The Alpha's Cursed Mate

Chapter 12

They don't speak, don't move their lips, but their chests rise as though they are breathing. I stare at them in the late morning — my infernal men — while still under my blankets. One is black-haired and the other is brown-haired, and they stand at the same height. Their features are those of ordinary, shifting men in their human form. They look back at me from the end of my bed, and they blink without the need to. After a long while, I say, "My robe."

The black-haired man breaks away from his brother, and he walks around my bed and out of sight. "I'll be attending a meeting soon," I tell the one remaining. "Fetch the black dress from my wardrobe and my other necessities. You know what they are, don't you?"

The brunette nods and begins his task as the other returns with my white, silk robe. He opens it for me and stands ready for my arms to slide into the loose sleeves. I leave my bed and turn to do so, and he steps back for me to then sit at my dressing table. I pick up my hairbrush but pause before starting. My eyes connect with the black-haired man, and I hold up the brush to him. He comes forth and takes the comb, knowing to be thorough but gentle as he brushes—holding one blonde lock in his palm at a time as he glides through.

When it is time to change clothes, I request they wait at the entrance to the apartment so I can drop my nightdress in the bedchamber. They are not normal men, but I've learned not to assume a demon's desires.

The pieces of clothing the brunette man chose are exactly right; the black dress lined with wool, my shift, and underthings — all plainly reasonable. Their voicelessness leaves me with no option but to name them, and I conjure up a few ideas as I ready myself. The only thing I have had the pleasure of naming was the old dog Looker — such a name came to me when I found him sniffing about the courtyards, always searching for something to chew on. However, I cannot take creative liberties now. These men must have unquestionable names.

I enter the front room and find the pair waiting like statues. "You," I say at the brunette, "you will be Larris. And you," I face the other, "are Carden. Both common names in the city, both unmemorable and pedestrian, as you should act."

I clear my throat and smooth my heavy skirt. "Now, follow me."

My hair lays along my back and breast, catching wind as we walk down the corridors to the meeting room chosen for the merger work. I twirl some strands around my finger and already picture Alexei's distracted gaze. My teeth grind and my eyes close. There is nothing I want more in this moment than to jump on Alexei and strangle him — for one more judgmental side-eye will send me into a rage.

It is strange to hold so much resentment toward my mate, whom my heart sincerely beats for because two different yet equally as forceful emotions mix into a toxic brew. My brain stirs and my feelings boil into something I cannot always discern. Therefore, when I am vulnerable and exhausted and thoughtless, whatever my heart wishes will spill from my tongue. And this is wrong.

My carelessness must be snuffed.

Alexei stands outside of the parted meeting room doors with his travel party. Carden and Larris walk behind me and halt when I halt. Alexei stares at one and then the other as apathetically as I predicted, so I wear the same blank face and tell the brothers, "There is work for you in my study. Finish it and note any issues caused by the storm in the city; I will tend to them later."

This time they do not need to nod before they begin, so I turn my attention to Alexei. "Shall we?"

"Who are they?" He asks with a straight brow.

I shrug. "They're my men. I have plenty, you know. There are men who fight for me, men who build for me, men who rub my feet when they are sore, and those two men — they belong to my council. Will your men be joining us?"