Cruden needed to get his hearing checked. He could've sworn his wife asked the stupidest question in existence. For the past week, he dealt with the foolish, the incompetent, and the useless, but none had asked him something so irritating. His left eye twitched.
Was he a virgin?
Was she serious?
"Would you like to find out?" Cruden demanded, crossing his arms across his chest. His fingers itched to grab the back of her head and yank her towards him. She was the least bit aware of her effects on him. On his sanity. The longer she stood by the bathroom doors in nothing but a skimpy towel, the more his patience was tested.
'She's been marked,' Tobias growled, pacing furiously back and forth in the back off Cruden's mind. 'Let's kill him.'
"It's okay if you are a virgin," Roselia insisted, her brows wringing together at his anger. "Because if you're not, then it would just mean you'd currently have to relieve your urges somewhere…"
Cruden's brows shot up at her incredulous words.
"It's almost been three weeks since we got married," Roselia's voice grew higher. "A-and if I'm not giving it to you, then someone else must be…"
Cruden barked a laugh. He swiped his hand down his face, wiping the visible fury on his features. He needed to calm down. She was driving him insane. She fiddled her fingers, her emerald eyes filled with accusations.
"I told you, I have no lovers." Cruden narrowed his gaze. "Do not jump to conclusions. I wed you under a holy moon and though we did not exchange vows, this is still a proper marriage between House Tiberias and Fiore. I will not betray this union by cheating."
Roselia's breath hitched. She slowly absorbed his words, her shoulders relaxing a bit. She wore her emotions on her features, relief flooding her softened stare.
"Now that I've answered your questions, you answer mine," Cruden stated.
Roselia nodded, but Cruden wondered if she'd be able to tell him the truth without crumbling on the spot. She was thin and frail, pale and sickly. A gust of wind could knock her down.
"Who gave you that necklace?" Cruden demanded.
Roselia clutched the jewelry instantly, her eyes widening. "Someone very important to me, but is no longer in my life."
Cruden didn't react. When he came home, he ran into Noah who mentioned the necklace wasn't from Ronald Fiore, her older brother. If not him, then Cecil? No way. He'd give his daughter diamonds, not paperclips.
"I need a name." Cruden reached into his suit pockets and pulled out a cigarette. She was speechless.
Cruden lit the poisonous stick, inhaling in the fumes immediately. His chest burned with the relief swelling his lungs, but unlike most times, the cigarette did nothing for him. Did nothing to quell his urges. Did nothing to distract him.
From the wispy smoke, he saw her. Her lips trembled. She lowered her pupils, unable to meet his intense stare. He wanted answers.
"Next question," Roselia squeaked out.
"The more you avoid that question, the more I want to know." Cruden exhaled, but his jaws clenched anyways.
Hot, blinding anger seared through Cruden's chest, spreading through his body. His blood boiled at the idea of something meaning so much to her that she couldn't tell him who. A secret. One of her many that he wanted to unravel.
"Please."
Cruden paused. The cigarette ends burned bright orange, dancing in his vision as he flicked ashes into the tiny trash can by her vanity table. He had a horrible feeling that if she said "please" again, he'd oblige.
"Please don't pry," Roselia asked.
F*ck. Cruden approached her, well aware of how much she trembled. What scared her? The sight of him? The truth?
Cruden cupped her face. She gasped. She pressed herself against the door, and he leaned over her, resting his arm on the doorframe. She was docile and defenseless.
Roselia covered her nose, but her forest green accused him. "I don't like…" she started to cough. Obnoxiously too. A faker.
Cruden raised a brow.
"I don't like cigarette smoke," Roselia mumbled, turning her head.
Cruden debated putting out the cigarette. He was getting nothing from it anyway. If anything, it was riddling him up even more. He inhaled from his tobacco, much to her watering eyes.
"You're mad at me," Roselia realized.
Cruden frowned. Was he mad at her? Women usually didn't faze him. They could barely provoke any emotions from him, not that he was sexist. He just couldn't be bothered to feel anything.
Cruden stomped out the cigarette on her bedroom floor. She blinked.
"Thank you," Roselia whispered.
Cruden's chest lightened. Tobias snorted in the back of his mind.
Cruden ran his thumb on her mark. Roselia whimpered, flinching back from his touch. The mark burned him with a quiet sting. Quite impactful. Such an effective mark could only be made by an equally powerful wolf.
K for Kerpan. K for Bruce Kerpan. Or, his son.
"Roselia. Who. Did. This. To. You?" Cruden gritted through clenched teeth, his patience snapping. Roselia's shaking worsened. He could hear her teeth chattering. He didn't mean to raise his voice. He reached for her shoulder, but froze. Would she accept his touch?
"I hate repeating myself, Roselia. If you can't answer the necklace question, then answer this one." Cruden gripped her wrist. If he could not seize her throat to feel her pulse, then he'd just feel it through her hand, his thumb pressed tight on her skin.
Roselia's heart was racing. Roaring to life. Her heart beat was wild and erratic, almost making his finger throb with her.
Cruden released a string of curses. Vile greed clawed at his throat. Someone marked her before he did.
"Was it Bruce Kerpan?" Cruden's voice surprised him. He was beyond the brink of fury. He was beyond redeemable. His blinding anger snapped into dangerous tranquility.
One word.
That was all Cruden needed to behead Alpha Bruce Kerpan. Anyone could tell. Even a child. The mark was forced onto Roselia. The edges were ragged and rough, the skin still bright red. A forced mark would never heal.
"No," Roselia choked. "It wasn't him."
That only left one man standing.
"It was Atticus Kerpan," Roselia admitted in defeat.
Of course, it was him.
Cruden could've predicted that from a thousand miles away. He just wanted to hear the truth from her mouth. Atticus Kerpan. The only son and child of Bruce Kerpan. There was nothing left of that dead man. Nothing left for Cruden to take his violent anger out on. Except, Atticus's tombstone. A dark, dangerous smile swept onto Cruden's lips, entertained by the idea. He'd bring a sledgehammer and a shovel.
"Atticus already paid for this marking," Roselia tried to reason with him. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, so—"
"Did you want this mark, Roselia?" Cruden demanded.
Roselia appeared pensive. She blankly stared at his chest, unable to form a word. He could see the gears churning. No one had ever asked her that question before. Anyone could assume that she didn't.
Her jagged mark was forced on her. Atticus would've had to pin her down. Hold her in place. Silence her mouth and bite into her. She would've been screaming. Wailing. Sobbing. No amount of fighting could've stopped him, though. Once he sank his horrid canine into her skin, the process had already begun.
"What's done is done," Roselia muttered, her voice lifeless, and her eyes detached. "The damages have been done. The wound has been made. There is nothing that can be done about my mistake."
"Do you want it removed, Roselia?" Cruden asked with an edge to his tone.
Roselia stilled. "That's not possible."
"For the average wolf, it is not," Cruden agreed. "To remove the mark of an Alpha's son would take an Alpha stronger and larger than him."
Roselia swallowed. Finally, she met his gaze. And she had never looked more beautiful. Her haunted virescent eyes reminded him of a meadow devoided of flowers.
If there was anyone in this world who could remove Roselia's mark, it would be Cruden Tiberias himself. And no one else.