Page 22 of Brutal Alpha's Forced Mate

I blink, caught off-guard by the raw pain in her tone. “You lost control of your magic,” I say slowly, carefully. “You killed—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, holding up a hand to silence me. “Don’t you dare say his name like you actually care about what happened.”

My jaw tightens, but I hold my ground. “I had to protect the pack. It wasn’t an easy decision—”

“Stop lying to yourself,” she cuts in. “It wasn’t about the pack. It was about saving face. You didn’t even try to find out what caused me to lose control, did you? You just saw the aftermath and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“That’s not fair,” I argue. “I did what I thought was best at the time.”

“For who? You? The pack? Because it sure as hell wasn’t what was best for me.” Her voice cracks, and the sound slices through me. “You didn’t even ask, Gray. Not once. You didn’t ask why I snapped, why my magic went wild. You didn’t care.”

“I cared,” I protest. “I cared more than you realize.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” she demands, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you see what was happening to me? Or were you too busy playing the perfect alpha to notice?”

“Notice what?” I demand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She shakes her head. “You really didn’t see it, did you? All the times they laughed at me, whispered behind my back, pushed me around like I was some pathetic joke. Your precious pack, your friends—they made my life a living hell, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Who?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous. “Who did that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, turning away from me.

“The hell it doesn’t,” I say, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around to face me. “I knew they would tease you sometimes, but I didn’t realize it wasthatbad. If they were tormenting you, I need to know who.”

“Why?” she demands, yanking her arm free. “So you can storm back there and play the hero? It’s too late, Gray. You can’t fix this. You can’t undo what they did, or what you did.”

Her words leave me reeling. I thought I’d prepared myself for her anger, for the consequences of my choices, but this… this is something else entirely.

“Jaslyn, tell me who it was. Please.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then she shakes her head, and her expression hardens. “You think knowing their names will make you feel better? Will it ease the guilt? It won’t. And I’m not here to make this easier for you.”

Her words sting, but I can’t blame her. She’s right—this isn’t about me. It’s about her, about the pain I failed to see, the pain I caused.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

She freezes, and her eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, meeting her gaze. “I was nineteen. Barely old enough to call myself a man, let alone an alpha. My father had just died, and suddenly I was supposed to hold this entire pack together. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Everyone was looking at me like I had all the answers, like I could somehow fill the void he left. And I—” My throat tightens, but I push through. “I was drowning, Jaslyn. Trying to balance a grieving pack, my own loss, alliances, threats. I was in way over my head.”

Her expression doesn’t soften, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes. Understanding? Pity? I can’t tell, and I don’t deserve either.

“That doesn’t excuse what happened,” I admit. “But maybe it explains why I didn’t notice. Why I failed you. You weren’t just another member of the pack to me, Jaslyn. You mattered. But I was so caught up in trying to keep everything from falling apart that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

She studies me for a moment, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “Do you really think that changes anything?” Her voice is quieter now, but no less cutting.

“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t. I just… I need you to know that it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I cared too much, and I was too young and too stupid to handle it.”

Her shoulders drop slightly, but her walls don’t come down. “You had an entire pack depending on you,” she says after a long pause. “And I was just the expendable witch who couldn’t get her magic under control.”

“That’s not true.” My voice is firm, desperate. “You were never expendable.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the man who threw me out like I was nothing.”

The words sting, but I don’t flinch. I’ve earned them. “You’re right,” I say softly. “I made a mistake. A huge one. And if I could go back and change it—”

“But you can’t,” she interrupts, her tone as sharp as a blade. “You can’t undo any of it. You can’t take back the years I spent scraping by while your pack thrived without me.”

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