Chereads / Alpha, Please Be Gentle / Chapter 6 - Strip

Chapter 6 - Strip

The car ride was stifling. The air was suffocating, even with rolled-down windows, and Noah rambling about his majestic escape from Alpha Kerpan's territory. 

The profound discovery hung over everyone's head. Noah was highly entertained, his mouth twisted in a barely restrained grin. Even Kallum revealed the ghost of a smirk. 

The only sour people were the newlywed couple. Despite their fingertips mere inches apart, they refused to acknowledge each other. 

Cruden Tiberias glowered out the window, murdering everyone with his eyes. 

"She doesn't even know his name," Noah snickered under his breath to Kallum who rolled his eyes. "Look at how pissed Cruden is."

Roselia ignored their comments. She watched in amazement as the skyscrapers whizzed into trees that spanned for miles on end. Where were they going? She was engrossed by the scent of the forest filling her lungs and relaxing her shoulders.

For a brief moment, Roselia stretched her hand out to feel the air on her skin and sunlight on her paleness. The last memory she had of nature was running from Alpha Kerpan.

Now, Roselia was ushered into the unknown once more. After driving on top of a hill and passing by multiple security checkpoints, the car finally stopped. 

"I'm not opening the car door for you," Kallum barked at Noah who waited patiently for his brother. Instead, Kallum calmly opened the door for his Alpha who stepped out without a word. 

Roselia didn't know what to do with herself. She watched as Noah got out of the vehicle. Once more, their piercing gazes landed on her. She waited.

Kallum rolled his eyes to the sky. Noah stared at her in confusion. Alpha Tiberias made no reaction. 

Cruden wordlessly opened the door, his stone-cold expression remaining the same. She stared at him, debating between thanking him or asking where they were.

"Get out," Kallum demanded, earning a frosty glower from Cruden. Immediately, Kallum frowned, not to his Alpha, but to himself, peering to the side to hide his irritation. 

Roselia learned something new. This marriage wasn't a unanimous agreement. Cruden's decision to ambush the wedding… Was it on his own accord? 

"Come," Cruden muttered, finally holding his palm out for her. She glanced at it. Nervously, she slid her fingers upon his hand and he trapped them immediately, helping her out of the car. The hair on her skin stood in apprehension as she yanked her hand back instantly. She took in her surroundings, completely oblivious to Cruden's deep scowl.

Pack Tiberias was enormous. They had driven up a hill that overlooked a sprawling town bustling with people. The Tiberias pack house was surrounded by trees and highly fenced off with a winding driveway lined with surveillance cameras and multiple gates as checkpoints, with armed guards.

"Trespassers are shot on sight," Cruden stated. She flinched at the information.

Roselia had heard rumors about how frightening Pack Tiberias was, men and women alike. She expected rundown buildings, smashed windows, and smoke in the distance. Instead, below the hills was brimming with life, and she remembered the faces of laughing children and mothers with strollers running errands.

"Follow me," Cruden stated, but she glanced down, staring at the paved floor of the driveway. 

Roselia was still barefoot, the ground cool under her feet, but the dress hid that information. She wondered if he remembered. 

Kallum and Noah were already far ahead of them, pausing to look back. Kallum's glower was unmistakable, branding her an idiot. Noah was like a golden retriever wagging his tail, waiting for his owner to catch up. They were nothing like the rumors that portrayed them as monsters.

Cruden exhaled, strolling towards her. "Come here then, I'll carry you." 

Realizing it might be a chore, Roselia shook her head and quickly tried to walk barefoot. 

"Suit yourself," Cruden muttered, his lips dipping into a frown. 

Roselia silently walked behind Cruden. She reminded herself that the devil could be beautiful, not for temptation, but because he was god's favorite angel. Kallum certainly lived up to his nickname as The Silver Terror. She could see it in his cold and calculating gaze, sizing her from head to toe the second they met. He deemed her unworthy to be Luna. She saw him for who he was—a killer.

- - - - -

Roselia was unnerved. They entered the house, but everyone broke off into their separate paths, and she was forced to drudge after Cruden like a lost puppy. By the time Roselia reached the top of the house, she was out of breath.

"I live on the highest floor," Cruden said. "This is the ground floor with the kitchen, dining room, living room, and garden entry. There are three floors above this one, each belonging to my brothers and me. You're welcome to explore anywhere, but the basement and attic."

The Tiberias pack house was huge, but empty and bleak. The furniture was lavish, yet bare minimum, revealing monotone colors and lack of life. Everything was dusted to perfection, resembling stock images of villas and mansions. The colors on this floor were even more depressing, a mixture of gray and black with occasional obsidian and silver.

"The fourth floor is entirely mine," Cruden finished. "We prefer to keep staff to a minimum for privacy and security reasons."

Roselia wondered where she'd be staying. She got her answer the higher they climbed up the double grand staircase until she finally reached the top floor. She was going to be staying with Cruden. He led her down the black-decorated and glum corridors, and soon, stopped in front of the only set of double French doors.

Roselia was frozen at the entrance of the expensive bedroom. She didn't know what to expect, but this certainly was not it. 

Crystal chandeliers lit up the entire room it was painted white with beige furniture, a complete contrast to the dark and black hallways outside. 

Cruden leaned against the pillar of a large canopy bed resting in the center of the room. Sunlight poured through large floor-length windows, revealing a desk, two doors, and shelved drawers. She practically clung to the entrance, frightened of what they'd be doing in a room all alone.

Roselia wondered if the windows were locked, her attention lingering on the handles and the balcony beyond it. 

"Thinking of escaping already?" Cruden cocked his head to the side, observing her every move. His attention raked over her features, soft and silent. 

Roselia swallowed. His eyes trailed down her body, observing her intently. He left behind a path of fire and ice wherever he looked, his piercing stare reading her like an open book. 

Cruden's glare narrowed in disapproval. She was frozen. His gaze was what nightmares were full of, dark and conniving. "If you want to run away, do it through the main doors, not the window."

Roselia couldn't believe her ears.

"My gardeners would rather not clean up your bloody mess if it lands on Noah's flowerbeds," Cruden mused.

Roselia didn't know what to say. The thought of running away never crossed her mind. Where would she go? She wasn't stupid. No one would shelter her. No one would protect her. She'd die out there. 

"Did I marry a mute?" Cruden ran a hand through his hair, gripping the ends briefly, his defined jaws tightening.

Roselia's gaze finally slid back to him. It was impossible to look at him and not grow weak in the knees. He was tall and powerful, the very picture of a fallen angel. 

Cruden's brief action revealed a faint scar running from his left eyebrow to the side of his forehead as if someone had dragged a blunt knife across his tanned skin. When his dark blond hair fell once more, sharp strands covered the blemish, stopping just above his bitter blue eyes.

"Very well," Cruden stated, rolling up his sleeves to reveal powerful, throbbing veins coiling up his forearms. His suit bulged from the movement, revealing prominent lines of his muscle. "We'll have it my way then."

Cruden Tiberias reminded her of a blade, sleek and hard, his features sharp with cruel and cunning composure. His voice was swift as a knife, delivering the final blow.

"Strip."