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“Tell me to leave,” he said. “Or I’ll claim you.” He was supposed to be in bed with his new Luna. Instead, he was in my room, shaking from rut and hunger 🔥. Said he couldn’t touch her. Said every time he tried, he smelled me instead. I know this is wrong. I know this will ruin everything. But when an Alpha in rut looks at you like you’re the only thing that can save him… you don’t choose safety. You choose chaos 😈❤️‍🔥. Chapter 1 POV Morgan "If you ruin this night, cousin, what father did to you yesterday will feel like a caress." Sarah's manicured nails dig crescents into my wrist, right where yesterday's bruises have barely begun to yellow. The bruises beneath my servant uniform pulse with fresh agony when she presses her body against mine, deliberately, knowingly. She knows exactly where they are because she watched my father put them there. "The most powerful Alpha in four territories is about to make me his Luna." Her grip tightens until I bite back a whimper. "You will be invisible tonight, cousin. Do you understand?" "Yes." The word scrapes past my dry throat. She releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling into the prep counter. The kitchen staff don't look up from their work. They never do when Sarah decides to remind me of my place. My uniform strains across my hips where the fabric was cut for someone narrower, another daily reminder that I take up more space than I'm allowed. "Good." She smooths her silk gown, examining her reflection in the polished surface of a serving tray. "Now finish preparing the wine service, and try not to break anything else this week." The door swings shut behind her, and I allow myself one deep breath. Just one. Even my breathing must be controlled around others—if it’s too loud, too noticeable, and I become a target again. Sarah, the Luna. The thought would be laughable if my ribs didn't ache so much. But the man she's going to marry makes her cruelty look like child's play. His name keeps echoes through my hollow stomach. Three days without a proper meal, punishment for the plate I accidentally dropped, and my hands trembling as I arrange crystal glasses on a silver tray. Alpha Paul of Blood Ridge. The dark stories about him have haunted these halls for weeks since their arranged marriage with Sarah was announced. None of his previous wives lasted more than a year. His appetites, both in battle and in bed, are legendary. They say he takes his women the way he takes his enemies—brutally, completely, until there's nothing left but surrender or death. And Sarah preens about marrying him like she's won a prize. The irony tastes bitter on my tongue. For decades, our Silver Moon Pack has been locked in bloody warfare with Blood Ridge, the territorial dispute claiming lives on both sides. The marriage changes everything. Peace, sealed with my cousin's hand in union to a monster. At least soon she'll be someone else's problem, I think, then immediately feel guilty. Even Sarah doesn't deserve whatever Alpha Paul will do to her behind closed doors. The banquet hall glitters with candles and forced diplomacy when I enter. I move the way I've learned to move since I was twelve and become a slave to my own pack for murder—silent, invisible, keeping my eyes downcast and my presence forgettable. Guests from both packs mingle with the kind of tension that could erupt into violence at any moment. I weave between them, offering wine, clearing empty glasses, becoming part of the furniture. That's when Sarah's foot catches my ankle. The tray tips and wine arcs through the air in a graceful crimson wave before shattering across the marble floor. Gasps ripple through the crowd, and my heart pounds against my bruised ribs as every eye turns toward me. "Oh, Morgan." Sarah's voice drips with manufactured concern. "How clumsy of you. Perhaps you should fetch more wine from the cellar storage immediately, before you cause any more scenes." "Of course. I apologize." The words come automatically, rehearsed through years of survival. I flee the hall, my cheeks burning with humiliation, desperately searching through unfamiliar hallways. The cellar should be somewhere in the west wing, but the manor has been rearranged for the banquet, and every corridor looks the same in the dim evening light. Another beating. If I don't find the wine, if I take too long, Sarah will make sure I pay. A door appears on my left, and I push it open without thinking, praying for storage shelves and dusty bottles, but it’s only a dimly lit study. I froze right when the door behind me closed and I took a few steps to finally mention them. The study reeks of sex and dominance. A massive figure lounges in a leather chair like a king on his throne, his head thrown