The Alpha and his Mate, page 1
The Alpha and his Mate
B E WAKEFORD
Copyright © 2022 Bryony Wakeford
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: The Graphic District, Acacia Heather
This book is dedicated to all my amazing Wattpad followers. Thank you for always believing in me and pushing me to finish this book
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter five
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Chapter 1
Annabelle’s POV
I wasn't a stranger to pain. In fact, I could barely remember a time when I wasn't in some form of agony, whether it was emotional or physical, I had dealt with it all. At times greeting it with open arms just so I could feel something in this house of horrors I called a home.
My first real experience of excruciating anguish was when a stranger, dressed in a police officer’s uniform, turned up at my front doorstep with his eyebrows drawn close and a pinched expression on his scared face. He had stated that my Mummy and Daddy weren't ever coming home after they had gone out on one of their date nights. I remember asking person after person what had happened to them, anyone I could find on the street, but no one seemed to have an answer for me, they just walked by as if I were a ghost and they could see straight through me.
Even at the young age of seven I could tell that it wasn’t right, that my parents’ friends hadn’t looked for them and wouldn’t talk to me, without so much as an explanation. I had always thought that my parents were well liked in our small community, if the amount of people who always seemed to come around our house to visit was anything to go by. I was so young at the time of their disappearance, and I had been on my own ever since.
I didn’t remember much about my parents, my memory of them being washed away throughout the years of grief and misery that plagued my life. I’d managed to clutch onto a few washy memories, things that made me smile when I didn’t think I could see the light of happiness again.
I remembered my father being an honest and kind man, both to his family and to the people that seemed to surround us, and his smile was so infectious he could cheer up any room he walked into with just a flash of his pearly white teeth.
My mother was a kind-hearted and free-spirited person, she loved everyone who entered her life and always made time for anyone who needed her, whether it was big or small it didn’t matter. Her bright blue eyes were something everyone commented on, looking like they held a secret, one that would one day change the way we all viewed the world and everything in it. They sparkled in the light like rare gemstones, and I always wondered whether I would one day grow up to be just like her and learn the secrets that made them so bright.
The thing that always remained clear in my mind about her was her necklace. I had been fascinated with it. It was a piece that she wore religiously, no matter what she wore or what we ended up doing. I could have sworn the piece had even glowed on occasion, but I knew now that was now just my child mind seeing something that wasn’t there.
It was like it called to me, when even the image of my parents' faces looked more like a watercolour painting than a photograph, that necklace always remained the same. Every twist of the wire and every speck of colour on the gemstone was as crisp in my brain as if I were looking right at it.
It had only been a simple piece of jewellery, a small pearlescent stone which shone blue and gold and white in certain lights as you twisted it in your fingertips. The stone was within a circle of copper wire, an intricate tree made of the same copper wire woven on top of the stone, as if it were the moon at midnight and it was peeking through the branches of the copper, leafless tree. She had always said that it held a small piece of magic in the centre of that stone and that one day the magic would belong to me, when I was ready. I had been so excited at the time, the idea of owning a piece of magic, almost too much for my child-like mind to comprehend.
Flash forward twelve years into the future however and I knew differently. There was no such thing as magic.
My happy family hadn’t lasted very long, and now I was living with an abusive, adoptive family. They live on the other side of town, far from my old home, and always loved reminding me that I had meant so little to the town and my friends that everyone had happily forgotten about me within a blink of an eye.
Not long after my parents disappeared, I was removed from my childhood home, the building being quickly torn down, leaving no trace of my parents and the wonderful life we had once lived together. When I had found out about the demolition I had cried for hours, crying for the loss of the household objects that had been destroyed within and the memories that they had held. The feeling of grief was swiftly beaten out of me though, my adoptive father always stressing, ‘there was never a time to grieve when there was so much work to be done’.
"Where the hell is my suit?! It should have been washed, ironed and hung up by now!" My adoptive father, Tony, screamed at me as he stalked forward, quickly getting into my personal space as I dropped the cleaning supplies from my fingers in fright. Before I could explain to him that I had already done the task that he had required of me and that he was, in fact, just looking in the wrong part of his wardrobe, he’d slapped me across the face.
I dropped to the floor due to the sheer force and cradled my burning left cheek with a free hand, feeling the tell-tale signs of heat and tingles that my skin was already omitting, warning me of the inevitable bruise that was to come. "I did Sir,” I stuttered, regretting it instantly when I saw the sheer rage in the whites of his eyes from under my lashes.
