Too Beautiful for the Alpha

Chapter 11

October 17th, 1991

I was in the bath last night and thought about drowning myself, then I realized that my body would

never let that happen so grabbed my razor from the shower and broke it to get at one of the blades. I

sat in the bath and repeatedly pressed it against my skin, but I was too scared of death to go through

with it. I hid the broken razor under the cabinet where the little slot at the top leaves just enough room

to hold it. He'd never see it. The only reason I found the slot was because I was looking hard enough. It

is there with the blade, and I know I should not keep it, but it is nice to know that I have a way out.

It has gotten worse. I never want to go outside anymore, and when I try to get dressed and look nice,

everything I put on makes me upset because I hate everything I own. I sit in the bedroom when James

is gone, and when he's back I sit in the library. No one ever goes in the library so I have made it my

little place.

October 23rd, 1991

I am in the bathroom again. James is sleeping. I had to write something about this down because I

cannot think straight. We had sex. Just two hours ago. I did not provoke him like before, I was not

dressed nice or asking for it like before. Actually, I had completely let it go for a few weeks and this

came as a surprise. He did not ask me if I wanted to because he knew that I had tried before. I could

not tell if he wanted to or not, which is what had me in distress. It may have been a job for him. The

thought of being pregnant makes me sad.

It felt good. I closed my eyes and imagined that he was enjoying himself and that made me feel better.

He did not complain or anything like that. It had to feel good for him too.

Maybe a baby is what we need. Maybe a baby will bring us together. He cannot hate me if I'm creating

his child, can he? I do not think so. I think this will make him happy. I will hope for it then, a child. I will

hope even harder for a boy even if I had always thought of having a girl. He needs to know that I can

do this job well. I can provide what he needs. I will check the library tomorrow for any books on

pregnancy and childcare. I will be good at this.

I set the diary to the side and get up from my bed. Broken lamps were swiped up, bookshelves were

picked up, things were back to normal besides the shattered ones. Alpha Grant is gone, so I make my

way down the hall and into his bedroom. There's his scent again, but I power through it and venture

into the bathroom. It too is dark. The tiles in the shower are dark, the counter is a dark granite, and the

towels are a deep grey. I open the cabinet under the first sink and feel around the top, but there's

nothing, so I go to the next and feel for the slot, and I find it. My heart races as I take something out, a

razor, a broken one. How? How could it still be there?

I study it and remember that there is the stray blade, but when I stick my hand back in to feel for it, I

find nothing else. My heart drops. What had Julianna done with the stray blade?

I back out of the cabinet and lean against the wall, my legs sticking straight out ahead of me as I sit

quietly. She sat in this bathroom, and I wonder where. I look down at the razor and squeeze it. The two

blades are rusted terribly and the plastic has gone brown. The part where she had broken it is gone.

I will take the razor and place it under my sink.

It should be with me just like the diary. He does not deserve to have it here—not that he knows of it—it

belongs with me, I understand her. He's just like his father, isn't he? You'd think he'd learn from past

mistakes.

I hear someone coming up the stairs, and I freeze. Before I can decide on what to do, his bedroom

doors open and I know that I am found. My scent must stick out like neon on black in here. Looking

down at my hand, I stick the razor back in the slot just as the bathroom door opens and the cabinet

door closes. Alpha Grant stands before me silent at first as if he's waiting to hear my excuse. I am in

his bedroom. Oh, Goddess. There's no coming back from this, is there? He's going to kill my mother.

He looks angry, and my voice disappears. "Why are you in here?" He asks in his Alpha tone.

What do I say? That I went to the hidden library, stole likely his mother's diary, then came searching for

the razor she nearly killed herself with? I swallow.

"I know you were in here before," he says, catching me off guard, "you laid in my bed."

My cheeks flush and I want to curl up in the corner. What am I supposed to say? "I-I came to get my

things."

"And you assumed your things were in my bed?"

My eyes harden. "One of my things were, actually."

Alpha Grant crosses his arms. "And what would that have been?"

I stand up and push past him, excited to prove him wrong. I grab the sheets and push them back,

picking up the first pillow, then the next, then I push back the covers some more, then I toss the pillows

to the other side of the bed. "You moved it. You knew that I found it, so you moved it," I say accusingly

while turning back to him.

He looks amused by my embarrassment. "So you found what? A book? And you left it here after you

found it? And now you're back again looking through the bathroom for more things?"

