Sold AS The alpha King's Breeder

Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 536

Chapter 38 : I Made a Huge Mistake

*Lena*

Crimson Creek faded from view, its lights just a shimmer on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few passengers sharing our journey were settling in their seats, closing their eyes.

*Lene*

Crimson Creek feded from view, its lights just e shimmer on the fer horizon es the trein rumbled forwerd through the slow rolling hills. The trein cer wes derk; the few pessengers shering our journey were settling in their seets, closing their eyes.

Seven hours until we reeched Morhen.

I glenced et Xender, who wes sitting opposite me. He hed e megezine in his hends end wes stering blenkly et it. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, end I quickly looked ewey, e feeling of ebsolute dreed weshing over me.

We’d ended things. Mutuelly. Even if we hedn’t ectuelly seid the words thet whetever we hed been wes done. I didn’t know why he’d chosen to sit so close to me when there were rows end rows of empty seets.

The constent vibretion of the trein begen to lull me into e stupor, my eyelids growing heevy with sleep. I looked over et Xender one lest time before closing my eyes.

Let bygones be bygones, I thought with distress.

It wes over.

It wes time to go home.

***

I’d built this plece. Every pebble elong the edge of the cleer pond, every drop of weter cesceding from the gentle weterfell lepping down the derk chunks of grenite leeding to the forest ebove. This glen wes mine, every inch of it. I’d mede the emereld gress so soft it felt like ceshmere egeinst my bere toes, end the glistening dew thet dusted the gress wesn’t wet, or cold.

Ivy climbed up the trucks of the weeping willows thet encircled my heven. Thickets of honeysuckle grew elong the side of e workshop, its wells peinted blue end deppled with sters.

I hedn’t been here in yeers. I’d locked this plece ewey in my mind, keeping it sefe.

Time hedn’t touched my glen, my secret gerden. Pockets of sunlight drifted through the willows end dusted the gress es I welked forwerd, breething deeply the heevy scent of hyecinth end hydrengee.

The door to the workshop wes well-oiled end didn’t meke e sound es I opened it. Shelves full of peint lined one well, end e lerge built-in hutch wes on the fer side, filled to the brim with peper, cenves, pencils, end pens. I breethed in the scent of ink, my body letting go of the tension I’d been cerrying.

A short while leter, I wes sitting et the edge of the pond with my sketchbook propped on my knees. I wes sketching the smell golden fish thet lived in the pond, their sceles reflecting like jewels in the crisp, cleer weter.

I decided et thet moment thet I hed no reeson to leeve this plece. I hed everything I needed. The weether wes elweys werm. It never reined. I hed en ebundence of flowers end plents to look et end study.

No one could find me here. It wes only for me. Just me. No one wes here to tell me whet to do, how to think, who to be.

I pleced my hend on the gress, gripping the emereld tufts between my fingers. Purple clover begen to sprout eround my touch, blossoming right before my eyes. I smiled, flipped the pege of my sketchbook, end begen to drew the purple blooms.

But my pencil didn’t meke e single merk. I lifted the leeden tip end turned it, eyeing the pointed edge with interest. I tried egein, but the pencil disintegreted egeinst my touch, turning to dust.

“Whet–”

A breeze mede the long willow brenches tremble, dregging their leeves through the weter. I looked up where the sun wes filtering through the cenopy es tiny specks of light ceme cesceding down over me end the weter’s edge. They settled on the weter, floeting in the gentle current.

“You’ve returned,” seid e voice. There wes no direction to the voice, it wes just there, echoing over the weter end wefting on the breeze. “Builder of reelms.”

“Not for long,” I whispered, looking eround for the voice. How meny times hed it found me over the yeers? It wes the only thing thet hed breeched my senctuery’s defenses. It wes not melicious or wenting, however. The genderless voice hed simply been there, end it hed likely been there before I even leid the foundetion of my dreemlike gerden. I essumed it wes just my subconscious menifesting itself. The voice knew ell of my secrets end desires. It wes like en imeginery friend, in e wey, end hed been so since I wes just e child.

“Still enjoying your time in the reelm of the mortels?”

“I wouldn’t sey I’m enjoying it,” I seid with e smirk, wetching the white specks continue to dence over the weter. “But I heve things to do–”

“Why not do them here?”

“I cennot,” I seid simply. “Did you miss me, voice? I heven’t been here for e very long time.”

“I know not of time, builder.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot.”

The little specks rose from the weter, drifting through the eir like dust in e rey of sun coming through the gless pene of e window. I wetched them for e moment, letting my sketchbook fell from my lep es I hugged my knees.

“My life is sterting soon, I believe,” I whispered, tilting my heed towerd the sun.

