Alpha’s Slave

A look of confusion appeared on his face as he looked at me. With a sigh, and in a strangled voice, Alpha Cyrus said. "I can't accept you as my mate."

Three Days Ago

"You can have her." My stepfather's voice was a strained whisper. He avoided my eyes and adjusted his position on the stool.

My mother said nothing to object; she never opposed anything he did even when it was going to kill her. I sucked in a sharp breath and continued to stare at her, waiting for her intervention.

She looked at me, and then at her feet. "Agnes, please make this sacrifice. For the sake of your siblings."

I always thought I knew what betrayal was, until this very day. The porcelain tea jug I held clattered to the ground, hot tea spilling on my legs and the shards flying about.

"Mother?" I questioned, still not believing it.

My father had been killed when he worked in a coal mine. It was not murder per se, but the working conditions were poor for such little pay. We barely had enough to survive on, and his health began to deteriorate with no money for treatment.

When I was about seven years of age, he passed on.

My mother was relatively young then and age had not kissed her beauty away. She had met Judas a few months later. He was youthful with great ambitions and a rebellious spirit, not following his father's footsteps in politics but having decided to be a tradesman. Importing around the world.

They got married within that same year and I liked him. He was nice, and compassionate and constantly brought gifts home for me which made me happy. Although, he could never replace my father. Along the line, the twins came. It was a rollercoaster of chaos because Judas's father had died and it was revealed that despite the extravagant lifestyle they lived, his parents were in a load of debt.

Judas used all of his savings to settle his father's creditors to prevent harassment.

Since then, Judas's attitude had changed. At first, it was negligible. I understood he no longer had money for gifts. What I did not understand was why he made my mom work immediately after her pregnancy. He no longer had his youthful spirit and the zeal to trade. He relapsed into a lazy shell; sitting at home all the time and waiting for dinner.

Gone were the days he would be out early in the morning on the market days, and home in time for supper. Gone were the weekends when he made breakfast for the family.

He would simply wake up and sit on his wooden recliner chair, old newspapers in his hand while drinking strange concoctions.

He became needy, asking my mother to make sure she provided certain things for him. One morning he asked her to buy the crossed buns from the bakery and when she said she did not have the money for it, he beat her. After that, he brought out a jewelry piece he had gotten for her and asked her to sell it and then use the money for it.

He apologized for it later that night, but his attitude did not change. If she refused him, he would beat her and then sell her belongings.

Maybe that was the reason why my mother never questioned his decisions or instructions.