"Are you calling me a liar?" He hissed as he leant down slightly, intimidating me with the drastic height difference there was between us. He was so close I could smell his morning coffee that was still strong on his breath. I looked up from where I was on the floor, hand still cradling my cheek, to see his face contorted with anger. He had one of his eyebrows raised and arms folded across his chest, with an expression as if to say he couldn't believe that I was even questioning him. To be honest I couldn’t believe I was either, I couldn’t even remember the last time I had said anything that wasn’t “yes sir, of course sir,” to him.
I cursed in my head, knowing never to question anything the family ever said, it nearly always landed me in some form of trouble. It never mattered whether I was in the right or not, they never liked to be questioned. "N-no sir...s-sorry sir," I muttered as I got up off the floor to find his missing suit. As I scrambled to my feet however, he kicked my legs out from under me and as one of my hands was still clutching my burning cheek, hoping it would aid with the pain in some way, I didn't have enough time to catch my fall. Before I could blink, my forehead made contact with the wall opposite me, leaving me with a bad headache and an even worse bruise. Thankfully the hit had happened on the other side of my face, so at least my left side wasn’t having to deal with a double blow.
"And never question me again you little rat, or you'll get a lot more than just a smack across the face," he sneered down at me before walking off towards the staircase, probably going to watch some form of sports game on the television. I sighed, used to this kind of treatment by now, and made my way over to his and his wife's bedroom which sat at the end of the hallway.
The Leften’s house was extremely beautiful, one wall was completely made of glass which covered half of the house, letting in as much of the late morning light as possible as the sun streamed in. A colour scheme of beiges and creams covered the walls and soft furnishings, making the whole house seem open and inviting. To anyone looking in you’d think that this was the show room for the perfect family, open plan with a floating wooden staircase which led up to a mezzanine style hallway before leading off into the four bedrooms and two bathrooms.
I knew differently. This was far from the ideal household when I was the one who had to polish that glass wall every day until it shone and there wasn’t a single finger mark on it. When I was the one who hoovered those carpets until they were as pristine and fluffy as the day they’d been installed. I sometimes caught their son vandalising the place on purpose, smearing greasy hands all over the windows and pouring coffee all over the carpets, just so he could watch me
I silently made my way across the hallway and over to the master bedroom, slightly worried that my stepmother, Natalie, would be in there getting ready for tonight. After knocking and getting no response I sighed in relief, she wasn’t in. She was probably out with her usual girlfriends getting a manicure before their big event tonight.
Natalie was just as bad, maybe even worse than Tony. Her temper rivalled his, and her standards were higher than I could ever hope to meet. The last thing I needed was a run in with her as well.
I swiftly made my way over to their walk-in wardrobe and found the suit he was looking for almost instantly. As expected, it was exactly where I had left it. I rolled my eyes before quickly exiting their room and made my way back down the stairs so that I could hand it over to him. I had learnt the hard way that the longer I took getting something done, the worse my fate would be.
As I made my way down the stairs, clutching the hangers of Tony’s suit so as not to drop them and accidently wrinkle it, I was shoved into the banister of the staircase by Damon, Natalie and Tony’s son. Damon was a few years older than me and at the age of twenty-three he had achieved almost nothing with his life. He had tried and failed to go to two different universities in the last three years, but both times he had been kicked out within weeks for inappropriate behaviour and lack of respect. I wasn’t surprised when he’d turned back up at the front door, the boy didn’t have respect for his own parents, let alone faculty members.
He was useful in collecting books though. He had a fickle mind and always believed that he’d be a natural genius in a specific field. Recently it was Palaeontology, but he quickly gave that up when he realised how much work was needed to remember all the different types of dinosaur names. He’d swiftly thrown away all the research papers and encyclopaedias that he’d bought over the short period of time that he was interested in it but seeing as I was the one who emptied the bins, I’d always fish them out and try and teach myself the words. I had always loved reading, even at a young age, so I was always glad to get new material to sink my teeth into, even if it did take me a while to learn how to pronounce certain words.
"Move bitch before I move you," he sneered as he stared down at me. Even with him being on the step below mine his intimidating height still towered over me, which wasn’t hard seeing as I only stood at a mere 5’2. I kept my head down as his dark brown eyes swirling with mischief and his brain no doubt thought up a million and one things to torment me with later.
It wasn't uncommon for me to be called things like that; half the time I forget I even had a name due to the fact that it was never used around here. According to them I wasn’t worthy of a name so why should they put themselves through remembering it.
