Page 103 of Brutal Alpha Beast
“It didn’t work,” she whimpers. “I was so close, but it didn’t work.”
I hold her for a little while, and she settles against my chest.
“Let’s go back,” I say. “We have a communal lunch at the pack. You can rest for the afternoon.”
Her eyes are closed, but she’s awake, and she shakes her head.
“No, I don’t have time,” she responds coolly. “I’m going to rest for five minutes, and then we’ll try again. I was close.”
I want her to figure it out, but I don’t want her to kill herself in the process.”
“And what if I say no?” I ask her. “As your Alpha?”
She opens her charming, sparkling eyes and flashes a weak grin. “Well, Alpha, then you’ll have to disown me because I won’t listen.”
***
It’s been almost a week of trying and failing, and on a rainy morning, we’re outside trying again. We’re covered beneath some trees, the raindrops falling off the edges of the leaves on either side of us.
Danielle is hovering over the tapestry with a towel draped across her back.
“The rain should stop in the next twenty minutes,” I say, crouching as I look out at the flooded forest.
It’s difficult to keep morale high after days and days of nothing, but I know that Danielle is getting close.
“The rain is fine,” she says, “It might actually be helpful.”
“You ready?”
She nods, then she kneels, holding the towel over her and the tapestry so it doesn’t get wet. She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and places her left hand onto the tapestry page.
I watch her proudly as she chants and sways. Little sparks are forming already. Any hate I felt toward witches seems ridiculous now; her power is amazing.
After a couple of minutes, she leans forward, planting her hands onto the floor. Quickly, I come behind her, supporting her back with my arm.
I’m prepared for her to tell me that she needs to rest for a few minutes, and then she’ll be ready to go again, but this time she doesn’t.
“I’m exhausted,” she says. “I think we should stop.”
“Of course,” I reply. “We can take the morning off.”
“The whole day,” she says.
I want Danielle to rest as much as she needs, but a nagging voice tells me that something must be wrong. Something she’s not saying. She usually pushes herself to the limit, and she won’t stop, at least not until early afternoon each day.
“Let’s wait,” I tell her. “For the rain to stop.”
She nods, putting the tapestry back in her backpack, and we lean together against the tree.
I’ve asked her if she’s doing okay so many times that, at this point, I know she’s tired of hearing it, but something seems off.
“What happened?” I ask her.
Little droplets of rain fall off her curls, her eyes look tired, and she stares out at the forest with a look on her face that I can’t quite make out.
“Tired is all,” she says. “I want to be careful.”
“I want you to be careful too,” I reply. “But something seems different this time. Did you see any visions?”
