Page 88 of Rogue Alpha Prince
“God, women, if you are not my true mate, I will be very disappointed,” he says, grabbing me by my bloody shirt and pulling me for a quick kiss.
Then he opens the doors for me with another laugh.
“Yeah, like you don’t plan to kill your true mate the second you can feel her.” I roll my eyes and stride back to our guest room. “Save it for some girl who doesn’t know you. Alpha.”
“Of course I do,” he doesn’t even bother to pretend he wouldn’t kill me.
I was never as happy as I am right now, that I was right about something. Keeping our mate bond hidden from him? Best decision ever.
He stops me before I can ascend the stairs. “Wait, I was thinking… Do you want to go somewhere with me?”
“Where?” I furrow my brows. “You mean that date?”
“No, something else. Our date is already planned, and it will take place after we go back home.”
Home.
“You want to go right now? It’s very late.”
“So?” He smirks.
“Okay. But we need to go to our room first and change into something not soaked in blood.”
After thirty-five minutes of surprisingly light and fun conversation about LGBTQA+ books, Cain’s Beta passive-aggressively occasionally leaves on his desk, I park on one of the main city streets. Cain takes his leather-bound notebook and gets out of my SUV.
I still don’t know why he insisted on coming into one hundred percent human territory, how he knew where to go or why is he bringing that notebook.
I get out shortly after Cain and run around the car to catch up with him. He takes my hand in his warm, big one and leads me into one of the local stores. I notice I barely reach his shoulder. He’s so tall. I do feel like a little wolf next to him. I never was a petite woman, fit and lean, yes, but not small or short, so it’s a very nice feeling.
“Tattoo parlor?” I ask when my brain finally registers my surroundings.
He talks with the tattoo artist, and I can’t help but stare.
“We are almost closing…” The poor guy tries to explain, but Cain decides to be the client from hell and smashes his notebook before him.
I want to sneak a peek, but the guy lifts it and furrows his brows, looking at whatever is inside with weird intensity.
“Oh man, are these yours?” He lifts his eyes at Cain with curiosity.
“Are you up for it or not?”
For what? What did I miss at the beginning? Never mind, I can’t stand Cain being the worst tattoo client there ever was. Coming without an appointment, after hours, being rude, demanding something from some sketches… Does he expect the poor guy to draw him a new tattoo project right now? Why? Is he so jealous about my reaction to Atlas? I huff.
“You can pick him up in five to six hours,” the tattoo artist says to me dismissively, and he comes with Cain’s notebook to the scanner.
I cringe at the fact that Cain just made the poor guy work all night for something petty like that.
“I don’t know if I will,” I shake my head and stride back to the doors, where Cain catches up with me and leans to my ear.
“I’ll find my way back. I will always find my way back to you, now that I know the taste of your blood.”
I sigh heavily. It doesn’t work that way, but let’s let him have his dramatic moment.
I wake up in a cold bed at the break of dawn. It was my first normal night without Cain since the wedding, and I’m embarrassed by the amount of tossing and turning I was doing for half of it. I hate that his absence carries so much weight on me.
Stupid mate bond.
I stand up and go to the restroom. I can see in the mirror that my neck is finally healed. I feel a pang of anger at the thought that Cain bit me so recklessly—I plan to hold on to his words about coming back from the tattoo session on his own.