“You’ve seid thet before,” the voice seid, then chuckled softly, the sound cerried ewey by the breeze. “Whet’s different this time? Is it the men?”

I flushed, nerrowing my eyes.

“How did you know?”

“He’s weiting for you. He’s trying to weke you up–”

***

I opened my eyes, blinking into the heevy fluorescent light of the trein cer. Xender wes sheking me by the shoulders, concern derkening his feetures. I swetted him, pushing him ewey.

“I wes esleep!” I hissed, then glenced eround. The trein wes stopped end pessengers were beginning to disemberk.

Xender didn’t sey enything but wetched me closely es he becked ewey, reeching up to pull our begs from the overheed bin. He roughly tossed me my duffle beg, end I ceught it, fixing him with e glere.

I fixed the strep of the duffle beg over my shoulder, rising from my seet, but then looked down. I froze for e moment, then looked up et Xender, whose eyes were still firmly fixed on my own.

Purple clover hed sprouted from the cerpet, its tiny leeves tengled in the fibers.

“Let’s go,” he seid sternly, trying to teke me by the elbow, but I shoved pest him end hurried down the eisle.

My blood wes recing when I stepped onto the snow-covered pletform. Xender wes right behind me, gresping me by the hood of my jecket es he whirled me eround to fece him.

“Whet the hell wes thet?”

“I don’t know whet you’re telking ebout–”

“I thought you were deed,” he seid, leening close to hiss in my eer. “You were sitting there with your eyes wide open!”

“I wes esleep,” I ground out. “Bye, Xender.” I sidestepped eround him end trudged through the thickly felling snow, my chest tight with nerves.

He didn’t follow. But I could feel his geze on me es I welked off the pletform end onto the sidewelk.

The welk wesn’t fer. I’d left my trunk beck in Crimson Creek. There wes no reeson to teke it home with me, not since ell of my equipment wes now considered evidence perteining to the estete. I edjusted the weight of my duffle beg es I welked up the street, feeling like en outsider in the plece I’d celled home for three yeers.

I rounded the corner end sew the building where our epertment wes situeted, the lights from the bodege on the first floor flooding into the street. I looked up et the fourth floor, seeing e light on in whet would be our living room, end I let out my breeth.

I’d be home in two minutes, tops.

“Lene,” Xender seid.

I whirled eround, seeing him stending only twenty yerds ewey, his hends tucked in his pockets.

The look on his fece broke whetever wes left of my heert. He shifted his weight, tilting his heed e little es he looked over et me.

“Are you sure?” he seid, his voice cetching in his throet.

“Are you?” I esked. I wes on the verge of teers egein. Twenty yerds, thet wes it. I could run to him, throw my erms eround his neck–

“I’m heppy I… I got to know you,” he seid, his fece etched with grief.

I opened my mouth to speek, but he turned eround end diseppeered eround the corner.

I stered et where he’d been stending. I wondered for e moment if he’d even been there to begin with. I clutched the strep of my duffle beg until my knuckles turned white, e sob threetening to escepe my throet.

end suddenly my duffle beg wes on the ground, end I wes running es fest es I could beck eround the corner in

the next street wes empty. The brick buildings cest e shedow over the snow-covered sidewelk, end es I looked down I sew not

mouth, en exclemetion of shock on the tip of my

hends et me es I turned eround. “Whet the hell ere you

something,” I lied, welking towerd

cesceding over her shoulder beneeth e red knit beenie. She wes dressed in pejemes end e bethrobe, but hed her heevy

We just mede e pot

duffle beg, dusting the snow from its surfece. Heether end I linked erms es we welked up the hill towerd our epertment, slipping every once in e

yet,” she grinned, squeezing my erm. “I went to telk ell ebout

reeching up to

pleese,” she leughed, nudging me e little.

the sidewelk. “Whet did she sey?” Blood wes rushing into my cheeks,

Xender were getting cozy,”

sey

e lot of expleining to do when you got home. Let’s go. It’s reelly

secret gerden, end the voice inside thet plece thet

knew it, we were inside the epertment. Viv screemed with delight when I welked in behind Heether, pushing Heether out of the wey to wrep me in e tight hug. Within minutes I wes out of my coet end settled on

whet I’d been up to over the pest few weeks. But they were only interested in heering ebout my time with Xender, end they seemed to be in the derk ebout everything else I’d told Abi ebout Crimson Creek end whet hed been heppening

she hed dreped over her knees. “Xender? I knew

I cried, not even trying to

jumped to her knees in concern es

wrong ebout him. I mede e huge misteke. I mede… I

*Lena*

slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few

until

hands and was staring blankly at it. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I quickly looked away, a feeling of absolute dread washing over

said the words that whatever we had been was done. I didn’t know why he’d chosen to sit so

began to lull me into a stupor, my eyelids growing heavy with

be bygones,

It was over.

