Beaufort Creek Shifters (10 book series)
The Alpha’s Forced Mate Chapter 12

Veronica

Taffeta, satin, silk, lace-the dresses in my closet hardly looked like anything I would wear for an evening meal. All of them were in dark shades of purple, velvet blue, and green, typical of my usual style. A black tank top, black jeans, and an army jacket were my typical outfit. This Shelly woman knew how to do her research.

I gulped.

If she knew my style, what else did she know about me?

I frowned while my thoughts raced. I guess I'm about to replace out.

The longer I stood in the closet, the stronger my nausea grew until it sent me to the bathroom. Anxiety never got to me like this. But these events-these stupid trials-were taking a toll on my body and mind.

After that horrific nightmare, I'd wanted nothing more to do with these trials. Whatever Blake wanted personally from me was fine as long as I could get him alone. And if that meant a handjob or something every so often, I would give it to him. With gusto. Inexperienced and all.

I rinsed my mouth and hovered over the sink as my cheeks pinched with fresh bile.

Stop, I begged. It's just dinner. You're not marrying her. You're not marrying anyone. Just get over yourself. You're a vicious assassin.

My eyes flickered to the mirror, burning with renewed commitment. Melvin had said I needed to complete the assassination by the next trial. That had already come to pass. If I didn't do it soon, then Raymond would replace me.

And his manner of replacing me wouldn't be pretty.

A few deep breaths helped me stand upright. I walked purposefully back to the closet and yanked a velvet crush dress made of shimmery blue fabric from the rack. Spaghetti straps held the blouse that crumpled into the shape of a V at my cleavage. Sure, why not? It's not like he's going to see it.

Glittering silver heels matched the ensemble. I tousled my hair at the vanity, quickly applying a bold smoky palette to enhance the yellow of my eyes. After spritzing my hair with something to retain its natural curls, I added a dab of rose perfume to my neck and left my suite, feeling like a million bucks.

Wrapped in plastic. Stretched too thin.

The closer I drew to the dining hall, the less my confidence held up. What if Shelly didn't like what I was wearing? She was a sophisticated woman with specific tastes, all of them in high fashion and antiques. The woman probably kept tabs on all the latest runway designs-even the ones that hadn't been on the runway yet.

Her style was a mix of royalty with a modern professional flair. My eyes drifted south as a grimace crept over my lips. And I chose to look like a confused model.

The click of my heels echoed off the marble. The first floor came into view and then the foyer, then the hall leading to the dining room. A servant waited at the door to allow me entry. I swept past the man with an easy grin, wishing him a good evening. The surprise on his face told me Shelly probably ignored most of the people who worked for her.

Well, that wasn't exactly a good look, was it?

The dining hall had been redecorated since this morning. White lilies occupied the table near two placements that were close to each other. At least we wouldn't have to shout across the table to talk.

But that meant things were about to get a lot more intimate.

Anxiety rattled my bones. I took a seat at the most innocuous place, waiting patiently for Shelly to make an appearance. Like most royals, she was fashionably late. But like many professionals, she kept it to about ten minutes.

Once she was in the room, activity exploded around us. She sighed into her seat, shook out her cloth napkin, and tucked it delicately into her lap. The practiced smile she gave me reeked of judgment. Icy blue eyes resembling the marble floors of the hallways above scoped my outfit. Her lips pursed critically.

But the grin returned just as if it had never left.

She was good at this.

"Veronica Gilbert," she greeted politely. "Thank you for joining me this evening."

"My pleasure, Ms. Hayden."

She shook her head. "No, ma'am. We both know you hate this. Let's try that again."

I blinked in shock. Had she really just called me out like that?

I cleared my throat, sat up a little straighter, and rested my elbows on the table. If she wanted me to be myself, then she was about to get it. "Thanks for the invite, Shelly, but this looks like it's going to be boring."

The smile reached her eyes this time. "That's more like it." She shook a small bell, sending the room into temporary chaos. But none of it seemed to bother her. "I'm from a long line of aristocratic wolves, Veronica. I know bullshit when I smell it. That's not what I want from you."

Servants sat plates in front of us, announcing the meals in French. I had no idea what the hell we were eating, but it appeared to be oysters.

"I've spent years navigating rooms full of patriarchal crap while keeping a smile on my face," she continued as she reached for her gla*s of wine. She swirled it elegantly under her nose. "Public appearances must be kept, strictly for business purposes, but I despise a liar in private. Never lie to me, Veronica."

The wine smelled good as I lifted the glass, but all I could think about was whiskey. And patchouli. And pine.

And rugged stubble scraping across my cheek.

I sipped the wine and set the glass down without spilling a drop. Ten points for that feat. "I'm glad we see eye to eye."

"I don't believe we do."

"How do you figure that, Shelly?"

An amused twinkle lit up her eyes. "You don't want to be here. I practically bribed Raymond to convince him it was worth the effort. He said you were..." Her eyes clouded with the recollection. "Damaged goods."

"Wow, what a vote of confidence," I snarled.

I covered my mouth immediately.

But Shelly waved away my embarrassment. "A terrible vote of confidence, Veronica. Rather unbecoming of a leader, don't you think?" She lifted the tiniest spoon I had ever seen in my life. Was that for the oyster? "The man really has no taste. But you have taste, Veronica. You have guts."

"I don't think I should be anything but myself."

"That's why I think my son is taken with you."

As she spooned tiny black dots from a miniature basin into her mouth, she hummed with delight. The woman clearly had a taste for the finer things in life. After noticing my stare, she giggled politely and held the tiny basin out to me. "It's caviar." "Fish eggs, huh?"

