Page 83 of The Alpha’s Heir

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it hadn’t let up since early this morning when I’d dragged myself wet and discarded back to the cabin.

I touched the bite mark on my shoulder under my shirt. It was still sore like the scratches and marks on the rest of me. A reminder that last night hadn’t been some fever dream.

Meg wanted me. Not Justus. Not the approval of the council—or of the gods. Me.

That made her a fool, and me an idiot.

And she’s still everything I ever wanted.

“Curse Science.” Justus scratched his arm. “Does everything out here have to bite?”

I stilled at his words, almost feeling sorry for my old friend. The wedding I couldn’t allow to happen. But the thought of what the council would do…

“You know whose fault this is?” Justus rocked faster. “Meg’s fault. That’s who. She abandoned us here, knowing what it’d be like. This is punishment, isn’t it? For me going to the club. Mother won’t stand for it when I tell her what happened.”

The grinding, gnawing feeling inside my skull was back, and I stood.

“Don’t tell me you’re going for another run.” Justus’s panicked voice chased me as I stepped off the porch.

What the hell am I doing?

I couldn’t throw caution to the wind. I had a mission. A father to support. My duty was to the city of Ethica, and to the councilwoman. Yet I’d slept with my best friend’s intended wife, and if given the choice, I would do it again.

“Whoa. What are you doing?” Justus put his hands in the air and took a wide step backwards as I grabbed the handle of the ax.

What was I doing?

I honestly didn’t know.

But the axe had been stuck in a log round, and there was a pile of split wood beside the stack of uncut rounds, and it seemed to make sense.

“Might as well make ourselves useful while we wait.” I tested the weight of the axe in my hand, hearing the thousand voices of why this was a bad idea screaming loud at me to stop.

“No, thank you.” Justus took cover from the misting rain under the shed overhang.

The screen door of the main cabin swung open and slammed closed as Maddock stepped outside, sipping from a coffee mug.

Dark clouds continued to gather above us. The drizzle of rain plastered my shirt to my skin as I motioned with the axe. “You use the sharp end to split the wood?”

The beast of a man arched a bushy eyebrow. “Something like that.”

“Be careful, please,” Justus whispered. I’m not sure how much his worry was for me, or for Maddock, who leaned one elbow on the porch railing, sipping his coffee.

I ignored them both.

The stump was heavier than it looked. I positioned it on the chopping block and readied the axe. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but it seemed simple enough.

The first swing vibrated through my shoulders and chest as the axe made contact. Its blade stuck, and I had to use my foot to get it free. Maddock chuckled. Justus yelped out another warning.

I adjusted the axe, swinging harder with more follow through this time.

It split. Just a crack.

I swung again.

And again.

Training kept me in shape, but this was the kind of back-breaking labor that citizens in my working class had done throughout my childhood. Maybe not this intense. But the menial job took the same kind of strength that had broken my own father while the upper classes stepped on him.