't know why I'd secretly been wanting this confrontation, maybe more than I wanted the map. I looked up into his eyes and held his gaze. I couldn't make sense of the look in his eyes or the expression on his face. He was angry, that was clear. Frustrated? Sure. But there was something else, something deeper, something we shared.

"Why," he said with effort, “are you so mean to me?"

I was surprised by this question. I opened my mouth, but had nothing to say. The tension between us seemed to be lifting, however. I cleared my throat, and offered him something other than the apology I owed him.

“I think," I said, slowly reaching forward to take the paper out of his hands. I unfolded it, turning it so he could see it from my angle. “These pieces are backwards. It shouldn't fit together like a puzzle. This center area looks like it could be a key hole, or a place where a gem would go. That's why I thought it was an amulet. But the more I look at it, the more I think..." I traced a finger along one of the sketches, imagining what this thing, this icon of some kind, would look and feel like in my hand. “I think it's a clock.”

He touched the paper, following the same line I'd traced, until our fingers touched. A spark lit between us, literally.

"Ouch!" I hissed, curling my hand into a fist. He'd shocked me with static electricity.

“Sorry,” he murmured, totally unbothered as he continued to look down at the paper. “Thank you." “For what?"

He met my eyes again, and to my surprise, I saw the threat of a smile touch the corner of his mouth. “I think you might be right," he said. “It might be a clock.”

“I'm usually right," I breathed, then gave him a soft, apologetic smile.

“Goodnight,” he said, tilting his head toward the door.

I frowned. Hadn't I just helped him?

“I'm not sorry for coming in here," I said as I moved toward the door. Why did I always feel the need to have the last word?

“I know," he sighed, and as I exited the room, I heard him fold the sketch back up and tuck it away. I'd forgotten all about the map.

Next time.