Page 94 of His Forsaken Alpha

“You want me to rouse him?”

“No!”his papa snapped. “Figure something out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to see him,” Wynter murmured as he struggled to his feet.

“No,” his papa said before he walked to the front door and opened it, ushering two big betas inside. “Make it look real.”

“Makewhatlook real?”

“As I said, this Cavanaugh person needs to think you’re dead or he’ll just come looking for you.”

Wynter gasped as he watched the pair moving about the cabin, knocking over furniture and tearing through drawers, seemingly searching for something.

“What are you doing?”Wynter asked, watching the men wreak havoc on Cavanaugh’s possessions.

“Get your clothes on!” his papa screamed.

His clothing had been all but destroyed, but his tote was somewhere in the cabin. He stumbled around, as if in a daze, but found it seconds before one of the betas snagged it and tossed it about. As he leaned over to pick it up, he found a photo hanging out of a half-smashed frame. It appeared to be Cavanaugh with his brothers. He snatched it quickly and stuffed it into the tote before rising, hoping no one had noticed.

It might be the only thing he had to remind him of the time he’d spent with his alpha. As he stood, he placed a palm to his belly, hoping he might have one more thing, as well. He fished through the tote, but there was no clothing. “The only clothes I have are ruined. Covered in blood.” He stood taller, tightening the belt on the robe. It would need to be good enough.

His papa marched closer. “Youcan’ttake his clothing.” He yanked the robe off Wynter and tossed it across the living room.

Wynter was left naked in front of the two strangers, his body coated in the remnants of the heat he’d shared with Cavanaugh.

His humiliation was complete.

“Let’s go,” his papa said. He removed his heavy woolen cloak and tossed it Wynter’s way. “Best you’re not here to see the rest.”

“The rest? What more do you have planned?”

His papa didn’t answer. He grabbed Wynter by the arm and dragged him outside. Wynter barely had time to get the cloak around him before they exited—him barefoot—onto the snow-covered path made by their march inside.

11

Wynter’s mind began to shut down again as he was rushed toward several waiting cars. There was a third beta outside, pulling a huge black bag from the back of a big, black vehicle. He dropped it on the ground just outside the path they were walking. The unzippered edge of the bag fell back and long, silver-white hair fell out from the hole. Wynter froze, transfixed by the hair so like his own. He bent down and pulled the bag open a bit more—and came face to face with a corpse.

An omega who looked like him.

He stumbled back, falling on his bottom again.

“You’re so pathetic,” his papa admonished, shaking his head. “I tried to make you strong, but you fought me the entire way.”

“I’d rather be pathetic than like you,” Wynter muttered.

His papa glared at him. “If I hadn’t birthed you myself, I’d say you weren’t mine.”

Wynter eyed his papa—there was no denying they were related. They looked near identical. As identical as the dead omega in the bag. Fortunately, the outside was where the resemblance ended.

Didn’t it?

“Come. Let’s get in the car.”

Wynter stared at the dead copycat. “Did you have him killed for this purpose?”

“Yes. I did.”

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