Alpha’s Strength(26)

“You have a human locked in the basement?” Travis continued speaking, this time with one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. Don’t you? We should all have at least one human locked in our basement at all times, don’t you think?”

“Why do you have this man locked up?” Travis played with a strand of Lilliana’s hair. “I’m sure there had to be another way to get your mate’s attention without kidnapping her boyfriend, lover, or husband.”

“Oh, he’s not any of those things.” Betsy spooned some rice, anything to handle her nervous energy. Travis would be great at interrogating prisoners. She might confess her every sin to him, if he asked. What was it? His tone? His eye contact? Were all male wolves like this? “He was going to be my husband because he’s holding my parents hostage. I had no choice.”

“I think you’d better start from the beginning, Cyrus.” All the humor fled Travis’s voice and he leaned forward.

Cyrus sat down next to her. “I would have told you this already, but all you wanted to talk about was Alexei’s scent permeating the room.”

“I think I have the right to know why the Alpha I’m in a non-aggressive treaty with is entertaining my worst enemy.”

“Someday you’re going to have to get over what happened that summer.” Cyrus waved his hand in the air. “You’re both powerful werewolves, and Lucian never held it against either of you.”

There was a story in there somewhere. But, since Betsy could barely follow who was who at this point, she didn’t want to ask. It would make things more confusing, and there was enough of that in her life at that moment.

Lilliana interrupted. “Back to the point. Locked human in the basement. Blackmail. How you came to be mated to my sister that, up until today, I thought I’d made up in my head.”

“I can’t believe you never mentioned you thought you had one.” Travis eyed her sideways.

“Would you go around advertising someone who may or may not be your imaginary friend?” Lilliana rolled her eyes. “Cyrus, a little illumination please.”

“I met Betsy in a Starbucks. As she told you, I thought she was you until I realized her scent was different and she had the gorgeous freckles over her nose.”

Betsy’s cheeks heated up. He thought her spots attractive? He didn’t find them grotesque? She stared down at the table. How could that be?

“Why didn’t you call me immediately?” Travis leaned forward. “Why did it take you hours? As it is, if I hadn’t been in Jersey, it would have taken twice as long to get here.”

“Because I had scented my mate for the first time and decided it was more important to ensure her safety and well-being than to inform you about something that I was still unclear about. Speaking of which…” He turned to Betsy. The force of his regard took her breath away. He hadn’t looked at her in hours, and now she felt as though she couldn’t take deep breath from the intensity of his stare.

“Yes?” Her mouth went dry.

“Give me the ring.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “The ring?”

“Left hand. Ring finger.” He exhaled loudly. “Take it off.”

“Is that an engagement ring?” Lilliana raised her voice in question.

“Nathan, the guy in the basement who has been blackmailing me, insisted I wear it. He wants me to be his wife. It’s part of the deal.”

Cyrus growled, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Look, I don’t love the thing either or what it happens to represent, but you can’t order it off my hand. Mate or no mate or whatever, I’m not going to take it off because you command my obedience.”

There. He hadn’t wanted her docile. He’d insisted she look him in the eyes, had been the one to point out she probably wasn’t passive. Well then, he could live with her temper and see how he liked that. She’d never been able to hold back hers, even with her parents who hadn’t liked it. Maybe it had been some werewolf thing always stored inside of her. In any case, if he couldn’t deal, he could go find himself another mate. Even if the idea of that made her stomach ache.

When he spoke again, this time it was barely above a whisper. “Maybe you could take it off then, Betsy, to spare me the energy it takes to restrain myself from ripping it off your finger. I’d love to be able to take it, sell it, and give the money to some human charitable organization as opposed to flinging it across the room or throwing it twenty stories down into traffic. In that case, though, I guess we’d get to find out if it’s a real diamond or some cheap knock-off. Want to give that a go?”