In His Bed

Cruden's room was bleak and black. The furniture was kept to a minimum. All the surfaces were bare, as if no one had lived here for years. The bed was enormous and well-kept with crisp sheets and fluffed pillows. His scent was strong, filling every inch of space until it wrapped tightly around her. 

Roselia was aware of his gaze railing from her ankles to her face, touching every part of her bare to the eye. His attention was clinical and composed, assessing the surface, searching for something. His simple gaze burned as it slid upon her skin like melted ice pooling on her body.

"Take a seat. I'll wash off." His voice was of cut steel, sharp and precise. He brushed past her, grabbed clothes from his walk-in closet, and went to the bathroom to the far right. He shut the doors behind him with a soft click and shortly after, running water could be heard.

Roselia glanced around. Two nightstands rested on either side of his bed, each with a lamp. There was a single desk with a leather chair tucked in, revealing books stacked in a perfect pile. She didn't want to sit there without disturbing what he was working on, but the loveseat in front of his bed was also occupied with a haphazardly skewed suit and tie.

'Where does he even expect me to wait?' Roselia settled for the edge of his bed, sitting down slowly as if the blankets were going to grab her any moment now. She exhaled, trying to calm her shaking pulse and quickening heartbeat.

Roselia wondered what he'd do to her in his bedroom. They were all alone. No one would hear her. No one would be able to stop him if he wanted to do something. She curled her knees to her chest, closing her eyes and concentrating on her breathing. She tried to calm herself down.

"He's only showering," she reminded herself. He only wanted to get the blood off of him, as it'd be unsanitary to eat with it. She thought back to why Cruden was revered.

When Cruden was in a good mood, everyone wanted his attention. When he wanted something, he made people feel as if they were the only one that'd matter in this world. None of it was sincere.

When Cruden was foul and irked, no one dared to speak to him. He could belittle Alphas double his age and they'd keep their mouths shut. Sons don't become Alphas automatically when they turn of age. They need to either kill their father, which not many did and was heavily frowned on, or, they wait for the Alpha to die of natural causes. Many people don't become Alpha until they're in their late forties or early fifties.

Roselia remembered the day she heard Cruden became an Alpha. He was the talk of the century. He was only twenty-one and the youngest of their time. It didn't take long for rumors to spread of his cruelty and ruthlessness. A man spoke out of turn? He'd end up without a tongue. A man crossed him? His entire family was gutted and hung in the city square. Not even the police and Werewolf Council could control Cruden.

No one in this world could protect Roselia from her own husband.

"Just who did I marry?" she wondered out loud.

- - - - -

In the bathroom with his clothes off and the water running pink from blood, Cruden could only think of his wife. Of her emerald eyes revealing the blankest stare. Of her gaunt face where her cheek bones protrude. 

Roselia Fiore was a tragedy. She was devastatingly beautiful, her black hair cascading around her like a fallen swan from grace. He could never tell what ran through her mind, but he could smell her fear.

The scent of terror was pungent. He picked up the hormones subtly released into the air like waves of anxiety threatening to drown him. And Roselia reeked of it.

Cruden exhaled, tipping his head back to relish in the cold shower in an attempt to quell the throbbing between his legs. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to think of other things such as what he should cook for her later. 

'The report didn't mention her favorite food,' Tobias grumbled in the back of Cruden's mind, pacing back and forth debating over the idea. 

Cruden was irked by his wolf, earning a snort from Tobias who settled into silence. After rinsing until the water ran clear, but his hands were still tinged pink from blood stains, Cruden exited the bathroom. He debated strolling out in nothing, but a towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips, but changed his mind. She'd have a heart attack at his drop-dead gorgeous body.

Cruden kept his movements to a minimum when he strolled out in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He was met with disappointment and disbelief.

"Only you'd be able to fall asleep in five minutes under the Tiberias roof," Cruden deadpanned. 

