The Alpha's Mistress

1

Word Count: 2727

~Sienna

"First, Elora Daniels," I announce, striding back and forth.

Onyx lets out a pained groan, tipping his head back.

"Sienna..."

"She lives on the Western edge of the Pack. Her father owns a vast amount of land on which he harbours numerous successful orchards." I tilt my head to the side. "Impressive."

Onyx shakes his head, shifting in his seat. He's been condemned to the chair in front of the fire, forced to listen to me read from four individual profiles that detail who his future wife may be.

Alpha's need to marry. It's tradition, and Onyx is failing on that front.

"I'm not interested," he mutters, his obsidian gaze tracking me as I pace in front of him.

My finger trails along the page as I read further down, grimacing at the description. "These are so detailed. Creepy."

"Then stop looking at them."

"Elora is apparently of medium height." I huff out a breath. "Angel's-forbid they be specific...Has brown hair and brown, almost black eyes."

I glance up from the page as Onyx rubs his hand over his face.

Having him sitting here, at my whim will never not be exhilarating. There's so much power in this room, and it all belongs to him. Yet, I have a glorious amount of control over it.

It's the benefit of being the Alpha's best friend. Well, only friend.

"Is all this supposed to mean something to me?" He raises a dark brow until it disappears beneath the length of his ruffled black hair. It's as dark as his name denounces.

"She has a slight limp though..." I rub my chin.

His eyes flare. "They added that?"

I smother my laugh behind my hand. He takes everything too seriously.

"No, but whoever wrote this took liberties describing her. Apparently she has excellent posture." I straighten my own, knowing it probably needs some work.

His mother is trying to cater for his selectiveness, it seems. He insists he isn't picky, he is just not interested in marrying right now.

His gaze tracks my movements as I continue to pace. "This is disturbing, Sienna."

"Most importantly, she has status amongst her peers, is softly spoken and polite," I tell him. Some people find value in such traits, although the way Onyx's face immediately screws up suggests he is not one of them.

"None of that is appealing."

I lower the page, exasperated. "It's not her fault she's been bred to be married off to a wealthy, powerful man like you."

Onyx and I have spent much of our childhoods chastising the customs and traditions that govern his life, and many others of noble birth.

We also spent an equal amount of time not being able to do anything about it.

It's easy for me. I'm no one. My mother came here nine years ago with me in tow, no money to her name, wanting work. Onyx's mother kindly offered her a position as her assistant.

When my mother died, I took over the job.

"This girl doesn't have to worry about marrying me."

I shoot a faux pout in his direction. "But it says here that she has ample birthing hips."