Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder

Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 626

Chapter 126 : No Time for Ghosts

*Xander*

Adrian was sitting at a makeshift desk made of pallets and wooden crates in the corner of my tent, his back arched as he looked down at a stack of documents that had been delivered to the tent this morning. He blew out his breath, straightening to his full height as he turned around with his hands on his hips.

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, stooping to finish tying the laces of my boots. The worst of my injuries had healed, and I’d had my sutures taken out three days ago. My body was still stiff and sore, but otherwise, I was on the mend.

But I was still numb from Lena’s loss. The jagged scar running from my shoulder to my collarbone was red and bruised from the trauma of having her mark cut out of me, and then sewn shut.

She was gone, and I was still alive. I had no interest in living, and had I not been an Alpha I may have done something about that, but I had warriors to bring home, and a kingdom to rule.

I’d rule it alone, leaving no heir behind, no legacy.

“But this–”

“It’s nothing, Adrian. It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal, despite my attempts to shrug off the request of the Alphas of Lena’s lands and the High Elder Council that helped mediate conflicts between the territories. They were asking for someone from Egoren to serve on the elder council, someone who would be willing to split their time between Egoren and the pack lands.

Ethan had included a personal note, requesting one man in particular–his half-brother.

I doubted Soren would be willing to do that. He had a life in Egoren–a family, and grandchildren. Hell, if I really wanted to off myself now, one of those kids could take over Egoren.

The thought fluttered in and out of my mind before I could blink, and I went back to getting dressed. Adrian rocked on his heels, turning away as I pulled a clean shirt over my head.

“Where’s Abigail?” I asked, and he turned back around, a sly grin on his face.

errands before

my fingers through my hair, ruffling the black curls dancing around my ears. I needed a haircut. I needed to shave. But all of that could wait until our warriors were on the warship taking us back to the portal to Egoren. We’d be leaving first thing in the morning, before the sun came

here reminded me of Lena. I hated it.

the resettlement of the displaced communities in the west. Everything south of the northern border was in shambles.

Adrian asked, jabbing a

need to think about it. I

he nodded nonetheless. We

sure everyone reports to their tents tonight by 10:00 pm sharp. Whoever isn’t on the ship by 5:00 am gets left behind,” I said, sounding every

“Where are you going?”

I had for the past several nights in a row, unable to sleep. If I did sleep, it was nothing

pockets. I caught a glimpse of Troy as he walked into a commander’s tent, his head bent as he talked rapidly to a man I didn’t recognize. He’d sent his wife back to

moment I met him. I’d miss his

since he explained how he’d closed the portal. Last I heard, he was back in Crimson Creek. I doubted he had plans to return to Breles, or anywhere else for that matter. I didn’t blame him. I saw the pain in his empty eyes. I knew exactly what he was going

couldn’t. And sometimes, I was

at a table, mouthing “5:00 am” and tapping my wrist before I passed the tent completely. They nodded, their darkened

something the warriors called the “fence” near the edge of the camp. It wasn’t actually a fence, but a darkened alley where warriors traded their meal and shower rations for bottles of booze, magazines, and cigarettes. I was a regular now, I realized. The empty bottles of whiskey collecting dust under the cot in my

of concrete falling into a nearby, but thankfully cleared out, market square. I saw a flash of white and stopped in my

her around the camp many times. She’d been in my tent, stepping out of the shadows and running her fingertips over my skin. But she was just a ghost, disappearing every time

the rest of my life. I knew I would see her

“Xander!”

now,” I breathed, closing my eyes against her voice. My head was throbbing from the hangover I was nursing. I had no time for ghosts. I licked my lower lip as I neared the fence. I could already taste the liquor, and could already feel myself going numb. One drink would be enough to wash the sound of her voice from my

“Xander, slow down–”

wrapped around my upper arm and I whirled around,

“Don’t f*****g touch–”

herself with her arms. She was wearing a white, sleeveless top, and I could see

out of my lungs in choked sobs as she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. Between us the swell of her stomach pushed against the button of my

here. They were