2. Let's Play

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Above: Cyril (Leander's father) Not too shabby for a man in his 50s, eh?

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Above: Cyril (Leander's father) Not too shabby for a man in his 50s, eh?

If you can't stomach dark violence, do NOT read this version of the chapter!

Chapter 2—Let's Play

Leander

"Why?!!!" I roared out my frustration and stomped across the room, then back again, like a caged animal, stopping only to hurl a bottle of hundred-year-old Scotch across the room at a bookcase.  I watched the glass break, amber liquid saturating the books and yelled again at the top of my lungs, "Why her?!!  Why couldn't it be anybody but her?!"  Clearly, the Moon had it out for me and she was a sly bitch, because there was no more hilarious mistake than making that female my mate!

My father sat reclined in a comfortable chair, completely unaffected by my foul mood. When he could get a word in edgewise, he asked evenly, "Are you ready to tell me why you're having a temper tantrum like a two-year-old and destroying the study?"

I growled and flashed him fang. Instantly, he was on his feet and in my face, a resounding sustained growl reverberating in his chest. Even in his fifties, the man was cut with rugged bulk and muscle, hewn and cultivated over thirty years as Alpha of Adamant Moon. He was respected and he was feared.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted to duke out my frustrations at the present moment. I could beat him, but it would be painful... and bloody. I sighed heavily, a signal that I was currently not interested in a fist fight, but I might take him up on it later, should my frustration push me over the edge.

He gave a short nod as if understanding all of that nonsense in my head without me speaking, and returned to his chair. He took a sip of his whiskey and used his hand to wipe off any remaining droplets of alcohol from his mostly white beard. I stared at him in contemplation, because no matter the strength of a man, he deeply felt the loss of his mate.

At least, he'd had a mate he loved, I thought bitterly. The joke was on me. I had no love for my mate. Just a festering disgust and distaste in my mouth that I wanted to spew out, but couldn't quite get rid of. What the hell was I going to do with her when I finally had her? I was so fucked.

And then I stopped, my mind rolling over a few scenarios. A wicked smirk curled on my face. I might hate her, but I also might get delicious satisfaction in using her hot little body to satisfy my deepest carnal desires...maybe I'd keep her on a pretty little collar, leashed to my bed. She didn't have to be my mate...she could be my little whore instead.

Yes, that was a much better idea.

And when I was done using her until she gave me the only thing she was truly good for, an heir, I would toss her aside or kill her or whatever was convenient for me at the time.

Of course, I could do none of that until I actually captured her. And then, I would have to wait until she became of age for anything physical, because no matter how big of a prick I was, I had zero interest in touching juvenile she-wolves. 

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