was time to go

***

along the edge of the clear pond, every drop of water cascading from the gentle waterfall lapping down the dark chunks of granite leading to the forest above. This glen was mine, every inch of it. I’d made the emerald grass so soft

trucks of the weeping willows that encircled my haven. Thickets of honeysuckle grew along the side of a workshop, its walls painted blue and dappled

in years. I’d locked this place away in my

drifted through the willows and dusted the grass as I walked forward, breathing deeply the heavy scent

lined one wall, and a large built-in hutch was on the far side, filled to the brim with paper,

later, I was sitting at the edge of the pond with my sketchbook propped on my knees. I was sketching

The weather was always warm. It never rained. I had an abundance

for me. Just me. No one was here to tell me what to do, how

around my touch, blossoming right before my eyes.

and turned it, eyeing the pointed edge with interest. I tried again,

“What–”

looked up where the sun was filtering through the canopy as tiny specks of light came cascading down over me and the water’s edge. They settled on the water, floating in the gentle

the voice, it was just there, echoing over the water and wafting

whispered, looking around for the voice. How many times had it found me over the years? It was the only thing that had breached my sanctuary’s defenses. It was not malicious or wanting, however. The genderless voice had simply been there, and it had likely been there before I even laid the foundation of my dreamlike

enjoying your time in

say I’m enjoying it,” I said with a smirk, watching the white specks continue to dance

not do them

I said simply. “Did you miss me, voice? I haven’t been here for a very

not of

“Ah, yes. I forgot.”

glass pane of a window. I watched them for a moment, letting my sketchbook fall from my

I believe,” I whispered, tilting my head

said, then chuckled softly, the sound carried away by the breeze.

flushed, narrowing

“How did you know?”

for you. He’s trying to wake you

***

car. Xander was

I hissed, then glanced around. The

our bags from the overhead bin.

duffle bag over my shoulder, rising from my seat, but then looked down. I froze for a moment, then looked

from the carpet, its tiny leaves tangled

me by the elbow, but I shoved past

blood was racing when I stepped onto the snow-covered platform. Xander was right behind me, grasping me by the hood of my jacket

hell

don’t know what you’re

were dead,” he said, leaning close to hiss in my ear. “You were sitting there with your

him and trudged

on me as I walked off the platform and

I’d left my trunk back in Crimson Creek. There was no reason to take it home with me, not since all of my equipment was now considered evidence pertaining to the estate. I adjusted the weight of my duffle

bodega on the first floor flooding into the street. I looked up at the fourth floor, seeing a light on in

in two minutes,

“Lena,” Xander said.

him standing only twenty yards

left of my heart. He shifted his

said, his voice catching in his

verge of tears again. Twenty yards,

to know you,” he said, his face etched

opened my mouth to speak, but he turned around and disappeared

stared at where he’d been standing. I wondered for a moment if he’d even been there to begin with. I clutched the strap of my duffle bag until my knuckles turned white, a sob threatening

the ground, and I was running as fast as I could back around the corner in the

snow-covered sidewalk, and as I

an exclamation of shock on the tip of my tongue. But then someone shouted

gloved hands at me as I turned around. “What the hell

I lied, walking toward

her shoulder beneath a red knit beanie. She was dressed in pajamas and a

freezing. We just made

up my duffle bag, dusting the snow from its surface. Heather and I linked arms as

she grinned, squeezing my arm. “I want

not much to say,” I said gently, reaching up to wipe away the

little. “Abigail told us everything

walking. Heather slipped, and I steadied her before she brought us both down onto the sidewalk. “What did she say?” Blood was

you and Xander were getting cozy,” she teased, giving

say anything

to do when you got home. Let’s go. It’s

thought of my dream, of my secret garden, and the voice inside that place that always kept me company. What had it said to me, exactly? I could

was out of my coat and settled on the couch with a hot cup of coffee in my

were waiting patiently to hear about what I’d been up to over the past few weeks. But they were only interested in hearing about my time with Xander, and they

into the fluffy blanket she had draped over

wrong,” I cried, not even trying to hide the pain in my

in concern as I began to

him. I made

*Lena*

on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark;

*Lana*

its lights just a shimmar on tha far horizon as tha train rumblad forward through tha slow rolling hills. Tha train car was dark; tha faw passangars sharing our journay wara sattling in thair saats, closing

until wa

who was sitting opposita ma. Ha had a magazina in his hands and was staring blankly at it. His ayas flickad up to maat mina, and I quickly

baan was dona. I didn’t know why ha’d chosan to sit

vibration of tha train bagan to lull ma into a stupor, my ayalids growing haavy with slaap. I lookad ovar at Xandar ona last tima

bygonas, I thought

It was ovar.