Pregnant and Rejected By My Alpha Mate: Part 3

Arabella

Damn it! I internally shriek, staring in horror at the news broadcast filling the television screen. Selene and her brat are parading across a stage, charming the crowd and giving a flawlessly sympathetic performance. What the hell are they thinking? This is the last thing I need!

Bastien has been watching the news like a hawk, pacing like a caged tiger in front of the TV and alternatively scouring the newspapers for any scrap of intel. I’ve been carefully screening both before he gets his hands on the remote or the morning post, but until now we haven’t come up against this kind of crisis – and that’s undoubtedly what this is. If Bastien sees the press conference footage I’m absolutely screwed. They are too convincing, too lovely, and that child is obviously his. For all she resembles her mother, when she speaks to the reporter it’s as if the words are coming from Bastien himself – albeit a very young Bastien.

Everything I’ve been telling him depends on making Selene the enemy: a cunning, vengeful tyrant. My story is a far cry from the quietly courageous, loving and fragile beauty on the TV. What’s worse, her speech is the perfect balm for everything which has been going wrong in Elysium these last few weeks – no doubt at Frederic’s hands. I can almost see the rifts in the Nova pack healing beneath her caring ministrations.

I cut the wires to the TV before Bastien wakes, thanking the Goddess that fatigue seems to be a side-effect of the memory potion. I’m just in time. No sooner have I stored the wire cutters that he emerges from his room, scrubbing a tired hand over his face as he moves toward the abandoned remote – only pausing to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Morning Bella.”

Clicking the device repeatedly with no response, he mutters, “the cable must be out.” Instead he retrieves the newspaper, which thankfully printed too early to include details from the press conference. Still, I’ll almost certainly have to find a way to alter tomorrow’s post.

As Bastien sits down at the breakfast table, pouring himself a mug of coffee, I suddenly realize I was so distracted by Selene’s antics that I’ve forgotten to dose his drink. While his head is still buried behind the paper, I sidle close, uncorking the vial I keep on a chain around my neck and leaning over him. “Don’t worry,” I say, pretending to reach for a slice of toast and tipping the vial over his glass of juice. “I’ll call the cable company first thing.”

Bastien looks up just as I shake a few drops of potion into his drink, and I whip the vial behind my back before he can see what I was doing. He looks as though her might have caught a flash of movement, but the potion dulls his senses as well as his memory, and a quick distraction should easily ease his suspicion, “Okay?” I prompt, focusing his attention on my previous comment.

“Fine,” He afrees. “I don’t want to spend the day in front of the TV again anyway. I’ve got to get out of this apartment, Bella.”

“Bastien we’ve talked about this.” I sigh, not having to fake an ounce of my exhaustion with the subject.

“Yes, but you’re assuming I’ll be recognized here when there’s no reason to think I would.” He argues, “After all, you told me you had to order the Nova News Network and paper specially. Most Calypso wolves won’t see any of this. They won’t know what I look like.”

“No but they’ll know a strange wolf is roaming around.” I remind him. In fact, I have to scrub myself raw every time I leave the house so his scent won’t linger on me when I visit Blaise.

“Bella, I’m going crazy being locked up here.” He gripes, “This city has millions of inhabitants and thousands of tourists visit every day. One strange wolf isn’t going to raise any alarms.”

“Alright, alright!” I agree, worn down to the bone. “We’ll go out tonight – but I decide where, and you have to be disguised.”

Bastien straightens up, looking comically indignant. “I will not put on a disguise and slink around like some rogue.”

Glaring and gnashing my teeth, I mutter, “You are so stubborn.”

He flashes me a wolfish grin. “Well if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is.”

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Bastien

“What is this place?” I inquire, staring at my surreal surroundings in surprise and dismay. When Arabella said she was going to show me the city, I expected her to take me on a tour of her favorite places. Granted, that’s the last thing I wanted to see, but I’m starting to think I’d prefer it to this.

We’re in some sort of strange subterranean street, staring into a dark maze of underground streets. It’s true that Elysium was built into the mountains themselves, but not like this. Elysium is beautiful and open and at one with nature, conforming itself to the natural landscape rather than bending the environment to our will. But there is nothing natural about this place – it is cold and dank and hopeless.

Unlike the glittering streets aboveground, these homes and shops are not shining examples of technology and innovation, instead I feel as if I’ve walked two centuries into the past. Yet Arabella looks around with bright eyes, blind to the suffering surrounding us on all sides. “It’s the underground. The Calypso pack is partitioned by class – to keep things simple. The poor stay belowground in the old levels of the city, and the nobility and aristocrats live above. It’s all very organized… no unnecessary conflicts or uncomfortable confrontations.” She explains dreamily. “After all, no one wants to have to look at that kind of unpleasantness.” She remarks, wrinkling her nose.

I stop in my tracks, her words slowly filtering through my brain. I don’t know why, but ever since I got here it’s taken me much longer than usual to wrap my head around even simple concepts. It feels sort of like I’m constantly moving through water, fighting to sort out logic and my own feelings in slow motion. “Simpler?” I repeat, “Arabella, it’s barbaric.”

“No.” She laughs warmly, trying to make me understand. “People are happier this way – the poor and the rich. The classes aren’t meant to  mix, Bastien. How do you think the poor feel when they have to look at everything the wealthy enjoy but they’ll never possess themselves? This is more humane.” She loops her arms through mine, and leads me back to the above ground section of the city. Fresh air washes over me instantly, and the wretched conditions of the city beneath our feet seems even starker by comparison.

“I brought you here so you could see how things could be in Elysium.” Arabella continues, sweeping her arm wide. “Look at this, it’s a utopia because Blaise isn’t afraid to make controversial decisions.”

I pull free of her touch, feeling a rush of disappointment in my surrogate sister, as well as shame for failing her so completely. Clearly we did not raise her well enough. “It’s a utopia built on blood.”

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Arabella

This day just gets worse and worse.

After dropping Bastien at home, I head straight back to the underground. That excursion did not go as I had planned – at all. I thought Bastien would appreciate Tartarus as I do, even if he needed a little help to see the beauty of the arrangement. Yet no matter what I said, he insisted Blaise’s creation was an atrocity, and refused to listen to reason.

What’s worse, no matter how many ways I try to win him, Bastien seems immune to my charms. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember Selene, he seems no closer to falling in love with me now than he did seven years ago.

Striding into the dim hole-in-the-wall where my friend, the apothecary, conducts his business, I look around and fight not to turn my nose up at the dirty shop. The bell above the door chimes shrilly, and a disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store, “Just a minute!”

A few moments later, when the sketchy character I’ve come to consider my supplier for all things illicit appears, I set my hands on my hips, “It’s not working.”

He arches a brow, “You mean he still has his memory?”

“No.” I snap. “He doesn’t remember a thing, but he’s not susceptible to control. I swear, making him like me is like pulling teeth.”

“I never promised that my potion would let you control him.” He reminds me. “I said it would steal his memory and dull his sharpness.”

“Fine, then give me something that will make him fall in love with me.” I command.

The gnarled man cuts his eyes to me, “Oh princess, didn’t anyone ever tell you the limits of magic?”

“What are you talking about?” I demand.

“No potion can create or instill love.” The apothecary explains, “only the Goddess can do that.”

“You’re saying there’s nothing you can do to help me?” I exclaim in disbelief.

“I’m saying that if you want the man to fall in love with you, you might want to try acting lovable.” The man remarks snidely. “Ever consider it?”

Glaring at the rude man, I turn and storm from the shop. I’ll show him. I think spitefully. I’ll be so lovable Bastien won’t know what hit him

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