Mated To My Obsessive Stepbrother novel Chapter 292

Chapter 292

KESTER.

I was in a goddamn hurry to return home.

My phone had been vibrating nonstop–Kasmine had left over a hundred voicemails, cursing and crying about why I instructed the guards not to let her leave the house.

She was seething. And I could almost hear the stomp of her feet through the phone as she demanded answers.

But I didn’t respond.

I don’t pacify storms. I command them.

I’d be with her soon enough. She could scream into the walls all she wanted until then. Right now, I had a pest to crush beneath my boot.

Blaine

He was standing before me. He wasn’t worthy of putting his rotten ass on my seat.

I allowed the silence to envelop us properly as I sipped slowly from my glass of whiskey, watching him through the rim.

I took in the form of the man who had been terrorizing my parents and threatening to rip the pack in two.

Fuck. I should have known.

He was Trent’s brother. I hadn’t set eyes on him in a long time.

I used to know Trent when my father was still Alpha.

He had been a good guy. Golden boy. Clean–hearted. The kind of guy I respected.

Trent had moved to a different country to pursue his acting career.

And his brother?

This fucker here?

He’d stayed back with his father and marinated in bitterness. Always barking about justice and equality, parading himself around as an activist.

But what he really was?

He was rot, wrapped in idealism.

And now that I saw and recognized him, I almost laughed. Blaine–the revolution’s face–was a stocky little blond with lashes so pale they looked singed. Built like a gym–rat accountant. Like the gods had given him muscles out of pity.

I swear to hell, he looked like a Ken doll that got into amateur wrestling.

Now, he was trying to wear a crown made of matches, lighting fires in my house.

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Chapter 292

Wrong fucking move.

“Blaine,” I called, taking another gulp from my glass.

He didn’t respond. He just stared, putting up defiance. I hated that sit. That look of a man who hadn’t realized that death was sitting on his shoulders.”

My eyes caught a glimpse of the bottle of whiskey, and I was almost out.

Fuck.

It was never enough. I needed more.

“What the fuck is going on in my pack?” I asked, after letting the burn of the whiskey settle in my chest.

I watched the micro–shift in his expression. He was about to cough up whatever little courage he’d brought with him before I spoke again.

“Bold of you to think you can lead a rebellion in my pack, Blaine,” I added, relaxing on my seat.

This was as serious as death itself.

But the silence stretched a second too long, and I leaned forward, my elbows on the desk, cradling the now nearly empty glass, “You gonna talk?” I asked in a flat tone.

I laughed once. “Go ahead,” I said slowly, “Remate with your step–cousin. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

His eyes burned. “I was forced. Just like everyone else when the higher–ups decide what morality should look like. The council said it

was the law, and I obeyed it.”

“No,” he said. “I want balance. You’re mated to your sister. You want to lead this pack? Then show the same fucking sacrifice they demanded from me.”

“Hm… Brave.” I stared at him dead in the eyes.

“We won’t be ruled by an Alphy and a Luna who practice incest. What would we tell our younger generations? Huh? That we applaud incest?‘ He scoffed, staking his head with disgust. “We will never accept Kasmine as our Luna.”

The sheer audacity.

The way he said her name and spoke about her, like it was something sour in his mouth and like she was dirt beneath his boots, made my blood thunder in my veins.

“Tell me something, Blaine–who the fuck are you to dictate what I do and what I don’t?”

“I’m the voice of reason this pack needs,” he said. “The law has to be upheld. If the Alpha can’t lead by example, then he can’t lead at all. We’re not sheep, Kester. And we’re not afraid of you anymore.

I finished my drink, set the glass down with a soft clink, and smiled.

It wasn’t the kind of smile you gave when something was funny. It was the kind you gave before you broke a man’s kneecaps and watched him crawl for forgiveness.

“You’re forming a rebellion, right?” I asked, rising from my chair slowly.

He was quiet, and I let the silence spread.

Then, I adjusted my suit and smoothed the sleeves without rushing.

“Blaine,” I called, remaining as calm as breeze. “I hope you live long enough to see what happens when the storm you stirred finally arrives.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to say something heroic or probably something dramatic. But I didn’t wait.

I walked past him out of my pack office.

I had one more important issue to take care of.

Someone who couldn’t keep her mouth shut even after I warned her severally.

Melissa.

Her name was already written in red.