The Alpha Kings Breeder

*Isla*

Rain pounds my back as I follow Alpha Ernest up the wide marble steps to a home I never expect to see in real life. I look around quickly, but he is walking fast, and I don’t have much time to see the outside of the mansion. I only know it resembles a castle. The dreary sky seems fitting, considering my bleak outlook.

Likewise, this castle is fitting for an Alpha King.

Under the wide porch, there is a bit of shelter from the wind. I pull my thin cloak around my shoulders. When Alpha Ernest’s fist pounds on the door, I jump. Everything about this day is unexpected and has me on edge.

The door opens a bit and a man with a thin, long nose gapes out at us. He is wearing a butler’s suit, and I relax only slightly.

Not that I expected the cruel king to open his own door, but I am thankful not to be faced with him right away.

“Greetings! Greetings!” Alpha Ernest says in his jovial, exceedingly loud voice. He laughs in the back of his throat, his gruff tone as raspy as the thunder in the distance. “It is I, Alpha Ernest of Willow pack! His Majesty is expecting me.”

The butler looks him over and then his eyes fall on me for a moment as if he isn’t sure whether or not the rotund, sweaty man in the white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows could possibly be an actual Alpha. The detail of Omegas that are hanging out in the car that brought us the two hours make it more convincing.

“Come in,” the butler says, pulling the heavy wooden door open.

“Thank you, thank you,” my Alpha says, and I follow him inside, absently wondering why he must say everything twice.

My happiness at being let in from the rain only lasts a moment as I follow along behind the two men who walk quickly down a long corridor. The inside of the house doesn’t resemble the castle in the sense that the floors are not made of stone—they are wood—and the walls are covered in drywall. But it is a huge building, and it is lavishly decorated with fine furnishings, all kinds of pieces of art from paintings to sculptures to ancient vases, and I try to keep up with our guide while my eyes roam over objects that are worth a hundred times more than what my parents make in a year—a thousand times more.

The sale of just one of these objects would have been plenty to pay off my parents’ debts. If I’d had just one painting to sell, I wouldn’t be here now.

I can’t think of that at the moment. My fate is sealed. I grasp my small bag in my hands and struggle to keep up. It doesn’t help that I haven’t eaten much of anything in the past week. I feel lightheaded.

We turn down a few corridors, and it’s clear to me that we are now in the part of the building that is for work instead of show. Artwork still hangs on the walls, but it’s not as elaborate. The doors we are passing seem to be offices, not libraries or parlors.

“Wait here,” the butler says, pausing outside of a closed door. He knocks, and I hear a low gravelly voice call him in.

I feel my heart begin to thump in my chest. I’m still not quite clear what Alpha Ernest has in mind for me. When I came to him for help earlier in the day, he asked me a few personal questions, a smile split his face, and then he told me to go home and pack all of my most prized possessions. He said to tell my family goodbye, if I was serious about paying off my family’s debts, and to be back in his office in one hour.

Then, we’d gotten in the car and driven here. I hadn’t asked any questions other than for him to put it in writing.

“John and Constance Moon are no longer in debt to Alpha Ernest Rock if their daughter, Isla Moon, follows through with the agreement made with said Alpha on this day….” Dated, signed by both parties, and here I am.

Still not sure what that agreement is.

Alpha Ernest goes inside of the office, and I am tempted to strain to see inside, too, but I don’t. I’ve never seen him before, the Alpha King, the head of all of the Alphas and all of the territories in our region, for thousands and thousands of miles. I’ve heard lots of stories about him, though.

Presently, I am hoping that most of them are not true.

I would like to see his face, to know if the rumors of his attractiveness are accurate.

But I’d rather not see him at all, if I had a choice. Word of his cruelty proceeds him, and it is said that he is just as brutal as he is handsome.

“You may sit,” the butler says, gesturing to a chair near the door that has closed behind Alpha Ernest.

I nod, but I am not capable of thanking him verbally right now, not when my teeth are near chattering with fear.