“I came to make sure you didn’t try to make a run for it,” he snarled. “And what the hell are you wearing?”
“What?” I was taken aback. “It’s called a wedding dress.”
A look of shock and fury washed over his face. “What the hell did you just say to me?” he demanded.
Uh oh. Camille probably never talked back to him. She was a sweet, soft spoken girl; a bully like him would run right over her.
I glanced down at the illusion wedding dress, which would vanish once I took the charm off.
“What difference does it make what I’m wearing?” I asked.
He scowled at it, his face reddening. “It’s ugly, and I already told you what dress I wanted you to wear. What did you do with it?”
Oh, crud. Camille could have warned me about this. Then again, seriously, who the hell was he to insult Camille’s choice of dress, or tell her what to wear?
“I wanted to wear this one,” I said, struggling to sound respectful when what I really wanted to do was shift and throw down. That would, of course, get me killed, so I resisted.
“You wanted to wear it? Since when the hell does it matter what you want?” He stalked over, and I backed up, until I was up against the wall and he was towering over me, his hot breath on my face.
He grabbed the neckline of my dress in his fist. He thought he was holding on to my wedding dress, but what I was really wearing was a simple white sun dress, which was bunched between his fingers and ready to tear as he twisted his hand.
“This dress isn’t sexy.” His lips wrinkled back in a snarl. “We want you to look sexy. This alliance is important to me, and he could still change his mind. You need to be showing off your goods, and by your goods I mean your tits. Where is the other dress? You’re going to change right now.”
With him in the room? Hell with that.
I grabbed at his hand, trying to pull it off me. He clenched tighter, and the fabric started to rip. There was murder in his eyes.
“Let go of me!” I yelled, panic clutching at my throat. “I left the other dress back home. Get off me!”
I put my hands on his chest and tried to push him away. He grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm painfully.
“How dare you speak to me like this?” he roared. “You think that just because you’re joining the Timber Valley pack, you can act any way that you want? You’re in my pack and under my command until the minute you say I do.”
“Let go!” I screamed. “You’ll break my wrist! Let go!”
“I’ll break more than that!” he bellowed. “Forget it! This wedding’s off! No woman talks to me that way! I’m going to take you home and show you some good old fashioned discipline!” He got a gleam in his eye which terrified me. “In fact, maybe I’ll just claim you as my bride. Yes, I believe I will. I’ll give you a wedding night you’ll never forget, and once you can walk again, you’ll learn the meaning of respect.”
He could do it, too. He had already claimed two brides. That was the privilege of the Alpha, if he so chose to exercise it. In the 21st century, most Alpha’s didn’t.
He grabbed my arm, nearly wrenching it from its socket, and began dragging me towards the door.
The door flew open again, and Maxwell stood there, towering so high his head scraped the top of the door frame. He stomped through, and slammed the door behind him.
“What the hell are you doing with my bride?” he roared. His face rippled, and his eyes glowed with anger. Gray and white fur sprouted on the backs of his hands, and black claws shot out from his fingertips. His ears turned pointy.