Roselia was curled in a ball on his blankets, her breathing even and her shoulders rising with rhythm. She reminded him of a lamb strayed from her herd, helplessly unaware of the dangers lurking around her.

Cruden couldn't help himself. He stared. His attention was glued to her silhouette like a master artist unable to part from his masterpiece. Moonlight poured over her, highlighting her soft, angelic features laid to rest. She was ethereal. She was beauty. She was grace. She was everything he shouldn't need or want. 

Cruden tucked her into bed and stormed out, swearing to never lay eyes on her again. She was going to become a distraction. A wrench in their plans. A horrible surprise he should've ignored.

She was his wife.

Cruden made her dinner like an idiot. He pureed a bowl of tomato soup for her, sliced the sourdough bread, and made grilled cheese with apricot jam. He found himself plating her meal and bringing it to her upstairs, not that he wanted to, but he hated the idea of someone starving willingly under his rooftop. Not in this house. And never a woman, at that.

"Wake up," Cruden urged Roselia, nudging her with his knee. Her body shook briefly, but didn't react. He frowned and placed the tray of food down onto his nightstand. He could shake her awake, but that meant touching her. Would he be able to control himself? 

Roselia was fragile. She cried quickly. She flinched easily. He worried a slight poke from him would knock her over. 

'Just one caress. Just one,' Tobias whispered deviously. 

Cruden pressed his lips together. 

'Don't tell me you're scared. She's just a girl,' Tobias muttered, pacing impatiently. 

Cruden pressed his lips together. He gripped her shoulders, shaking her as slow and soft as he could muster with his muscles. Roselia jolted, her eyes snapping open to reveal the greenest meadow he had ever witnessed. He was astonished by the terror that tightened her mouth. Did she wake up in the middle of a war? Why was she so frightened? 

"I'm sorry," Roselia gasped. "I didn't mean to fall asleep.

"You'd be the first woman to sleep in these sheets," Cruden mused, placing the tray of food onto her lap. "Eat."

Roselia stared at the bowl, then, back at him. Confusion filled her features before raw hunger took over her. 

"You sure can eat," Cruden mused.

Roselia ate like she had never tasted food before. Her hands moved faster than her mouth could. She raised the sandwich to her lips before she could even finish chewing.

"Slow down, there's more downstairs." Cruden couldn't understand her. She was starving, but didn't dare to ask for food. She was presented with pizza, he knew it, but didn't eat. Why?

"Thank you for the food," Roselia mumbled, scraping the bowl clean and licking her fingers.

Cruden's gaze dropped to the slow roll of her pink tongue. "That has to be a world record."

Roselia didn't respond. She was painfully aware of how crazy she must've seemed. She had finished the entire soup and sandwich in under two minutes. 

Cruden took the emptied tray and placed it back onto the nightstand, giving her shoulder a soft nudge onto the bed. 

"Go back to sleep," Cruden stated, tucking her in without meaning to. A force of habit he developed from raising Noah. Noah only fell asleep if Kallum or Cruden read him a bedtime story. A privilege that neither older brothers ever experienced. 

"I can do the dishes downstairs," Roselia offered.

"Just sleep."

Roselia did as she was told. She closed her eyes shut, trying to not twitch and gulp too hard. She was unable to fall asleep in the bed of a stranger. She didn't know how she did it the first time, but a second chance? That'd be a miracle. At least, that was what she told herself before exhaustion took over her.

Roselia wondered where Cruden learned to cook and nurture. She remembered the nasty rumors surrounding the late Alpha Tiberias. They said he was a cruel leader, and an even crueler father. She wondered what Cruden's upbringing was like. 

Was his childhood just as empty and cold as hers? Did his father give him the world in exchange for freedom and obedience?

"Good night," Cruden muttered.

The last thing Roselia heard was his voice. Unforgiving and cold. He was the enigma of control and the embodiment of power. And there she laid, in his bed, slipping into a nightmare of her youth. Of him. Of Cruden.