Page 11 of Brutal Alpha's Forced Mate

“No, but I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove that I’m not Malcolm. That I’m not the same alpha who made that call.”

Her jaw ticks, and for a moment, I think she’s going to argue again. But instead, she turns away and climbs back into the truck. She doesn’t say another word, but the tension between us is so thick, I can barely breathe.

As I slide back into the driver’s seat, I glance over at her, hoping for some sign that I’ve gotten through. But she just stares out the window.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Chapter 4 - Jaslyn

I’ve faced down Malcolm’s tantrums, Wiley’s sadistic games, and more than one magical disaster of my own making. But nothing—and I meannothing—could’ve prepared me for the gut-wrenching anxiety clawing at me as we pull into Red Arrow territory.

The forest blurs past the window in a mix of greens and browns that would almost be peaceful if I weren’t busy trying not to hyperventilate. My stomach feels like it’s been tied in a dozen different knots, and every mile closer to the packhouse is another weight pressing down on my chest.

I force myself to keep my eyes on the horizon, pretending I’m not hyper-aware of Gray sitting in the driver’s seat. His hands are steady on the wheel, his jaw set like he’s got the whole world figured out. I hate that about him—how he can be so calm while I’m sitting here one wrong thought away from losing it.

“Stop popping your knuckles,” he says suddenly, interrupting the silence.

I blink, glancing down at my hands. Sure enough, I’m tugging on each finger without realizing it. I relax them with an annoyed huff. “Maybe don’t stare at me while you’re driving.”

The tiniest twitch takes at the corner of his mouth. “Hard not to notice when you look like you’re about to bolt.”

“I’m not running. Not that I could, now that you’ve put the child locks on the damn door.”

“Safety precaution. It’ll stay that way now that I know you have a habit of jumping out of running vehicles.”

I glare at him, but it’s not like he’s wrong. After a moment, I turn back to the window, wishing I could focus on anything but the twisting pit in my stomach.

“Relax,” Gray says after a beat. “You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, really?” I shoot back, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “And what makes you think that, Alpha? Did the same pack that treated me like a freak suddenly become witch-friendly while I was gone?”

His hands tighten on the wheel just enough for me to notice, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Things are different now,” he says simply.

“Sure they are,” I mutter. “And I’m the queen of shifter diplomacy.”

The truth is, I don’t believe him. Not for a second. Sure, I’ve heard of some of the packs around bringing witches on board, but I can’t imagine Red Arrow being so progressive. I remember the way they used to look at me. Like every mistake I made confirmed their worst fears about witches. And even if Gray’s little rescue mission changed something for him, it’s not going to change the way the rest of them see me.

The truck slows as we pull onto the gravel drive leading to the packhouse. It’s a massive wooden structure nestled deep in the heart of the forest. The building looks almost like it’s part of the landscape, with the way its dark wood exterior blends seamlessly with the towering pine trees that surround it. The roof is steep and shingled, and though it bears the scars of harsh winters and time, the structure still seems as solid as ever.

My heart thuds harder with every bump in the uneven road. The dense forest presses in on either side, and the canopy above filters the sunlight into shifting patches of gold andshadow. It’s a beautiful, secluded spot, but instead of feeling serene, it feels like a cage waiting to close in around me.

By the time Gray parks near the front steps, I’m gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. He has to come around to let me out, and once I hop to the ground, the familiar scents hit me all at once. After all the time I spent in this place, it should feel like home. But it doesn’t.

The packhouse looms ahead, bigger than I remember. The last time I stood here, I was being shoved out the door with nothing but the clothes on my back and the sound of my own heart breaking.

“Come on,” Gray says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “They’re expecting us.”

“Great,” I grumble. “I’m sure it’ll be a warm welcome.”

He doesn’t respond, just starts walking toward the house with that infuriating confidence of his. I follow, forcing myself to keep my head up despite the knot in my throat. If they’re going to stare, I’ll give them something to stare at.

But to my surprise, the packhouse isn’t teeming with people like I expected. Instead, Gray leads me through a side entrance and down a quiet hallway, and there isn’t a shifter in sight.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, looking around.

“Waiting,” he tells me without looking back.

“For what?”

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