"It's an acquired taste. My husband indulged my every curiosity. He is-was too good to me."

My heart lurched. God, this woman had just lost her husband and I was about to take her son. Could I live with that?

"It was a car accident, I'm afraid," she explained without me asking. "Blake took it hard. The wound is still fresh. I believe that's why your presentation was so..." The edges of her eyes reddened. "Well...moving."

My gaze dropped to my plate. I lifted an oyster, sprinkled lemon on it, and slurped the mess into my mouth. Shelly seemed annoyed but didn't tell me not to slurp. She was all manners and grace while I was a backwoods beach mutt. There wasn't any other way to eat oysters than sucking them out of their shells.

And I think she knew that.

I mean, of course, she knew that about me. She'd done her research.

She smiled brightly. "I'm surprised you dressed up at all."

"I thought I would give you a little respect."

"I appreciate that, Veronica. Most people just try to impress me rather than respect me."

I frowned. "That doesn't sound friendly at all."

"Far from it, I'm afraid. But that's the nature of being an aristocrat."

"Blake told me about one of your ancestors."

She nodded and rang the bell again. As servants poured into the room with another course, I slurped another oyster into my mouth.

"We have many ancestors to thank," she said with a hint of sadness. "As well as friends across the country who we owe our undying allegiance for being part of ending the recent war."

I knew what she meant.

A massive war that had gone on for generations had come to a sprawling halt months ago. The details weren't entirely clear-and I didn't care about them.

Shelly smiled. "You're young. You probably don't care about all that."

"I care about more than people give me credit for."

She cocked her head to the right. "I stand corrected."

"What do you want out of this? You seemed insistent on Blake replaceing a mate."

"I don't want him to die alone."

My brows knitted together. "He seems to have his choice of women. Why not give him time?"

"We have an estate-an entire pack that needs us, Veronica. Your pack is small, as I understand. Raymond and I go back many years, our business bringing us together more than once."

A dark memory flickered over her eyes and then disappeared. In a matter of seconds, she was back to being the polished aristocrat she claimed to be.

She bowed her head. "I don't want to lose him like I lost his father."

"Wasn't that an accident?"

"Yes, but for Blake, it wouldn't be."

My stomach twisted into a knot. The steak tips in front of me weren't appealing anymore even though I could sense my own hunger. I pushed them idly around the plate. "You mean the assassination attempt." "You're the only one kind enough to mention it."

"I noticed he's been..."

"Paranoid?"

I hummed in agreement. "That's one word for it."

"He thinks he can have his cake and eat it too."

"Isn't that the point of cake?"

She grinned. "You're not like the others. That's why I think he likes you."

"You're not the first person to say that."

"Ah, then it must be true."

An easy silence settled between us. I managed to shove a few pieces of delicious meat into my mouth and chew. Once I got going with my plate, I was able to devour most of it, appearing as calm and normal as anyone else. But the internal screaming had started up again. And I couldn't adjust the volume.

By the fourth course, my stomach was bursting at the seams. Every dish was more decadent than the last with flavors so rich that I couldn't believe I was eating food. Was this what my life would be like if I married Blake? The food turned to ash in my mouth.

No, it won't.

I stared at Shelly for a moment, her calm expression and smooth skin relaying comfortable energy. She felt comfortable around me, despite the fact that we were strangers.

And that made me feel so guilty.

Because I'm supposed to kill her son.

Her smile never waved as she dabbed her lips lightly with a cloth napkin. "It's rude to stare, Veronica."

I blinked and turned away. "Sorry."

"You're not. Blake looks so much like me, don't you think?"

"It's the eyes."

She chortled. "He always took after me."

"Gee, I couldn't tell."

What should have been a furious glare turned out to be a loving expression. Which just drilled the knife deeper into my heart. "He's a jerk sometimes, but he cares. I promise you'll always have your needs met here. No more coastal apartments for you, dear." "How did you-?" But I dropped that question because it was silly. "I'm not after his money."

"I know."

Confusion riddled my features.

She laughed-or chirped. It was hard to tell. Either way, she was amused by me. I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

"You don't enjoy the trials," she said. "But you enjoy my son. And he enjoys you. Think about that."

No, I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to consider anything with Blake. The only thing I desired was to plunge my dagger into his heart and get home before the tide came in.

That was it. That was my purpose. That was all I had to do with my life.

My frown was uncontrollable. What would happen next?

While dessert was set up, I considered for the first time what the rest of my life could look like. Glory sat on the other side of this undercover mission. Riches in the form of security and comfort. A mate of my choosing. A proper home.

But those things could be obtained here too. I could have them under this very roof with Shelly and her wacky mother. They could be treasured right beside her stubborn and strangely alluring son. They could mean everything to me. And they could be that way without me having to take Blake's life.

Shelly and I shared small talk for the remainder of dinner. When it was time for me to return upstairs, I gave her a gentle hug, noticing how the hint of pine in her scent reminded me of Blake. Of course it did. They were relatives. Relatives often shared a base in their

scents.

It was nothing new to me. Yet it felt foreign at the same time.

How long had it been since I'd sensed one of my own relatives?

A quick goodnight and a hammering heart later, I was back in my suite. Every night was like this-me retreating to my room to be alone because I was in the midst of a panic. Moonlight spilled through the open veranda door, spilling toward a note that fluttered on the bed. The message was clear.

Stop wasting time.

This was my mission, my purpose. If I kept stalling, then I would make it worse for everyone involved, Shelly included. I had to rip off the bandaid. I had to get it done. Tomorrow.

It would be done tomorrow.