Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder

Chapter 11 : I’m Not Proud of It

Maeve

The library was cool and shrouded in darkness as I helped Aaron onto one of the couches. He groaned

as he shifted his weight, the bruises from our battle in the alleyway already evident on his skin.

He accepted my help, allowing me to peer into his mouth to check for broken teeth. His nose was likely

broken, but he had set it straight himself, the crunching sound of it still ringing in my ears.

“Well, I don’t think you’re dying,” I said as I turned from him and crossed the room, rummaging in the bar

cart for something strong. I pulled out a dusty bottle of scotch, the wax seal unbroken as I grabbed two

glasses and walked back over to where he sat.

“I think the walk home was the worst part,” he groaned, peering at me through one eye as I sat the

glasses down and used my fingernail to break the wax seal.

“Yeah, that was the longest walk of my life,” I said with a little laugh. We had fumbled our way through

the city center, getting miserably lost once we left the university’s property. We missed the last train back

to Old Town and found ourselves shuffling along the river-walk for almost an hour until someone was

kind enough to give us a ride upriver in their boat. They took us to the outskirts of Old Town, the walk

back to the castle well over five miles in the pitch black of night. I tried to persuade Aaron to shift,

thinking he’d have more strength to make the journey that way, but he refused. I wouldn’t ask him to

carry me on the back of his wolf when he was injured.

He knew I didn’t yet know my wolf. He wasn’t going to shift without me. It was a gallant gesture, but I

knew he regretted it the second he sunk into the couch, his beaten body aching and tender.

I handed him a glass of scotch and he nodded in thanks, drinking the entire pour in one swallow.

“That’s a waste,” I scolded, pouring him another. “Sip it, don’t shoot it. This was probably here during my

father’s time in the castle.” I held the amber liquid in the faint light of the moon coming through the three-

story high windows, swirling the scotch in the glass before bringing it to my nose. He watched me; one

brow arched.

He brought his glass to his lips, sticking his pinky out as he swallowed it all, again, his eyes not leaving

mine.

“You’re impossible,” I scoffed, sitting down at the end of the couch, my arm resting on his ankles as I

leaned my head back on the cushions and looked up at the elaborately painted ceiling and antique

chandelier. I sipped the scotch, enjoying the warmth as it slid down my throat. “What a night, huh?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He tried to sit up but decided against it, falling back into the cushions with his

face twisted into a grimace.

“No, I’m not.” I brought my hands into my lap, running my fingers over my knuckles where the man’s

teeth had met my fist. The skin had already healed, thanks to the healing powers in my blood.

“Good, I–I’m sorry, Maeve. I should’ve stayed by you. I shouldn’t have—”. –

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I said quickly, reaching out to pat his ankle. “This is why I

didn’t want to go. Nothing good ever happens at socials, at least from what I’ve been told.”

“Maeve I shouldn’t have… come on to you like that. I was drunk. Really, really drunk. 1—*

The words cut into my heart as he continued to apologize. He might as well have said he didn’t mean

any of it, not his words or the kiss. Oh, the kiss. It had damn near brought me to my knees. I would have

let him have his way with me in the alleyway if we hadn’t been interrupted.

“It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile even though my heart felt as though it would shatter into millions of

pieces. “It’s alright, really.”

We sat in silence for a moment as I sipped the scotch. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, and I

turned to him, watching a mysterious, unreadable expression cross over his features. I almost asked him

about what he had about leaving, going south through the southern pass or up over the northern tundra.

I bit my lip, remembering how he had said he was drunk. He probably had no idea what he was saying.

“Did you ever live here?” he asked, looking around the library as he lounged, his hands resting over his

chest.

“No, I was born in the North. Rowan spent time here, but he was very young.”

“Strange, isn’t it-” he said, looking at the ceiling’s faded mural, “how old this place is, how many Alpha’s

have ruled here and will rule here after we’re gone.”

I followed his gaze to the ceiling, seeing as though for the first time the intricate paintings of the moon

cycles set against a smattering of stars. Wolves seemed to be dancing around the base of the

chandelier, their necks straining upward as if they were howling to the figure of the Moon Goddess,

whose arms were open to them.

“Drogomor is the oldest pack still in existence, from what I understand. My father’s family wasn’t always

part of the pack. It’s rare for packs to pass down more than three or four generations of familial Alphas

without someone else coming in to claim it. I think. my great-grandfather took over the pack at some

point, from who I don’t know, but I do know my dad was born in this castle.”

Aaron continued to look at the ceiling, his eyes glassy from drink and the painfully late hour. It was close

to three o’clock in the morning now.

*Do you want to go to bed?” I asked, turning to him.

He closed his eyes, grimacing as he moved his legs. “Can’t move. I’m going to have to sleep here.”

“Well, I can fetch you some clothes if you want.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll be fine by the morning.” He opened one eye, the gray one, giving me a playful look.

“That wasn’t my first fight, you know.”

“I figured as much,” I said with a short laugh.

“Was it your first fight?” he asked.

“Uh, no… it wasn’t.”

“I mean, outside of wrestling with your brother.”

“Rowan was always a sorry opponent.” I smoothed the fabric of my dress, reaching up to finger the

ripped fabric across my chest. *He stopped wrestling me when I was probably five or six.”

Played too rough, huh?”

“I just took it a little too seriously, I think.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Iglowered at him, but his eyes were still closed.

“What was your first fight, then?”

I sighed, leaning back into the couch. “I was twelve, maybe thirteen. It was over a boy, actually.”

Aaron snorted, opening his eyes just enough that I could see them beneath his fan of dark lashes. “Oh?

Who was he?”