Percy, his Omega, hurried forward, ready to absorb the dark energy pouring from his Alpha Prime. He stood there, eyes closed, face paling with the effort of calming her father. Her father was close to losing control. If Percy failed, her father would not only shift, but he might attack in a wild rage, hurting everybody close to him before he could stop himself. The great power of the Alpha Prime also came with some downsides. There were tales of Alpha Primes who’d lost control of their animals and killed their entire families before they could stop themselves. Those Alphas were hunted down by their own packs and killed with silver bullets – the only thing that could stop them.
Dakota realized she was holding her breath, and she let it out slowly, not moving a muscle. After a long, long moment, her father’s fur sank back under his skin and his fangs retracted. Percy was as white as a sheet and covered in sweat, and he sank to his knees, trembling.
Brandon fixed his daughter with an ice-cold glare. “You will go to your quarters, and you will stay there until your wedding,” he gritted out. “Which is moved up to next week. No visitors. And I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth – and you’d better keep your feelings to yourself too.” He gestured violently at his Beta, who rushed over so fast that Dakota heard the whoosh of air in his wake. “Drew, escort her out of here.”
As she turned to go, her father reached across the desk and grabbed her cell phone, crushed it into pieces in his fist, and dropped the pieces on the desk.
Head held high, she blinked back tears that she refused to shed. She walked out of the room with Drew right behind her. In silence, she let him escort her down the hall, through the enormous great room, and upstairs to the wing of the house where her quarters were located.
Chapter Two
They stopped at the door that led to her suite of rooms, and she stomped through the doorway and turned to glare at Drew.
“You can’t come in. No boys allowed,” she said coldly.
He stopped by the doorway. “I’ll be standing right here, so don’t try anything,” he blustered.
She raked him with a look of contempt. “Bite me.”
At that, he looked worried. “Er…you mean like…claim you? Your father would tear my head off.” Drew’s smarts were in direct inverse proportion to his strength – and he was very strong.
Dakota snorted in contempt and slammed the door in his face.
Her suite was made up of half a dozen rooms, and her bedroom was at the end of a long hallway. As she passed the laundry room, she heard Vinessa and Tiffani, two female pack members, speaking in low voices.
“Hey, did you finish ironing the lazy cow’s dainty underthings?” Vinessa asked scornfully. “Since she can’t be bothered to lift a finger for herself.”
“Right? Her Royal Hiney wouldn’t want to break a nail or something,” Tiffani griped. “And did you see what she was wearing today? Her skirt has ruffles. On those hips. Does she shop at the Short and Fat outlet?”
Both women broke into giggles.
Dakota paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself and wishing, not for the first time, that she didn’t have such freakishly good hearing.
And she bristled at the unfairness of what the women were saying. Her father insisted that everyone in their pack serve her hand and foot. She would love to do her own laundry and clean her room and cook for herself, but if she tried, the pack members practically fell over themselves to stop her. Then they complained behind her back about what a spoiled brat she was – like she had a choice in the matter.
She stalked down the hall, past the laundry room, and Vinessa and Tiffani saw her and hurried out.
“Oh, Dakota! I didn’t see you!” Tiffani said with a big, bright smile. “You look so great today. Love your skirt.”
Usually she just let things like that go, but today she was in no mood. “Thanks,” she snapped. “I bought it at the Short and Fat outlet.”
Tiffani’s face went pale. “You’re not going to tell your father what I said, are you?”
Dakota ignored her and stomped into her room and slammed the door behind her.
She heard Vinessa mutter “bitch” under her breath. Then she heard them hurry down the hall and shut the door, and she was alone.
Her room was the ultimate gilded cage. Most of the furniture had been picked out by her father, although he’d let her keep a few old pieces that her late mother had bought for her. The furniture that her father had selected was in an elaborately carved baroque style, gilded and overstuffed and more suitable for seventeenth-century French royalty than for a twenty-first century woman. The massive vanity with the bowed legs and the inlaid mother of pearl, the ivory silk bedding, the velvet curtains…a pack member came in every day and spent hours dusting every gleaming inch of it.