Page 4 of The Alpha's Mates

“He whelped a pup in my territory.” The man holding her growled. “Same as his fucking brother. The twin bastard. My primary sources of pussy were tainted from then on out.”

“Marjorie,” her father said. “Have you stopped to think she attacked those boys and Mackenzie?”

The man snorted. “Bullshit. She knew better.”

“She did it anyway.”

The man growled loud and long, shaking Bell. “Enough of your stalling. Get the fuck out here and face me. Stop being a little bitch.”

“The only little bitch I see here is you.” Bell’s father rose from his hiding place and towered over the man. He took a step closer to them. “You using a little girl to shield you from getting your ass beat?”

“Fuck you,” the man said, wrapping his clawed-tipped hand around Bell’s throat. Two of his fingers were poised to dig into her neck. She whimpered, and he laughed. It was then she understood who the man was, Raymond Quincy. The one person her parents hated the most.

“If you spill a drop of her blood, you’ll never make it out alive,” Rapier whispered. “Law be damned.”

“You don’t have the balls to do anything, Rapier Dryer. You proved that.” The deranged man laughed, then glanced down at Bell. “She is a pretty thing. You couldn’t have fucked Jasmine to get this purebred lioness. I bet she’ll be fun to break in.” He licked his lips, then grinned. “After I fuck her, I’ll give her to the hyenas to play with. I’m sure they’ll enjoy their treat.”

Bell shrank back, bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, trying not to puke on her pretty clothes or on the man beside her. If she did, he’d probably hurt her more than he already had. She also didn’t want to draw her father’s attention from the man, either.

Rapier roared. “This is your last warning, motherfucker. Give me my daughter or you will die out here like the sad, pathetic piece of shit you really are.”

“You knew the terms of our agreement, Bell for Mackenzie. You would have been doing all of us a service if you would have followed orders.”

“I don’t follow your orders,” Rapier spat. “Nor do I hand over family members to be tortured by pieces of shit like you.”

“That’s too bad, Mr. Dryer. Your daughter would have been a smooth, perfect lay.” Raymond pierced the skin at Bell’s neck.

She bit down on her cheek to squelch the need to scream. He cut her. She could feel the warm trickle of blood as it slid down her neck. She trembled. Terrified, she stood there, unable to do anything to help her father. She hated this man and feared him, too. What the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she fight back like everyone else?

Her father charged at Raymond; his claws extended. At the same moment her dad jumped at Raymond, the man pulled a gun. Her father closed his eyes. Bell’s heart pounded. She was about to watch her father be killed and still she did nothing. Bell screamed, angry at herself and the situation she’d been put in. What happened next, she couldn’t properly explain. The crack of something hitting skin followed by the hot, metallic scent of what she thought might be blood caused her to crumble.

Her father froze above.

When she looked up, finally, Raymond Quincy lay a few feet from her, blood pooling around him. His eyes were wide in shock. She glanced down at herself and noticed the blood all over her and she panicked. Bell was bleeding. Had she been shot?

“Princess,” her father whispered, cleaning the muck and blood from himself.

“Daddy?” She pulled her hands from her ears.

“I’ve got you, Bell.” He eased toward her before gathering her up in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

“Sorry, Daddy. So, so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have agreed to go.” Her frightened sobs began anew as she plastered herself against his heaving chest.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe, that’s not your blood.” He stroked her fine, silky hair. “I’ve got you.” A content purr filled his chest while he continued to hold his daughter. “And, I’m never letting you go.”

Seven years ago, the mountains of Romania...

They were at it again, fighting. It seemed to happen daily now. Varujan stood at his window of his bedroom tucked into the Carpathian Mountains overlooking the countryside. His parents had been in this stone castle for over a millennium, collecting. That’s what dragons did after all, they collected. His parents had amassed a fortune in artifacts and gold. They had enough money to rule a large country until the world stopped turning. Didn’t mean a damn thing if they didn’t stop arguing.

They were old; he realized. Dragons were immortal. He didn’t know their exact ages, but by the way they spoke, they’d been around since at least the fifteen hundreds, if not longer. In those years, they’d hibernated seven times, hoping what they’d find when they awoke would convince them life was better. Instead, they woke during wars. They almost died during the Ottoman War, which lasted until 1858. Then again, during World War I and World War II. He couldn’t blame them for being bitter. This argument, though, was different. He could hear it in his mother’s tone.

Something wasn’t right.

He padded to the door and opened it, hoping to be clued in as to what was happening. Instead, he was greeted with silence. Dragons had exceptional hearing. Probably his parents heard him open his door and paused their quarrel.

Varujan frowned.

Yes, something was terribly wrong.

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