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There seems to be no rhyme or reason to when she wrote them—several months usually separates one from the other, the events ranging from particularly high marks on schoolwork to a first kiss. Arguments with her father, who disapproved of the boy; a breakup, the pages smudged with ink where he imagines tears fell while she wrote about the betrayal of being replaced with another girl; the fury at her father’s pointed comments that an alpha wouldn’t have treated her like she was replaceable.
Pages and pages of a young girl’s life, extraordinary in their commonness. Her innermost thoughts are laid bare to him, and her father was right—there is no cruelty to be found here. No coldness. The girl who wrote this diary was warm, capable of love and kindness—normal.
AX2 leafs through to the end of the diary, mildly curious at what age she would have filled the book. But the last pages are blank.
He frowns and flicks back through the pages. Empty.
He nearly makes it halfway back before he finds her final entry. It’s short—shorter than most of the others he’s read, written when she was about seventeen.
I haveno interest in dating an alpha. No one seems to care. Even Mom is all, “It’s just one date. You might like him.”
I won’t. He’s the son of some general or other who can further Dad’s career, and all he wants in return is a date for his son. I’m literally being rented out like a cow.
I hope that promotion is worth it, Dad.
FIFTEEN
ADDIE
I’m warm into the marrow of my bones.
Even before my consciousness fully returns to the surface, I sense him—underneath me, around me… inside me.
Before I can stop myself, my core clenches as if expecting his presence to be physical, but it’s his awareness I feel, not his body. There’s a distinct burn of disappointment from my abdomen at that discovery.
“Mmh,” I moan sleepily, hiking the knee I’ve got over his thighs higher and rubbing my nose against his warm, bare chest. I’m wet between my legs; needy, and for a brief, blissful moment, that knowledge isn’t followed by icy dread.
He sniffs my hair, and a deep rumble vibrates against me everywhere we’re touching. But his acknowledgement of my need isn’t followed by touch.
The dichotomy finally snaps me free of the drowsy comfort, and my stomach clenches with fear. I stiffen against the large male, darkness threatening the edges of my consciousness… but still, he does nothing. Nothing except hold me.
There is no pain. No forced submission. Just his slow, even breaths and the steady drum of his heart.
It’s enough to remind me that this alpha is safe. That I’m the one in control.
I pop my head up to look at him and catch his green eyes. He’s watching me closely, as aware of my every movement as I am his.
Stars, he’s handsome.I’ve never allowed myself to look at him as a man, and I know I shouldn’t now.He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.
My brain tries to desperately remind me that he’s barely more than animated flesh and artificial intelligence, tries to remind me that I can’t ever doubt that, can’t see him as a person, or I would have to consider—
I don’t allow myself to finish that thought. My body doesn’t have the wiring to differentiate between a man and… him, that’s all. He looks real, feels real…smellsreal. And as much as I hate what I had to order him to do to save my life, that part is very much not make-believe. Our bondisreal. My need for him is horrifying truth—there is no point in pretending anything else. He’s the only one who can take away the perpetual darkness, and the closer I allow him, the better I’ll feel.
I open my mouth to command him, but I can’t get the words out.
Give me pleasure.It’s no worse than any other order I’ve given him over the years, no more degrading, if he had the capability of feeling such things. Judging from the persistent bulge where my knee is resting against the front of his jeans and how eagerly he touched me yesterday, it wouldn’t even be against his will. But…
His eyes darken, his gaze heating as he dips it to my parted lips. Definitely not against his will.
Just tell him, Addie. He’s yours to command.
Another rumble vibrates through the wide chest beneath me—an impatient sound. The smolder inside—it’s not just my own. His lust fans through our bond, yet he holds himself back. It dawns on me that he knows touching me without consent might make the icy darkness return.
Consent.
“Do you want to—?” I whisper, awkward and flustered and hating that I’m asking rather than demanding, but he cuts me off before I can finish the question.
“Yes.” He rolls me off his shoulder and onto my back. My panties are halfway down my thighs before I can blink.
