Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

“I wanted to get drunk, Evan.” I raised the glass. “This was the only place open.”

“So you came to a place crawling with unregistered Rogues? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you?” Evan shook his head, reaching out to grab my arm. “You’re leaving. Now.”

“I’m not done.”

“Yes, you are.” His eyes narrowed, shifting past me to the space behind the bar.

Zane.

Curiosity is a fatal flaw in young wolves. Zane, hearing the commotion and perhaps worried about me, had raised his head just an inch above the counter to peek.

It was enough.

Evan went rigid. His gaze locked onto the terrified boy, then snapped back to me.

“Him?” Evan let out a short, incredulous laugh that lacked any humor. “Zane Carter. Again?”

“Evan, it’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me, Violet,” he hissed, his voice dripping with disgust. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that it?

Are you keeping a Delta boy on the side to get back at Daemon?”

“I am not sleeping with him!” I snapped, keeping my voice low so Lucian wouldn’t hear from the back booth.

“Then what is this?”

He reached for his phone. “I’m calling Daemon. He needs to come get you before you do something

irrevocable.”

“No!”

Adrenaline spiked through my veins. I couldn’t let him make that call. If Daemon came here, he’d see Zane.

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Chapter 47

He’d connect the dots. He’d realize I’ve been interfering with Celeste’s life.

I moved on instinct. I slid off the stool, stumbling forward, and grabbed Evan by the lapels of his expensive coat. I yanked him down, hard, until our faces were inches apart.

The sudden proximity froze him.

“You listen to me, Evan Thorne,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of alcohol and calculated madness. “You put that phone away.”

“Let go of me, Violet,” he warned, his hands hovering over my waist, unsure whether to push me away or

hold me up.

“If you call him,” I breathed, my eyes wide and unblinking, “I will scream. I will throw myself onto the floor, tear my dress, and scream that you touched me.”

Evan’s face went pale. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” I challenged, tightening my grip on his tie until I was practically strangling him. “The pristine Dr. Thorne? The moral compass of the pack?”

I glanced around the bar at the watching eyes of the patrons.

Evan stared at me, his chest heaving against mine.

“You’re insane,” he breathed.

“Now, put the phone away. You didn’t see Zane.”

Evan gritted his teeth, his jaw working furiously. He looked at Zane, who was cowering behind the bar, then

back at me. Slowly, reluctantly, he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Fine,” he spat.

“And if Daemon asks why I was always with you,” I leaned back, smoothing his lapels with exaggerated care.

“I’m sick, and you are my doctor.”

“I’m a neurologist, not a psychiatrist,” he countered sharply.

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I watched him, my head lolling against the palm. The alcohol made my thoughts drift, unmooring them from the present. I looked at Evan and didn’t see the man who had just teased me; I saw the man from my past life. The man who had eventually fallen quietly, hopelessly in love with Celeste Morrison, only to stand aside and watch Daemon claim her.

Evan was a good man. A tragic, rule–following fool, but a good man.

“Evan…” I mumbled, reaching out. My hand landed on his shoulder, clumsy and heavy.

“She’s not worth it,” I whispered, my eyes closing.

Evan frowned, glancing at me. “Who?”

“Celeste,” I slurred. “You’re too clean for this mess. There are plenty of other flowers… don’t get hung up

on that one.”

“You’re drunk,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with confusion. “You don’t know what you’re talking

about.”

At this point in time, he barely knew who Celeste was. He certainly didn’t love her.

I passed out before I could see the troubled look that lingered in his eyes.

***

I woke up to the shrill sound of a generic ringtone and a headache that felt like someone was taking a

jackhammer to my skull.

I cracked one eye open. I wasn’t at the manor. I was in a hotel room.

My phone was buzzing on the nightstand. I groaned, reaching for it.

There was a text message from Evan Thorne.

Dr. Thorne: You have an appointment at my clinic at 10:00 AM. Neurology department. Don’t be late.

I smiled. He had accepted the lie.

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Chapter 47

I typed back a simple reply.

Violet: On my way, Dr. Thorne.

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