Taken For The Alpha ✔️ - 48 - Wattpad

Taken For The Alpha ✔️

by Midika

YOU ARE READING

Taken For The Alpha ✔️

Werewolf

18+ read at your discretion!
My hands tremble by my sides. "Don't sleep with her..."
He steps toward me, his eyes dark. "Why not?"
"Whatever you were planning to do to her tonight, do it to me instead," I whisper.

Ayah has always been unremarkable in every way other than in the power she wields. Since she was little she has been able to heal even the most fatal of wounds. Because of this, her father has locked her away, keeping her powers safe from the outside world. That is until a man appears below her balcony, giving her a glimpse into the freedom she could finally have.

However, the moment she starts to trust him, he takes her captive, revealing his identity to be a powerful Alpha who needs her to heal his younger sister. But when the girl's illness becomes impossible for Ayah to heal, she is dragged on a journey beside the Alpha to find an amplifier. On the way, she learns their connection goes deeper than their heated attraction, to a soul bond neither can deny.

I wander through Nevan's home, unable to help myself.

It feels good to be on my feet, doing something. It's better than laying next to a dozing Zaon, wondering what my future will look like without him in it. Wondering what it will be like to go another day without touching him.

Day only broke away from night about an hour ago. The manor remains densely quiet, the sound of my bare feet padding against marble being the only noise disturbing the stillness.

At least the storm broke last night. A mournful wind still howls against the eaves, but the rain has ceased to a gentle patter. We should be able to leave today.

I wind up a set of stairs, the air thick and humid.

Nevan's house is a maze. Every corner I turn feels bizarre, the layout uncanny. It leads me to strange areas of the home without me realizing how far I've strayed, but I feel safe exploring when no one else has woken.

I wander down a narrow hallway, unbothered until I catch the scent of sickness in the air. I've become so attuned to it over the years, it doesn't escape my notice as it may with others.

Frowning, I venture to a door left ajar. I know I shouldn't pry, but someone could be unwell and needing help up here.

My peeking reveals a dimly lit room, the curtains drawn. A figure sits in a narrow bed, back braced up against the headboard, eating from a tray on their lap.

It's Nevan's father. I can tell immediately.

His head jerks up suddenly, eyes meeting mine. "Who's there?"

The urge to duck behind the wall to hide is strong, but something keeps me from the cowardly option. My magic buzzes under my skin, luring me into the room with a single step, attracted to the sickness plaguing him.

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to disturb you," I say calmly.

"Nonsense. Come in here so I can look at you," he gestures me closer with an arm so thin my heart launches into my throat.

He's clearly been sick for a long while. Death lingers like a dark shawl over his shoulders, close but not enough to claim him yet. His eyes have sunk deep within sallow skin, lines of aging gouged around his mouth and along his forehead. He smells like decay, like something that has been abandoned, forgotten.

I want to be sick, knowing how long this male has suffered. How no one has been able to help him.

"Who are you?" He asks, peering at me through slitted lids.

"My name is Ayah," I tell him softly, stopping at his bedside.

He inspects me warily. I've just barged into his room, corrupting his space. I wouldn't be surprised if he realizes I'm not someone who should be here and ousts me before I can do something to help him.

I know Zaon warned me against it, but what kind of person would I be if I let him suffer? Should I value earning my own freedom over giving someone relief after years of suffering?

"You work here or something?" He asks gruffly.

I blink. "I...yes."

"You know I asked for eggs for my breakfast. I didn't get that." He gives me a sour look as he attempts to adjust his pillow.

I scratch below my ear. "I'm sorry. I will tell the kitchen."

He waves his hand. "Fetch me a water while you’re at it."

He isn't entirely coherent. His biting tone makes me recoil, encouraging me to leave the room before I bury myself deeper in this mess. But I can't leave a man in this state.

"Are you Nevan's father?" I ask softly.

He scowls at me. "Of course I am."

I slowly sit on the edge of the bed, the pulse of my magic rearing up under my skin. It aches to be used, to heal the blight that is plaguing him. It is a strange feel, yet wondrously natural.

"You're very sick, aren't you?" I murmur.

"Rubbish." He huffs, a horrible wheeze following the sound. "I'm only as sick as I feel, and I feel fine."

I somehow doubt that. He has been suffering for so long, his pride has been wounded beyond repair. This male was once strong, an Alpha. Being felled by an illness is not easy to cope with, and clearly, he isn't.

"I don't think that's true, sir." I run my hand along the top of the lump duvet. "I can sense death in the air."

He inspects me with a curious look, probably wondering if I'm a witch.

His eyes grow dark as he seems to realize I'm intruding on his space. "Just go, would you? I don't need another fool telling me I'm about to die."

I pick at my thumbnail anxiously, my mind at war with itself. I feel inclined to turn away, as Zaon would want me to. Self-preservation says Nevan will know his father's health has taken a miraculous turn, and he will investigate.

But a deeper part of me cannot deny my one calling. I can't accept that the goddess gave me this magic for no reason.

I can't walk away...I couldn't live with myself.

"What if I told you I could heal you?"

"My son has brought in healers from all across the realm. What makes you believe you’re going to be the one to finally do it?" He raises a brow, less curious and more irritated that I would bring that up. Almost like he believes I’m making fun of him.

"Can I show you?"

He hesitates, and I'm suddenly afraid he's going to deny me.

"I suppose," he says eventually.

I peer around the room, my gaze landing on his plate from breakfast. Beside a heap of apple peels, is a short, dazzlingly sharp knife. I swipe it up, cradling it close.

