Ruthless Alpha, and his Curvy Saint Chapter 47

Alpha Terrell’s POV

I found Gareth, Bellick, and Kade in the quarters they’d been assigned - a large room near the guest wing, currently being used for sothing much more important than sleeping.

They were waiting for .

Of course they were.

"My brother is courting my mate," I announced, closing the door behind .

"We know," Gareth said, with the tone of soone who has been sitting on information for so ti. "The whole castle knows. Apparently, servants talk."

"Fix it," I snapped.

"How exactly would you like us to fix it?" Kade asked. "We can’t touch the lord of the house. And Angel isn’t technically refusing his attention. From what I saw, she actually seed to enjoy her dinner."

"I know," I growled, dropping into a chair and pressing my fingers against my temple. "God, I know. The smile she gave him when he leaned in..."

"Are we describing her smile now?" Bellick asked. "Because that feels like a new developnt."

"Shut up."

"Just saying, a week ago you were planning to reject her. Now you’re fantasizing about her facial expressions." He scratched his chin. "Significant progress."

"The storm is keeping us here," I said through gritted teeth. "Every day we stay in this castle is another day rrick can work his charm on her. Another day she looks at him like..." I stopped.

Like he’s soone worth looking at.

Unlike .

"Tell her the truth," Bellick said. Not for the first ti.

"No."

"Terrell..."

"No." My voice snapped like a whip. "Think about it. If I tell her now, she finds out that the man she’s been trusting, confiding in, looking to for protection, is actually the Alpha who murdered her family. What do you think that does? It destroys every good thing between us. Every mont of trust we’ve built. And then where does she turn?" I looked at them all. "Straight to rrick. Whose arms are open and waiting."

The logic sat heavy in the room.

Gareth sighed. "You can’t keep this up forever."

"I know. I just need to get her ho. Get her to Black Wolf territory, onto my ground, where I can control the variables. Then..." I exhaled. "Then I’ll figure out how to tell her the truth without losing her entirely."

"And what if rrick tells her first?" Kade asked.

"He won’t. He threatened to, but he won’t. He’s infuriating, not cruel."

"What about the assassin?" Bellick’s voice dropped. "Soone is still out there. Soone who wants her dead. Being in this castle might actually be the safest place for her right now."

The thought sat uncomfortably.

He was right.

This storm - which I’d been cursing with every breath - was keeping Angel in a fortified location, away from open roads and hidden archers and poisoned arrows.

But it was also trapping her with my twin brother, who had apparently decided to make it his personal mission to charm my mate into his arms.

"Gods," I muttered, dropping my head into my hands. "This is a disaster."

"On the bright side," Kade offered cheerfully, "she looked absolutely incredible at dinner tonight. That green dress..."

I lifted my head and stared at him.

He coughed. "I an. Terrible. Disaster. Completely agree with everything."

Angel’s POV

I was deep in the most wonderful dream.

Sothing about sunlight and a garden and soone with kind eyes saying my na like it was the most beautiful word in any language...

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I jolted awake.

Darkness. The room was still dark. Outside the windows, rain still hamred the glass. The lamp had burned low.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Angel!" Lyra’s voice ca urgently through the door, barely above a whisper but sohow still conveying extre desperation. "Angel, please. I need to speak with you imdiately."

I stared at the ceiling.

"What ti is it?" I called back.

"Early. Very early. Before the roosters. Please open the door."

"Lyra, it’s the middle of the night..."

"It’s important."

"Is soone dying?"

A pause.

"Not physically."

I groaned, dragging myself upright. My wonderful bed protested my departure, the sheets clinging to like they knew I was making a mistake.

I opened the door.

Lyra stood in the corridor in her nightgown, her hair loose, her eyes bright despite the hour.

She looked at .

I looked at her.

"What," I said flatly, "could possibly be so urgent before the roosters have even considered waking up?"

"I need to borrow a dress."

I stared at her.

"One of your dresses," she clarified, as if that was the confusing part. "One of the ones Lord rrick sent. One of the bigger ones."

"Lyra..."

