The Feral Alpha's Captive-Chapter 59: Unless You Kiss Me

🦋 ALTHEA

I had looked evil in the face many times before—my mother, Circe, Draven, the High Alpha. Thorne might wield darkness, yet he was anything but.

He was tormented, and I hoped that his betrothed would fill his life while he forgot me.

Ivanna was not a bad woman; she was a jealous one. I had watched my mate be bonded to another, so I knew how the story ended.

Jealousy was not cruelty. It was fear wearing teeth. And Ivanna’s fear was older than me, deeper than whatever role I was playing now. She feared displacement. Being rendered unnecessary. Being eclipsed by a bond she could neither predict nor control. I understood that fear intimately.

Thorne did not need to love me. He did not need to forgive me. He only needed to let me go. And whatever arrangement he had with Ivanna would click back into place like we had never crossed paths.

But of course, all of that was just the secondary reason why I had done all I had done.

The first reason was my main priority and why Ivanka had directed me to do it in the first place. I loathed the bitch, but I could not lie—she was truly, masterfully cunning.

The crone finally looked away, and I let myself indulge in a fraction of a breath as she turned to the Hell Hound.

"You will figure it out," she finally said.

The Hell Hound froze, and there was something about a man who looked like he could beat a boulder into submission unshifted but now looked so utterly shaken that made my chest tighten against my will.

"Grandmother—" he started, his voice strained.

"She is your mate," the crone interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact, as though stating the weather. "So it is between the two of you. Who am I to stand between threads of fate and tangle them?"

Thorne stared at her, his jaw working, frustration bleeding into every line of his body. "You cannot be serious."

"The moon does not ask for my approval," the crone replied serenely. "Nor yours."

Even Nyx, perched on a broken shelf, cawed softly—a sound that felt almost like agreement.

Thorne’s head snapped toward the bird. "Not you too."

Nyx ruffled her feathers, unbothered.

I watched the exchange, something cold and bitter settling in my chest as I realized what the crone was doing.

She wasn’t condemning me.

She was absolving herself of interference.

And then, before I could stop myself, the words slipped free.

"I will come with you," I said. "To the Solstice. As your bride."

The room went deadly silent.

Thorne’s head turned toward me slowly, his expression somewhere between disbelief and fury.

"No." The word was flat, laced with deadly finality.

"I was not asking for permission—"

"I said no," he bit out, taking a step toward me. "I was sure before, but after this—" he gestured sharply to the ruined sanctum, "—you are not leaving this fortress. You are not leaving my sight."

I tilted my head, letting a faint smile curve my lips. "Then I suppose I will be attending the Solstice."

His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind.

"You will not—"

"Why not?" the crone interjected mildly.

Thorne whipped around to face her, his expression stricken. "Grandmother, you cannot possibly—"

"She is your mate," the crone repeated, as though that explained everything. "And the Solstice is a pack tradition. Mates attend together. And everyone must be involved. There will be no guard or warden for her."

"She desecrated my mother’s sanctum!" Thorne’s voice rose, raw with frustration and something that sounded dangerously close to desperation. "She has no place at a clan Solstice. She—"

"Of course," the crone agreed, nodding sagely. "You are right. She should stay behind."

Thorne exhaled sharply, relief flickering across his face.

"And when we are all gone," the crone continued, her tone still serene, "she can burn the fortress too."

Thorne froze.

His gaze snapped back to her, horror dawning in his eyes.

"I will tie her to a bloody pole if I have to," he said through gritted teeth.

Alice’s lips curved faintly. "A woman who could walk unprotected through the Red Mist and survive your hellish gaze can survive a pole, dear."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.

Ivanka had been right about the crone.

Only she can reach him.

Because as the crone spoke, I could see the gears in Thorne’s head turning, see the horror filling his features as he realized the trap he’d walked into.

"She will ruin me," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

I smiled then, soft and deliberate, letting my voice drop to something almost tender. "With all of my love."

His eyes snapped to mine, wide and startled, and for a moment—just a moment—I saw something flicker there that wasn’t hate. Then it was gone.

"You will behave yourself," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "Because there is no way you are coming to the Solstice. I will find another solution."

"I cannot promise to behave," I replied lightly, "unless you give me a kiss. No pecks baby, I want tongue."

The room went still again. Thorne recoiled as if I’d struck him, though his face flushed hot—a tell I filed away for later.

"You’re insane," he said flatly.

I shrugged. "You just said you could not let me leave your sight. You sure like to deceive yourself."

His hands curled into fists at his sides, shadows flickering restlessly around him.

"Fine," he ground out, the word dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling.

Then he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door, his stride long and furious.

"Where are you going, my love?" I called after him, unable to help myself.

He paused at the threshold, his back rigid. "To figure out," he said without turning around, "how to survive the next three days without killing you."

The door slammed behind him. And I was left standing in the ruins, the crone’s knowing gaze still on me.

"You play a dangerous game, child," the crone said softly.

I met her gaze, letting the mask slip just slightly. "I know," I said.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her seeing eye softened, tender enough to make me ache. Even my mother never looked at me that way.

"Do you?" she asked.

"I do," I replied.

The stare we exchanged was knowing. Each of us held on to what we knew, but acknowledged it all the same.

The plan had worked—I was going to escape.