"You must promise not to tell anyone," I state firmly, hoping that somehow, I can trust him. "I mean it. You must act as though it’s a miracle, or that one of the nurses gave you something and all your sickness went away."

"Fine..." He mutters gruffly, disbelieving this will amount to anything.

He watches with foggy eyes as I slice across my palm. Blood wells immediately, the pain a distant thought as I set the knife back down.

When I sidle closer, reaching for him, he flinches back.

"Yuck! I don't want your blood on me," he wails, thin fingers curling into the sheets beside him.

"Quiet. Relax," I insist.

He eventually relents, watching me warily. I make quick work of healing him, or at least I attempt to. His sickness is a deeply knotted web that has been spun over many years. It takes time to weave out, to bury through the wall to the other side, where I finally relieve him of decades of pain and suffering.

When I pull back into reality, my vision tilts uncannily. I grasp the edge of the bed for support, a wave of nausea pulling through me.

I've forgotten how difficult it can be to heal someone so sick. I need to be more careful, lest my magic overwhelms me, as it often nearly did when I was healing my mother.

I lean back, lowering my hand. I snatch a napkin off his bedside, using it to mop the smeared blood left on his skin. Then, I bunch it into my hand to slow the bleeding from my wound.

He looks dazed, blinking slowly a few times as he makes sense of the new sensations in his body.

Feeling the absence of pain for the first time in years is confounding. He doesn’t look like he knows entirely how to handle it.

He looks down at his palms, as if they might reveal how he is feeling this way to him. "I...wow...the pain is gone."

I go to stand, but a wave of dizziness forces me back down to his bedside. I need to put distance between him and I, but I can't go anywhere just yet.

"You were quite sick," I tell him shakily, wiping at the sweat beaded along my hairline. "Your sickness has been around for a very long time."

He looks up at me, his eyes cleared of the haze once plaguing them, a bright glint in them now.

"Is it really gone?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel...amazing. I forgot what it felt like to feel free from pain."

"Yes, you’re fully healed, and it won’t return," I assure him.

With watery eyes, he pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"You’re a witch! A magic witch!" He exclaims vividly.

It’s not the first time I’ve been called that, and I can’t imagine it will be the last. Will it be what Nevan calls me if he finds out if it was me who healed his father? The thought makes my stomach clench painfully.

"You can’t tell anyone about what I just did," I tell him, squeezing his arm. It’s not going to be long until he falls unconscious, my magic stunning coursing through his veins.

He pauses, giving me a strange look. "If I tell, will you curse me?"

I stand, deciding I really need to get out of here. "Yes, I will. So keep it...oh fuck."

The world tips on its side — no, that’s me. I fall, barely unable to catch myself as I thunk to the ground, darkness shrouding my vision as unconsciousness takes me.

When I wake next, I’m suspended in the air.

I feel the steadiness of someone’s arms beneath me, carrying me. I feel my body pressed against their chest, being cradled delicately while they stalk forward. I smell their masculine scent, and I know without opening my eyes that it’s Zaon.

When I look up, I see the harsh line of his jaw, set sternly. He looks ahead, carrying me down a hallway.

I squirm, but his grip is firm. "Mmm...what’s happening."

He looks down at me, expression unreadable. "Relax, Ayah."

It’s a good thing he’s carrying me and I’m not walking, because I feel weak. My magic fed on the last of my energy, leaving me with useless scraps.

"What happened?" I ask hoarsely.

"You overexerted yourself healing Nevan’s father." His voice is tight. He’s angry.

"Oh no..."

"Nevan is overjoyed, but he is confused," he explains curtly. He’s taking me upstairs now. "His father won’t explain the miraculous turn in his health."

I breathe out slowly, relieved. The man headed my command. Hopefully he feels indebted to me, and will keep my secret as my only wish.

"Did he see me unconscious?"

"His father told him you passed out after you smelled his sickness," Zaon explains. "It won’t be long until Nevan figures out what you’re capable of. We need to be out of here by then."

He looks down at me, a line scoring between his brows. He’s as worried as he is angry.

"But the storm—"

"Has passed, and the debris will be cleared by tonight." He shoulders through the door, leading us into the bedroom. "We need to get your hand bandaged."

He sets me down on the bed, helping me sit up. My head still swims, but I manage to keep myself up.

I watch him enter the bathroom. "I’m sorry...I couldn’t let him die."

When he returns, he has an ointment of some kind in one hand, and a strip of bandage in the other. He kneels down in front of me, taking my hand in his.

"You’ve put yourself at risk," he mutters darkly, shaking his head. "You put our mission at risk."

It’s a shame he is so handsome when he is angry. His face transforms into harsh lines, his stare unforgiving. I went against his wishes, but I’m not going to apologize.

"I have to do more than just this mission. I was given my powers for a reason." I let him clean the drying blood from my hand.

It doesn’t need much caring for, since the residual magic in my blood is already healing it. But I let him tend to me, smearing ointment onto what is left of the wound.

He looks up at me, grip tightening where he holds my wrist still. "I will not lose you, do you understand me?"

"You will not lose your chance to get Iris back. That’s what you mean," I remind him.

"Two things can be true at once."

He winds the bandage around my hand securely, around and around. It won’t be easy to explain that to Nevan later, but soon it won’t matter. We will be out of here imminently.

"I will save your sister," I assure him quietly. "And I will save everyone else who needs it. It’s what I was born to do."

The anger melts from his face as he secures the bandage.

"You are far too good for this world," he breathes. "It’s going to get you killed."