On the Alpha's Bed While My Ex Begs

ELINOR POV:

"Elinor, apologize."

The command was cold, impatient. It came from Braxton Porter, the man the Moon Goddess had decreed was my mate.

My gaze drifted past his broad shoulders. Bree Bailey sat hunched in a chair, a perfect picture of a damsel in distress—the human girl Braxton had brought back from outside. Ever since he took her in, he had given almost all of his attention to her. She held up her wrist, which was slightly pink, her big blue eyes welling with tears.

She looked at Braxton, a silent plea for protection.

The air was thick with the smell of coffee and Bree's cheap, sweet perfume. It made my stomach turn. A sense of déjà vu washed over me, a suffocating feeling that I had lived this humiliating scene countless times before. And I had always been the one to back down.

To apologize.

"Didn't you hear me?" Braxton's brow furrowed, the oppressive presence of a Gamma warrior pressing down on me. "Bree's hand is burned because you weren't watching where you were going!"

A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. I wasn't watching? It was Bree who had stuck her foot out, tripping me and sending the coffee splashing. The burn on her wrist was nothing compared to the red mark on my own arm where I'd hit the counter.

If this had been the Elinor of my past life, I would have been gutted by the undisguised disgust in his eyes. My heart would have twisted into a painful knot.

But now, my heart was a flat, calm sea.

"Apologize," he repeated, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. It was his signature tell, the final stop before his temper exploded.

I finally lifted my head. My eyes met his, and I saw the fire in them, the protective rage he felt for her.

Bree let out a small, perfectly timed sob. "Braxton, it's okay... maybe Elinor didn't mean to. It just hurts a little..."

Her voice was just loud enough for the few Pack members lingering by the kitchen door to hear.

My own voice, when it came, was quiet, but it sliced through her whimpering.

"Why should I apologize?"

Braxton froze. He clearly hadn't expected a question. He hadn't expected anything but my immediate, tearful submission.

Bree's crying hitched. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at me, reassessing the situation.

I ignored them both. I walked over to the stove where a kettle of water was boiling, the pot rumbling with a low gurgle.

"Elinor, what are you doing now?" Braxton's voice was laced with suspicion.

I lifted the silver stainless steel kettle. The heat seeped into my palm, a grounding sensation. I turned and walked, step by deliberate step, toward Bree.

The fragile, innocent look on her face evaporated, replaced by a flicker of genuine panic. She instinctively shrank back in her chair.

I stood over her, a cold smile touching my lips. "You said you were burned, didn't you?"

My voice was a soft whisper, like a devil's promise. "But I don't think the injury looks convincing enough."

In the reflection of her widening, terrified eyes, I saw my own resolve. I grabbed the wrist she had been cradling.

"Ah—! What are you doing? Let me go!" Bree shrieked, her act finally cracking.

I tilted my hand.

The boiling water streamed down, hitting the back of her hand with precision.

Her scream turned raw and piercing. Her skin turned a violent red almost instantly. She tried to pull her hand away, but my grip was iron.

The kitchen fell silent. The onlookers at the door stared, their mouths agape.

I let her go. The now-empty kettle hit the table with a loud clang, shattering the silence.

I turned to Braxton. He was frozen, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Now," I said, my voice a tone he had never heard from me before—as cold and hard as winter ice. "Her injury looks much more convincing. Should I help her make the other hand match?"

His expression shifted from shock to pure fury. His chest heaved, and his brown eyes blazed with a fire that promised to tear me apart.

I knew I had pushed him over the edge.

And it felt so damn good.

I didn't look at him again. I gave one last, cold glance at Bree, who was now a sobbing, terrified heap on the floor. "Next time you put on a show, try to be more professional."

Then I turned my back on them.

With my spine straight, I walked out of that disgusting kitchen, leaving the sound of Braxton's ragged, furious breathing behind me.