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Yet, seeing Valen standing here in what used to be her home fills me with sadness. He was her son, and she loved him. Yet here he stands, unaware that this place, the hotel, used to belong to the woman who had given birth to him. What kind of man would he be if she was given a chance to raise him, I wonder?
I watch him for a few seconds, and he stops at the shelving before rearranging it. My brows furrow as I watch him straighten the ornaments, making them line up; it's one thing seeing my son do odd things like that, but a grown man? His movement is robotic and strange as he rearranges the books in alphabetical order on the shelf below. However, OCD isn't a genetic probability, so it has to be a coincidence.
“Why are you here? I wasn't expecting you to stop by,” I tell him, remembering his threat to come back tomorrow, yet here he stands.
“I don't need a reason. I own the city, or did you forget?”
I roll my eyes at him. Typical Alpha, thinking the world owes them for being allowed in their presence.
He stops looking around, and I notice the picture of Valarian on my desk. I quickly swipe it off, placing it in the drawer just as he turns to face me. My door opens, and the night secretary walks in.
“Coffee?” Emily asks, her brown eyes sparkling. Though generally shy, she's a cheerful woman and has lasted the longest on the night shift in the foyer. She lives in the rogue commune with her nine-year-old son, working here at night to provide for her child. She actually makes her own coffee from scratch, even growing the beans herself. It tastes terrible. She offered me a cup back when I stopped by her place to offer her the job. Since then, I can't bring myself to drink a single cup—always bring my own.
“No, this won't take–” I try to stammer out politely.
“Yes, please,” Valen cuts me off, and I glare at him. Emily lingers for a second, and I nod to her. Valen smiles triumphantly when I give in, yet the joke's on him if he thinks he'll enjoy what she'll prepare for him.
“Now, if only you would give in that easily to the mate bond,” he continues, looking at me.
“Not happening. I don't need or want a mate,” I tell him and he huffs before pulling out the chair on the other side of my desk. He leans back, folding his arms across his chest, and watches me. I fight back a shiver as my eyes roam over his muscular frame.
“And why is that? What have you got against me? I am your mate, Everly. There is no escaping me, but why would you want to? I am an Alpha. What sort of rogue are you? Most rogues would be begging me to be their mate,” he says, and I scoff.
“Not when you keep coming around, no, there isn't any way of escaping you. Do I need to get the authorities involved; tell them I have a stalker?”
“Tell them what you want. As an Alpha, and the most influential one in the city, I have every right to force you to complete the bond, and there is nothing I can’t buy my way out of even if there was an issue.”
“And here I was thinking I have every right to reject you,” I retort. Valen growls, and the door opens. Emily has returned, unaware of the argument she walked in on, utterly oblivious to the tension in the room. She places the coffees on my desk quietly while Valen and I glare at each other, then slips back out. Valen grits his teeth before looking around the room.
“Why? Why would you want to reject your mate?” he asks, sounding like a broken record before getting out of his seat. Looking around again, his jaw clenches tight before turning to glare at the mugs on my desk. I roll my eyes, recognizing that look, and decide to test my theory. It can't be genetic, surely; it's not possible.
“I have my reasons,” I tell him before opening the drawer under my desk and pulling out two coasters—Valarian comes down here sometimes and I keep them here for him.
Valen lets out a breath and I hand him one. He quickly places his mug on it and retakes his seat.
“And what reasons are those?” he asks, like he didn't just have a semi-meltdown over a coaster.
“What?” I ask, looking up at him, distracted by his mere presence. I hate the way I feel around him.
“Your reasons—surely you wouldn't judge someone purely by what's in the media?” he repeats, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Knowing my reasons won't change my decision.”
“Nor will it change mine,” Valen growls.
“Well, great chat,” I tell him, getting to my feet just as I feel his aura rush over me.
“Sit down. You won't dismiss me so easily,” he says firmly, and my butt hits the chair hard. Valen bites the inside of his cheek, and I glare at him. “It makes no sense. You should be able to resist me, yet you put up no fight at all,” he continues, cocking his head to the side and staring at me.
“I am rogue.”
“Yes, but also my mate. You should have some kind of resistance to me,” he says, more to himself than me. I add nothing; I have no resistance because my wolf is weak, thanks to the man sitting across from me.
“I have been nice, Everly,” he continues with renewed determination.
“You do it and I will hate you forever,” I sneer at him, and he pulls back.
“Do what?” he asks.
