Ruthless Alpha, and his Curvy Saint-Chapter 50

Lord Merrick’s POV

I watched them leave - my brother and his mate - with feelings I couldn’t entirely classify.

Jealousy, certainly. That was obvious and expected.

But also... confusion.

The Moon Goddess had declared them mates. Had bound their souls together in the way She’d been doing since the beginning of werewolf existence. Her wisdom was supposed to be absolute, Her pairings perfect.

But looking at Terrell and Angel together, I couldn’t make it make sense.

They were opposites. Completely, fundamentally opposite.

Terrell was violence and darkness and centuries of accumulated cruelty. Angel was softness and light and somehow still maintained kindness despite everything she’d endured.

Terrell preferred control through fear. Angel believed in redemption and second chances.

Terrell had spent his entire existence as a warrior, an Alpha, someone who took what he wanted without apology. Angel had been preparing to dedicate her life to God, to service, to something bigger than herself.

They didn’t match.

Not in temperament, not in values, not in...

Not in body type, my wolf supplied helpfully.

That too.

Ever since they’d arrived my castle yesterday, I’d tried to grab every single information I could about Angel - and I must say, she’s literally an Angel.

She was exactly my preference. Soft curves, generous proportions, the kind of body that made my hands itch to touch, to hold, to worship. She was, quite literally, physically perfect for me.

And yet the Moon Goddess had given her to my brother.

To Terrell, who’d spent centuries bedding slim warriors and athletic fighters. Who’d never shown interest in softer women. Who’d always claimed he preferred his lovers to feel like opponents instead of yielding beneath him.

Something’s wrong.

The thought solidified.

The Moon Goddess had made a mistake. Had to have. The signs were too obvious to ignore.

I needed to talk to Sheena. Needed her to consult with the Moon Goddess again, verify this pairing, because nothing about it made sense.

"Lord Merrick?"

The voice startled me from my thoughts.

I turned to find the strange-looking girl still seated beside me.

Strange because... well. She looked like she’d borrowed someone else’s body for the day. Her face seemed lost in the padded dress, her features delicate where the garment suggested abundance. The proportions were all wrong.

Though the padding was impressive work, I’d give her that. If I hadn’t spent a lifetime studying women’s bodies with the attention of a master craftsman, I might have been fooled.

"What was your name again?" I asked, then immediately realized I’d said it aloud instead of just thinking it.

Shit.

The girl’s smile faltered for just a moment before recovering with impressive speed.

"Lyra," she said brightly. "My name is Lyra. I’m the second daughter of Zach, a merchant from the Eastern territories. I’m twenty-four years old, I speak three languages, I’m an accomplished rider, I can play the lute, I’ve read extensively on philosophy and poetry, I’m skilled at needlework, I can manage a household budget, and I make an excellent traveling companion."

She delivered this like a merchant listing a product’s features.

Which, I supposed, is exactly what she was doing.

Selling herself.

The desperation in it made something in my chest twist uncomfortably.

I should say something kind. Should acknowledge her efforts, thank her for the information, perhaps offer some gentle encouragement.

Instead, I found myself nodding absently.

"Mmm."

Because my mind was still on Angel.

On the way she’d looked at breakfast, the blue dress making her eyes brighter, her hair catching the morning light. The soft curve of her jaw. The fullness of her lips. The way her generous breasts rose and fell with each breath, testing the limits of her bodice in the most glorious way.

The way I could already imagine burying myself inside her. Deep. Claiming her in every way a man could claim a woman. Making her understand exactly what it meant to be worshipped by someone who genuinely appreciated what she had to offer.

Making her forget she’d ever been matched to my brother.

"...and I’ve always been fascinated by castle architecture," Lyra was saying, her voice bright and determined. "The way the stones are laid, the defensive considerations, the integration of beauty and function. Your castle is a perfect example of..."

"Mmm."

"And of course, I’ve studied the history of the great werewolf packs extensively. The Black Wolf pack, for instance, has such a fascinating lineage. The way Alpha Terrell has maintained power for so long is really quite remarkable when you consider..."

"Yes."

I wasn’t listening.

I was imagining Angel beneath me. Those soft thighs wrapped around my waist. Her curves yielding to my touch. Her voice crying my name instead of my brother’s.

She’d be perfect. Responsive and sweet and so beautifully soft in all the right places.

"...so I was thinking perhaps you could show me the armory? I’ve heard you have quite the collection of historical weapons, and I’d love to see..."

"Sure."

Lyra stood immediately, her face lighting up with genuine excitement.

And I realized, belatedly, that I’d just agreed to something.

Damn.

But it was too late now. She was already moving toward the door, chattering about swords or castles or something equally irrelevant.

I followed, only half-listening, my mind still occupied with far more pleasant thoughts.

Of soft skin.

Generous curves.

And eyes that had looked at me last night like maybe - just maybe - I might have a chance.

Terrell’s POV

We found the study easily.

I’d spent enough time in this castle during various visits over the centuries to know exactly where to go for privacy. The study was Merrick’s sanctuary, books lining every wall, a massive desk dominating the center, comfortable chairs arranged near the fireplace.

Perfect for difficult conversations.

Angel entered ahead of me, her eyes immediately going to the books, wonder crossing her face as she took in the sheer volume of knowledge surrounding us.

"This is incredible," she breathed.

"Merrick’s a collector," I said, closing the door behind us. "Of many things."

Angel turned to look at me, her expression cautious. "You wanted to talk?"

Right. The conversation I’d been both dreading and desperately needing since last night.

"Do you have feelings for my brother?" I asked bluntly.

No point dancing around it.

Angel blinked, clearly surprised by my directness. "I... I don’t know."

I appreciated the honesty. At least she wasn’t lying, wasn’t trying to spare my feelings with empty reassurances.

"He’s been very kind to me," she continued slowly. "And he’s said things that made me feel... seen. Valued. In a way I’m not used to." She looked down at her hands. "But feelings? Real feelings? I don’t know if I’ve had enough time to develop those."

Fair enough.

"Do you still plan to dissolve your bond with the Alpha when we reach Black Wolf territory?" I asked, moving to the next question.

She nodded immediately. "Yes. That’s what I want. I can’t - I won’t be tied to the man who murdered my family."

Each word was a knife.

I deserved every cut.

"If you do that," I said carefully, "if you successfully break the mate bond and gain your freedom... would you be willing to try something with me?"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

"Would you be willing to try being with me?" I clarified. "Not as obligation. Not as duty. Just... as two people who might want to see what could develop between them."

Angel stared at me like I’d started speaking a foreign language.

"You want..." She struggled with the words. "You want to be with me? Romantically?"

"Yes."