Alpha Brat: A Tale Of Five Hot Wolves

Chapter 42: Valentine

My laughter eventually dies a slow, reluctant death.

Vaela continues to look offended by my complete lack of werewolf education, while Raulf is one badly timed comment away from laughing himself.

I drag a hand across my face and shake my head.

"So, just to clarify," I say, trying and failing to sound reasonable. "I know I figured out, all by myself I might add, that I have some wolfy tendencies. That part I’ve got. No way I can turn into one."

There’s no time to examine it too closely, because Vaela mutters something under her breath that sounds like, "...gonna kill those idiot boys." and strides toward a chair near the wall. Only when she reaches behind it do I notice the weapon leaning there. One handed, she slides out a huge broadsword and secures it across her back.

"You carry that around?"

Vaela glances over her shoulder. "Frequently."

"Why?" My voice is all high and squeaky.

"Chopping heads off." She jerks her head toward the door. "Come."

I look at Raulf, he catches the look and gives me a reassuring nod.

"Go."

So I do.

The corridors beyond what I’ve assumed to be some sort of communications room, wind through the enormous lodge, veins through a living thing. Vaela walks ahead keeping a pace proving she’s never slowed down for another person in her life. I jog to keep up.

As we move, she gestures occasionally toward different rooms, rattling off information without breaking stride. freewebnøvel.coɱ

"Meeting."

She points left.

"Medical."

Another corridor.

"Armory."

My eyes widen. "You have an armory?"

"We’re wolves."

Fair point.

People pass us, some nod respectfully at her, others move out of her path entirely. Nobody seems frightened exactly, but everybody’s very aware of her presence. The further we walk, however, the less attention I pay to my new surroundings. I feel like shit.

At first it’s subtle, strange pressure beneath the ribs, tightening in the chest, sickly sensation that grows with every step. I know what it is, I’m trying desperately to ignore it. The invisible thing that’s haunted me since I climbed down that balcony.

There are theories I have, but I don’t fully understand them. Did think for a while there I was being drugged and it was withdrawals. Which is what I still think it might be, just not from narcotics.

When we were driving here I felt it stretch thinner and thinner the further we travelled. Now it’s pulled painfully tight. My stomach churns, heat crawls beneath my skin. By the time we’re halfway through the building, sweat has gathered at the back of my neck.

"You good?" Raulf’s voice comes from behind me.

"Fine." The lie barely leaves my mouth before nausea cramps my stomach. My entire body is protesting every step I take away from the thing it desperately wants. Things. Five things.

Vaela glances back, her eyes narrow. She doesn’t comment.

We finally reach a huge common room at the centre of the compound, I’m breathing harder than I should be.

Breathtaking, a billionaire’s Aspen ski lodge scaled up to fit wolves. Massive sofas fill the space draped with blankets and fur throws that look impossibly soft. Stone hearths dominate opposite walls, both roaring. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the mountains outside as paintings, while exposed timber beams stretch overhead beneath vaulted ceilings high enough to make the entire place feel more cathedral than house. Everywhere I look, people are relaxed, drinking coffee, reading books, arguing about fishing.

Curled beneath three blankets on the largest sofa is the redheaded woman from earlier. She’s laughing so hard at something on her phone tears are streaming down her cheeks.

I want to smile with her, but I’m stopped by another vicious wave of sickness. I grab the back of a chair to keep steady.

Vaela stops, looks me over from head to toe and slowly shakes her head. Her expression scares me more than if she’d reached for the giant sword.

She lets out a whistle so piercing I physically flinch. Across the room, the redhead springs upright, launched from a catapult. She strides toward us with impossible energy, still wiping tears of amusement from her face. Up close she’s even more striking. You’d call her gangly if she wasn’t lithe like an athlete. Beautiful freckles cover every visible inch of skin. She reaches Vaela, places a hand over her heart and inclines her head slightly. The respect in the gesture genuine rather than fearful.

"Alpha."

"Valentine," Vaela says, gesturing toward me. "Fiorenca."

"Frankie," I correct automatically.

Vaela clicks her tongue. "That is not your name."

"It really is."

Valentine beams, she’s been handed a new puppy, she lunges forward. Her arms pull me in an enthusiastic hug. I’m struck by how genuine she is, there isn’t a single sharp edge hiding underneath her warmth. I’ve spent enough time with shitty ass people to know kindness is often transactional. Valentine’s isn’t. The empathy pouring off her feels limitless. It almost hurts.

A grotesque heaving burp fires over her shoulder as I fight back a ball of vomit. Valentine immediately jumps backward.

"Shit, is it me?" She lifts an arm and sniffs her armpit. "Knew I should’ve showered after sparring. Do I stick that bad?" She spins and holds her pit up to Raulf, who wrinkles his nose and steps back.

Another heave, this time coupled with a laugh. Vaela pinches the bridge of her nose, again.

"Fucking bond sickness."

"What?" I burp out.

Vaela looks, once again, entirely unimpressed by my confusion. "Bond sickn–, doesn’t matter." She waves a hand. "You’re pulling against unconsummated mate and pack bonds while simultaneously awakening. It’s impressive you’ve remained upright this long."

The words she said formed a sentence, I understand them in that order, but have no fucking idea what she’s talking about.

She turns to Raulf. "We’ll probably need at least one of them here while she stays."

Raulf grunts. "One won’t be enough."

"Probably not."

Vaela and Raulf keep up their mumbling discussion about relocating one or more of my overgrown werewolf disasters across to the mountain ranges.

Now feverish, increasingly betrayed by my own body, Valentine gently rubs my lower back while my brain scrambles to keep up.

Because what’s bond sickness?

And what the actual fuck does she mean I’m staying?