THE ALPHA’S ADDICTION

The heavy door swung closed behind Freya with a thud of finality. She shivered, finding the shelter cold even in the mildly hot afternoon. She rubbed her arms nervously. Aiden whirled a cape around her, enveloping her in warmth, in his woodsy, masculine scent. He strode across the marble floor to throw open the doors to the library. Within minutes he had a fire roaring. He indicated a chair near the flames. It was high-backed, deep cushioned, an antique, yet curiously not worn.

Freya studied the room with awe. It was large, with a beautiful hardwood floor, each parquet piece a part of a larger mosaic. On three sides there were floor-to-ceiling shelves, completely filled with books, most leather bound, many very old. The chairs were comfortable, the small table, in between the chairs, an antique in perfect condition. The chessboard was marble, the pieces uniquely carved.Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

“Drink this.” Aiden said, appraising her with his eyes.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared beside her with a crystal glass.

“I don’t drink alcohol.” She muttered.

He smiled the smile that made her heart beat faster. His acute sense of smell had already processed that particular bit of information about her. “It is not alcohol; it is an herb mixture for your headache.” He commented.

Alarm slammed into her. She was crazy for being here. It was like trying to relax with a wild tiger in the same room. He could do anything to her and no one would come to help. If he drugged her… Decisively, she shook her head. “No, thank you.” She said rather, even though a tiny bit of her was aware he wouldn’t do such a thing. They were lifemates.

“Freya” His voice was low, caressing, hypnotic. “Obey me.”

She found her fingers curling around the glass. She fought the order, and pain sliced through her head so that she cried out.

Aiden was at her side, looming over her, his hand closing over hers around the fragile glass. “Why do you defy me over so trivial a thing?”

There were tears burning in her throat. “Why would you force me?” She asked.

His hand found her throat, circled it, lifted her chin. “Because you are in pain and I wish to ease it.” He replied.

Her eyes widened in astonishment. Could it be so simple? She was in pain and he wanted to ease it? Was he really that protective, or did he enjoy imposing his will?

“It’s my choice. That’s what free will is all about.” She mentioned rather.

“I can see pain in your eyes, feel it in your body. Knowing I can help you, is it logical for me to allow you to continue to hurt yourself just so you can prove something?” He asked.

There was genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Freya, if I was going to harm you, I would not need to drug you. Allow me to help you.” His thumb was moving over her skin, feather-light, sensuous, tracing the pulse in her neck, the delicate line of her jaw, the fullness of her lower lip.

She closed her eyes and let him put the glass to her mouth, tilt the bittersweet contents down her throat. She felt as if she was placing her life in his hands. There was far too much possession in his touch.

“Relax, little one,” He said softly. “Tell me more about yourself. How is it that you can hear my thoughts?” He asked. His strong fingers found her temples, began a soothing rhythm.

“I’ve always been able to do it. When I was little, I just assumed everybody else could do the same thing. But it was terrible to know other people’s innermost thoughts, their secrets. I heard and felt things every minute of the day.” She replied.

Freya never talked about her life, her childhood, to anyone, least of all a complete stranger. Yet Aiden didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like a part of her. A piece missing from her soul. It seemed important to tell him.

“My friends thought I was a freak, and even the sisters in the orphanage was a little afraid of me. I learned never to touch people, human beings, not to be in crowds. It was better to be alone, in places of solitude. It was the only way I could stay sane. Till I met Yodah.”

It interested Aiden, yet alarmed him that her words could bring about such rage in him. To know she was alone so long ago, had endured pain and loneliness when he was in the world, angered him. Why hadn’t he gone looking for her? Why hadn’t her mother loved and cherished her as she should have?

Was the witch even her mother?

Somehow, he doubted it.

His hands were working magic, slipping to the nape of her neck, his fingers strong, hypnotic.

“A few years ago a man was murdering families, small children. I was staying with a friend from high school and when I returned after work, I found them all dead. When I went into the house I could feel his evil, knew his thoughts. It made me sick, the terrible things running around in my head, but I was able to track him and finally led the police to him.” Freya said, remembering.

His hands moved down the length of her thick braid, found the tie and loosened the heavy mass of silk, tunneling his fingers to release the woven strands, still damp from her shower hours before.

“How many times did you do this thing?” He asked. She was leaving things out. The details of horror and pain, the faces of those she helped as they watched her work, shocked, fascinated, yet repulsed by her ability. He saw those details, sharing her mind, reading her memories to learn her true nature.

“Four. I went after four killers. The last time I fell apart. He was so sick, so evil. I felt as if I was unclean, as if I could never get him out of my head. I came here hoping to find peace, hoping to find you too. I decided I would never do anything like that again. I’m not sure my mother would want me to either.” She replied.