He makes me sound crazy. "You know what it was. It was my shirt. You look my shirt from my bedroom

and had it under the pillows. I saw it."

"But you didn't take it? You left this shirt on my bed?"

I near him. "Stop it. Stop making me sound like I'm crazy. I know what I saw, and I know that you can't

help yourself. No matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to get over me. That's how Mates work. I

know how Mates work. You can pretend all you want. You can make me feel like nothing all you want,

but that's not going to change the way you react to me, to my scent, to my touch, to my everyth—"

Suddenly, Alpha Grant grabs me and pushes me against the wall, his body radiating anger. The air

escapes my lungs as I hit the wall, and he places his hands beside my shoulders, trapping me in.

"Why can't you understand that I don't want you," he says harshly, "why can't you understand that?"

"Why do you keep me here then! Why am I here!" He jerks me, grabbing my shoulders, almost shaking

me to understand. My head hits the wall bluntly and I wince, my hand nursing my wound. He knows

he's hurt me and he lets go. "Why are you doing this? Why?"

Alpha Grant grabs me again, and this time not from anger. Before I can register what's happening, he

brings his lips down to mine and kisses me. My body can't help but react in its desired ways, but after a

couple seconds, I push him away. I look up at him, wanting to continue badly, wanting him to grab me

again and bring me to his bed. My lips tingle and burn with pleasure and my mind conjures up all of the

other ways his lips can touch me.

He looks hungry, but I can't tell if it's for my body or for my flesh. This hated desire swells between us,

but before it can suffocate me, I rush out the door and do not look back. I know if I go back in there, I'll

try something that I'll never forgive myself for.

Once in my bedroom, I closed the door and slide to the ground, needing to catch my breath. My body is

triggered by him—I got a taste, and now the possible sensations won't leave me alone. I want to feel

everything. I want him to do everything to me. It's the bond—that's what I have to keep telling myself—

it's the bond doing this. My body grows hot so I run a cold shower and force myself in. I sit on the floor

and lean against the glass wall.

Frustrated, I feel like an animal in heat. I am the unmated Queen.

I find myself whining. I want it so bad. I want to stop, I don't want to feel these ways, but I can't help it.

He's the Alpha. I want the Alpha so bad I am to the point of whining for it. Who is like this? Who does

this? What's wrong with me? I let the cold water run down every part of my body, and this seems to

help. I was burning for it. I was almost to the point of running back down to him and pushing him onto

his own bed. At one point my mind drifts to the sensation of it—how bad I want to feel it. How bad I

want it. How bad. How bad. How bad of me.

He kissed me. Alpha Grant kissed me, and no matter how much I want to hate him, he will always

affect me like this. Such actions will always do this to me.

I just want him to give me some clarity. I just want to know why.

Alpha Grant

I remember the day my mother died. I was young. My father told me to wait in my bedroom while she

was taken from the bathtub. Noises came through the door as my father led two men into their

bedroom, into the bathroom where her dead body was. They carried her out—I heard them come down

the hall—and an hour later one of the house workers came to get me for dinner like nothing had Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

happened.

I told the woman, Theresa, to wait for me downstairs because I wanted to change my clothes. When

she was gone I went into my parent's bathroom and stared into the tub as if it was a gateway to hell.

The water was marbled with her blood and slowly turned to a pool of unearthly ruby. I stepped in and

sat down in the mixture of my mother and the bathwater until Theresa found me and pulled me out. I

remember the water was warm and reeked of iron.

Years later my father told me that Mates make you weak. He told me that he'd made the mistake of

letting my mother in, but once he did, he had set himself up for ruin. He told me that Mates die, and

once they do, you die with them.

My father told me to never have a Mate. He told me this until he died a year after I took over the pack.

Once she brought the knife to her neck, I knew she was like my mother, I knew she would ruin me. She

is just like her. My mother was emotional, dramatic, beautiful, depressed, loving, defensive and testing

when needed. My father gave in, that was his mistake.

She tested me today—she is always testing me—and I almost lost it.

I could give in like my father. I could love her, I could really love her. But it is too late. If I let her in now,

the past would repeat itself. My father treated my mother like I am treating her, in the beginning. Then

he gave in, but she was still broken from the time before, she was mentally tainted from the distancing

and reject. In the end, she died because of what happened before my father let her in.

I have tainted her. It is too late. She will always be broken if I keep her. If I let her in now, I will lose her.

I need to set her free, she needs to heal, but something inside of me can't. I can't let her go. I am

selfish.