"Come on then idiot, come and make me a sandwich before I tell my dad that you said no to me. We all remember what happened last time don’t we," he laughed as he gripped my chin harshly between his fingers, forcing my head up.
I painfully nodded as best I could with the restriction of his hold on me before sighing in relief as he finally released me, waiting until he was completely down the stairs and out of sight before following him. A few weeks back I hadn't made Damon’s food to his liking and so he’d told his parents that I had refused to make him any food at all. Safe to say the result was not pretty, I ended up with half a swollen face and a few cracked ribs from the beating, not the worst I've ever had from them, but it certainly wasn’t something I wanted to repeat.
I entered the open plan living room where I found Tony slouched on the sofa and a beer in his clenched fist as he watched a football game. It didn’t matter that it was only eleven in the morning, according to him he deserved it as he had to deal with looking at my face all day. I handed the suit over to him with my head held low, looking at the carpet below my feet, hoping to act as submissive as possible so he wouldn't hurt me further for my mistake.
"Don't let it happen again," he sneered as he snatched the suit from my fingers and got up off the sofa to head back upstairs, probably to get ready for his and Natalie’s grand outing tonight. They were vain people and always took the majority of the day to get ready for any event that was in their calendar.
Thankfully he left quickly, leaving me alone with no further injuries. My head was throbbing, and my vision was ever so slightly blurry from where I had hit my head earlier on the wall, but I know that if I complained I would just get a repeat of earlier, so I took a deep breath of air to help clear my foggy head and turned around to start fixing up a sandwich for Damon.
✽✽✽
Later that night, once Mr and Mrs Leften had left for their gala, I lay in bed, staring at an old photo I had of my parents and myself. It was the only thing I had managed to hide from the cruel family after all these years of living with them. The photo was nothing of value to an outsider, but to me it was everything. It was of the three of us in the back garden of our old house, me in my mum’s arms and my dad holding the both of us in his as we all smiled at whoever took the picture. I don’t think it was long after this photo was taken that they had disappeared.
The wind had obviously been slightly stronger that day, causing both mine and my mum’s golden hair to blow in every direction as we all laughed at our efforts to try and tuck it behind our ears. I looked so young and innocent in this photo I hardly recognised myself, my blue eyes shining bright with the prospect of what tomorrow would bring.
I had managed to keep the small photo hidden from all prying eyes thanks to a loose floorboard I had found in my bedroom. As well as the photo I also hid a few other trinkets and bits and pieces, the odd book for me to read or a dried flower that I had found particularly beautiful. I had so few possessions living at this place, I held the few objects I did have with pride, the photo being the most prized of them all. If it wasn’t for this photo, I probably would have forgotten the faces of my parents long ago.
I sighed as I took in our smiling and cheerful faces, even though I don’t remember much about them, I still knew that having them as my parents made me the luckiest kid in the world. They were so kind and thoughtful, and happiness just radiated from them.
A lone tear escaped my eyelashes and ran down my cheek after I’d put the photo back where it was safe, my brain reminisced though the amazing memories I held with them. If I was ever sad or feeling particularly low, I’d just look at that photo of the three of us and my spirits would instantly be lifted.
When I heard my bedroom door creek open I startled upright in my bed. I had been so caught up in the memory of my parents that the noise of the door opening shocked me.
"H-hello?" I whispered, asking the question but not really wanting a response. An answer meant someone was in here with me and no good could come from that.
"Be quiet freak," I heard Damon hiss in the darkness of my room and my heart rate suddenly skyrocketed. I was immediately on guard, and I let out an involuntary whimper as soon as I heard the first syllable leave his lips. What was he doing in here? The Leftens almost never come in here, they say that the ugly should remain behind closed doors and should only come out when told to. Whenever I had questioned it as a child, Natalie always told me that they were doing the world a favour by shutting me away. After all, who would willingly want to look at a face like mine all day.
"I said be quiet," he whispered as he unexpectedly stumbled in my line of vision, with me lying on my bed and him leaning over me. It was dark inside my room, with no windows to even offer the glow of the moonlight, but I could still see the outline of a sneer on Damon’s face telling me he wasn’t here to get me to make him a midnight snack.
I flinched at his sudden proximity and my heart started to jump a mile a minute. I tried to sit up and move away to get him out of my personal space, but he just smacked me across the face before gripping onto my wrists, forcing me back down onto the lumpy mattress below me. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut at the pain, he just laughed though as his grip tightened further. My head still hadn’t completely healed from earlier so that clumsy hit of his sent stars into my vision and my cheekbone to throb painfully.
