The Alpha King’s Stolen Daughter Chapter 04

The Alpha King’s Stolen Daughter Chapter 04 – Ember

The doors of the police station opened and the temperature dropped ten degrees.

Six men in black came through it. Every officer in that building stood up at once, and two of them backed

into the wall.

The one in front was maybe forty-five, silver at the temples, in a coat worth more than my mother’s house – and when he saw me across that room, the Alpha King of the Northern Territories stopped dead in the middle of the floor and went down on one knee on the dirty tile.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

He knelt there, six-foot-four of the most dangerous man on this continent, looking up at a skinny girl in a receptionist’s uniform, and I watched his eyes fill.

“Ember,” he said.

My own name broke him in half.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my face. Seventeen years of practicing what I’d say to my father, and every word of it evaporated.

He stood slowly, like he was afraid of scaring a bird, and crossed the last three steps, and asked, “Can I hold you?”

He asked.

I nodded. I don’t know why.

He wrapped me up and I flinched – full-body, hard – and I felt him go rigid around me

But he didn’t let go, and he didn’t press. He just held on like a man holding water in his hands, and he smelled like cedar and cold air and something underneath it that my body recognized before my brain did.

Blood. Mine.

Something in my chest that had been clenched shut for eleven years cracked open, and I stood in a police station and cried on a stranger.

“There she is,” he whispered into my hair. “There’s my girl. My principessa. I’ve got you. Nobody touches

you again. Nobody.”-

When he finally pulled back he held my face in both hands, and I got my first proper look at him.

I stopped breathing.

Same green eyes. Same eyebrows. Same stubborn little chin I’ve hated in every mirror I’ve ever stood in

front of.

“Why do you look like me?” I said stupidly.

Someone behind him laughed – a wet, choked sound.

“Sweetheart,” a younger man said, “you look like him.”

He came forward. Late twenties, my father’s build, but softer around the eyes, and those eyes were red. He raised his hand toward my head.

I flinched again.

His hand froze in the air.

Something moved across his face that I never want to see again as long as I live.

Then he set his palm on my hair, gentle as anything “Hi, sis. I’m Cassian. Third oldest. I’m a doctor, and I’m never going to hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“There are four more at home,” he said. “They’re currently destroying the kitchen with excitement. Rafe

hasn’t sat down in three hours.”

Four more.

I had five brothers. I’d had them the entire time.

“Where were you?” It came out before I could stop it, small and ugly. “Where were you my whole life?”

My father’s face did something terrible.

“Looking,” he said hoarsely. “Ember. I have been looking for your mother for seventeen years. I did not

know you existed until eleven hours ago.” His voice cracked down the middle. “If I had known

understand me if I had known-”

“Dad,” Cassian said quietly, a hand on his arm.

He got himself back under control Barely.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and reached for my bag.

“Wait.” I stepped back. “Milo.”

do you

Milo had come to the doorway in his beanie, one hand on the frame, watching all of it with those

unnervingly steady eyes.

My father turned to look at him.

And I watched my father’s whole face turn to stone.

“Who is that,” he said. Not a question.

“My brother,” I said. “He’s seven. He has silver sickness. He comes with me.”

The silence in that room grew teeth.

Cassian looked at the floor. Two of the men in black glanced at each other.

“Principessa.” My father’s voice was very careful now, and that scared me more than shouting ever has.

“That boy is not my son.”

“He’s mine,” I said. “I’ve raised him since he was one. I promised our mother.” My eyes were burning. “If he

doesn’t come, I don’t come.”

“Ember-”

“I’m serious.” I took Milo’s hand. My legs were shaking. “You can go home. I’ll wait for my birthday and I’ll-”

“No.”

Both of them said it at once, and the word came out of my father with so much Alpha in it that every wolf in the station dropped their eyes.

Then, from beside me, small and calm:

“Em. Go with them.”

I stared down at Milo.

“You’re crazy,” I said. “I’m not leaving you”

“I know my doses. I’ve got a month left.” He tugged the beanie down over his ears. “You always said one of

us should get out.”

“Milo-”

“Go,” he said. “Trust me.”

And then he looked up at my father, and my little dying brother – seven years old, forty-two pounds – smiled at the Alpha King.

“You’ll come back for me,” Milo said. “You’ll come back on your knees, actually.”

My father went absolutely still.