The Alpha of Alphas

Chapter Eighteen

We were both attacked. We were both targeted. Which means the treaty Rey mentioned, Alpha Renier had made with the rogues, it has something to do with this. The gears in my head start to turn.

     Haze, someone who had no connection with rogues, suddenly joining them. Rogues, who had no contact with people ever since the rogue trials, suddenly starting to attacks. And finally the cardinal sending Valis to get me to kill the king, who the rogues previously would not even dream of coming close to.

     Something very dangerous is at here. Why are the rogues so confident all of a sudden?

     As I am scouring through every piece of information I have and connecting whatever estranged dots I can, my mate grows restless.

     "Answer me."

     It is good that he thinks both of us were targeted. If it were only me, it would not have taken long to figure out why. I reign in every bit of uncertainty I feel and school my features into the perfect poker face—one my mate is much too familiar with as well.

     "Did you talk to my brother?"

    "Yes," Noah says, his voice clipped.

    "Does he know?" I ask, keeping my voice steady. "About us?"

    Another yes.

    "Did he say something?"

    There is a slight frown in his brows, but he answers, "No. Your brother is very tight lipped. It is a family trait perhaps. I see that now." His expression turns sour now. "But you will answer me, mate, or I have other ways."

    "Try it," I quote him. "We will see what happens."

    The side of his mouth twitches.

     "I will speak with my brother," I state, making sure there is not a hint of question in my voice. "And I will do it today." I side step, ready to leave.

     My way is yet again blocked by broad shoulders and crossed arms. 

I glare up at him defiantly, my claws involuntarily elongating. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

Noah glances down at them, then at my eyes. But he stays still, his sky-like gaze burning.

We stand chest to chest, the tension crackling like a storm ready to break. The urge to lash out is nearly overwhelming, but before I can act, the silver haired woman steps in, her presence a calming force.

"Your Majesty," she says gently, "you can contact your brother by phone. Since normal cellphone networks are jammed throughout the capital, you will need a new device. But for now you can use the palace network. I will arrange a call right away. Is that fine?"

I tear my gaze from Noah's and conjure up the courtesy to give a small smile. "Yes, thank you. And please do call me Leona."

The woman beams back, her lips parting to reveal pearl white fangs. And then just as quickly, her expression sours and she looks at Noah. "Your Majesty," she says, her voice like soft silk yet so firm that if she were to call herself the ruler, I would not question a thing.

Noah's gaze remains locked on mine, his expression unreadable. "This isn't over," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"No, it isn't," I reply, meeting his eyes with my own simmering disdain.

He turns to leave, but just before he does, I call out, "Noah."

He doesn't not turn back, but halts.

I lick my lips, fist my fingers, hating the words just on my tongue. "Thank you for. . . not letting me die," I practically spit the words out.

There's silence for a moment. Noah seems to weigh his feelings against mine, then decides a simple nod is a sufficient enough response, offers it and leaves.

The silver haired woman offers a smile too. "I am Maeve Valen, the delta. I am the cardinal general of the king's army."

Deltas are warriors. And this woman looks anything but at first glance. But closer up, I can see the rugged muscle, the fading scars lining up her neck and the history of battle in her determined eyes.

Werewolves heal themselves before a wound can scar, so to have scars means they were either done by silver, wolfsbane or they were done before she turned the age to turn.

Something tells me all three are at play in her case.

"I need to leave for now, but I believe we shall have plenty of time later," she says, shaking my hand. "It really is a pleasure to meet you." Her eyes are bright and kind, yet behind them there is a certain dimness that I just can't place. I can clearly see the by way she moves, talks and walks, she's a fighter. A very dangerous one. "As for the call, I will send someone for you in just a moment. I will instruct him to give you a tour of the place too, if you are up for it."

"Thank you," I tell her. And before she backs up to leave, I hurry the words out. "Is Haze in the palace's prison?"

"Yes."

"Can I see him?"

She makes a face that clearly says I can't. Still, as if feeling bad about that, she adds, "I will inform you if there is any important news about your pack."

She leaves. And a moment later the same boy I had by my claws limps his way in, his legs wobbly.