"Hear out!" She held up her hands. "You said rrick prefers curvy won. I am not a curvy woman. I am frustratingly, infuriatingly not curvy. But..." She raised one finger dramatically. "If I wear one of your dresses, which are designed to emphasize curves, and I stuff it appropriately in the right places..."

"You want to stuff my dress."

"To create the illusion of curves, yes."

I blinked at her. Then blinked again.

"It’s not even dawn yet," I said.

"I know, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what you told . About his preferences. And I thought, well, I can’t change my body overnight - which I certainly plan on doing - but I can absolutely suggest curves through clever dress construction." She paused. "Your clothes are the right size for stuffing."

"That’s... not how bodies work."

"You don’t know that."

"I’m fairly certain I do."

"Angel." She grabbed my hands with both of hers, her eyes enormous with pleading. "Please. I know this is probably impossible. I know I’m grasping at straws. But he’s so beautiful, and he’s right there, in this castle, and the storm is keeping us here, and this might be my only chance..."

I looked at her face.

At the genuine, desperate hope written there.

At the girl who’d been cruel to , yes. Who’d mocked my body, yes. But who was standing before in her nightgown in the dark before dawn, asking for help with the sa vulnerability she’d probably never shown anyone.

"Fine," I said.

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"But I want to be clear about sothing."

"Anything. Yes. Whatever you want."

"rrick is never going to be fooled by stuffing," I said honestly. "He can see bodies very clearly. He’ll notice imdiately if sothing doesn’t... sit right."

Lyra’s enthusiasm dimd slightly.

"But," I continued, moving toward the wardrobe, "a properly fitting dress in the right style can absolutely complent any body type and make a woman feel confident. And confidence is what actually attracts attention."

Lyra was quiet for a mont.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"Three years in a convent," I replied. "The nuns may not have had much experience with n, but they had a lot to say about presenting yourself with grace and dignity."

I pulled out a deep burgundy dress - one of the simpler styles, with a flowing skirt and a bodice that gathered beautifully regardless of size.

"Try this one," I said. "And maybe we see what we can do with your hair."

Lyra took the dress reverently, holding it like it was sothing precious.

"Angel," she said quietly.

"What?"

"I know I’ve been terrible to you. I know I don’t deserve your kindness." She t my eyes. "Why are you helping ?"

I thought about it for a mont.

"Because soone once told to try embracing people instead of condemning them," I said finally. "And I’m trying to take that advice."

Lyra stared at .

Then, to my absolute shock, her eyes filled with tears.

"You’re a better person than ," she whispered.

"You don’t know that yet," I said gently. "But maybe you could try proving wrong."

Lyra nodded and straightened up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and held up the dress with renewed determination.

"Right," she announced, her usual fire returning. "Tell everything about grace and dignity. And maybe also how to make my chest look bigger. For dignity purposes."

I pressed my lips together hard.

"Lyra..."

"I’m kidding." She grinned. "Mostly."

I gave up trying not to laugh.

*****

The next hour was unlike anything I’d experienced since leaving the convent.

"Hold still," I muttered, my teeth clamped around a spare ribbon as I gathered the back of the burgundy dress, trying to make it sit properly against Lyra’s much slimr fra.

"I’m holding still! You’re the one pulling too tight!"

"I’m not pulling tight, I’m gathering. There’s a difference."

"It doesn’t feel different from where I’m standing."

"That’s because you’re standing wrong. Straighten your spine."

"My spine is straight!"

"Lyra, I can see your spine. It is not straight."

She huffed but corrected her posture.

I stepped back and examined my work. The dress was made for my body - full hips, generous bust, a waist that curved dramatically. On Lyra’s slender fra, it pooled differently, hanging in ways it wasn’t designed for.

But the dress was beautiful. And beautiful dresses had a way of doing half the work on its own.

"Right," I murmured, thinking.

The convent had taught surprisingly practical things. How to alter clothing with minimal tools. How to make one garnt serve multiple purposes. How to dress bodies of all shapes with dignity.

Sister Margaret had been very particular about personal presentation.

God is in the details, she’d always said. Even in how we clothe ourselves.

I’d thought it was vanity at the ti.

Now It certainly wasn’t.

"Do you have anything I can use as a belt?" I asked Lyra.

"There’s a sash on my traveling dress. In my room."

"Go get it."