The Alpha's Cursed Mate

Chapter 20

I begin to wake — lulled by bedsheets and blankets — no longer on the courtyard floor. I remember trudging to Alexei's chambers to discard my ruined clothes and lie down before dinner. My strength wasn't as depleted as usual despite His attack on my shoulder, so I left. If Alexei came looking for me, I wouldn't be anywhere unusual, and he would wake me.

My assumptions are highly inaccurate, however. According to the clock, it is five hours past dinner. I push to sit upward, and the blankets fall from me.

"How did you sleep?"

Alexei stands at one of the windows in the bedchamber, partially gazing outward while minding me. My face fills with blood, and I gather the covers into my lap. "It's so late," I mutter. "I slept through dinner."

"I tried to wake you," Alexei says, drifting closer. "Are you hungry? Dinner can still be sent for."

I rub my arms even though the fireplace provides plenty of heat. "I suppose, but aren't you tired? Have you not slept?"

"I sleep some nights."

"And the nights you don't?"

He shrugs. "I don't."

"But..." I cross my arms. "You don't need to?"

"We can talk about it, but I'm more interested to know what happened to your shoulder."

I don't even glance. "I hurt it; how do you know? Did you look under—"

"No. I can smell it."

"As a man?" My question hangs in the air, becoming stale. I adjust on the bed, and he sits down on the other side. "Well, I hurt it, but it's fine. Just a cut."

"It must have been deep." He prods.

"No," I say, but the lie scrapes my tongue. "I may not look like an Alpha on the outside, but my blood can still tend a cut."

"I know; it's been healing."

Eager to switch the subject, I get out of bed and bend to the dressing table mirror. My fingers straighten any knotted hairs then wipe my eyes, and before he can inquire further about my injury, I ask, "How come you have a red flower on your back?"

Alexei says, "It's a war flower — that's what the old warriors called it, anyway."

"Why have a flower symbolize war?"

"War flowers bloom after two Alphas fight in battle," he explains. "The defeated Alpha's blood drains into the ground, and the flowers bloom because of it."

"Every time?"

"That's what I've inferred."

I turn from the dressing table and lean on the chair. "And war... What is it like?"

"What is war like? It's horrible, Brea, as I'm sure you can assume."

"I'm the only Alpha who doesn't know — really know. It feels wrong to direct an army when I haven't fought in one."

Alexei muses, "Yet you did just fine, didn't you?"

"Tabitha was helping me, and Byron, my general."

"And your allies," he reminds me then rises from the bed. "But our war is over, and if another were to happen, I trust you know your place."

My eyes advert to the floor, dragging there. "You think I want to fight? I suppose that's how real Alphas are made, but my body is useless. Now, if I were able to fight like you, then I would."

Alexei comes around the bed, his shirt parted open like summer attire, moving loosely. He sits on the bed before me and leans on his knees. "I don't want to fight how I do — with my men's sons, grandsons, effortlessly. A good Alpha is not empowered by the dead, but if killing is what I'm admired for—"