back in obvious pleasure. A woman kneels between his spread thighs, her blonde hair bobbing as she works him with her mouth. My body turns to stone when his eyes snap open—pale blue, piercing—and pin me in place. The growl that rumbles from his chest vibrates through my bones. He doesn't stop the woman. Doesn't cover himself. Just watches me watch them, his gaze tracking the flush spreading down my throat, the way my chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. "Stop." The single word carries enough command to make the woman pull back instantly. His cock springs free—thick, glistening, impossibly large—and my thighs clench involuntarily. "Get out," he tells her, never looking away from me. She scrambles to her feet and slips past me without a word, and I should run too, I should apologize and disappear, but my legs refuse to obey. He rises to his full height—seven feet of carved muscle and barely leashed violence. Instead of tucking himself away, he strokes himself once, deliberately, watching my eyes follow the movement. His eyes never leave mine as he drinks in my dilated pupils, my rapid breathing, the flush spreading down my neck. His gaze drops lower, tracing the curves my thin uniform fails to hide, and something shifts in his expression. "Close the door." My hand moves without my permission, pushing it shut behind me. Trapping myself with him. "Come here." My feet betray me, carrying me forward close enough to see the veins pulsing along his still-exposed length until he finally, slowly, tucks himself back into his pants. "Your scent," he murmurs, stalking closer. Each step he takes shrinks the room until there's nothing left but him. "It's... strange." His hand reaches toward my face, and years of instinct make me flinch, bracing for pain. But his palm cups my jaw with unexpected gentleness, his massive hand tilting my face up toward his. "What's your name, little wolf?" "I'm nobody." The words tumble out. "Just a servant, sir. I apologize for the intrusion, I was looking for the wine cellar and—" "Name." His eyes flash, and my heart skips a beat. "Morgan," I whisper. "Morgan." He repeats it like he's tasting it, rolling the syllables across his tongue. He steps closer still, close enough that I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact, close enough that I can feel his erection press against my stomach through my uniform, hot and insistent. "Morgan!" A voice calls from the hallway, urgent and angry. One of the kitchen staff, searching for me. "I should go." The words rush out as I step back, breaking his hold on my jaw. "I'm sorry, I need to—" "Until later then, Morgan." He positions himself between me and the door, and his body brushes against mine as I slip past him. The contact sends sparks racing across my skin, and I can feel his smile against my hair as I flee. The banquet hall swallows me back into its chaos of forced pleasantries and simmering hostility. My hands shake as I resume my duties, my mind spiraling with the memory of pale blue eyes and gentle hands and the impossible heat of that encounter. I’d never seen him before. He must be a visitor from Blood Ridge, one of the enemy pack's delegates. But why does my body still burn where he touched me? The doors open again, and the room transforms. Every conversation dies mid-sentence. Every spine straightens. Every wolf in the hall turns toward the entrance with the kind of primal recognition that transcends politics or pack lines. The stranger walks in, and all that predatory attention I felt in the study now radiates outward to encompass the entire room. My father, Alpha Richard, approaches him with a diplomatic smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Alpha Paul," he says, extending his hand. "Welcome to the Silver Moon Pack." My wineglass slips from my fingers. The stranger—Alpha Paul—finds me across the crowded room. He sees my recognition, my terror, the way my face drains of color as I finally understand exactly who was touching my jaw. Whose arousal I witnessed and felt. Whose promise still echoes in my ears. His smile turns dark with satisfaction. Until later, Morgan. Chapter 2 His eyes practically strip me bare over breakfast the next day. Every pour of coffee, every collected plate, every movement I make around the dining table—Alpha Paul tracks it all with the focused intensity of a predator deciding exactly how he wants to devour his prey. My virgin body is a traitor, responding to every micro-gesture like he's pulling invisible strings. Nipples hard enough to show through my thin uniform. Pulse hammering in places that have no business having a heartbeat. The space between my thighs slick with shame and want. This is the man who killed three wives. Who left a trail of bodies from here to the Canadian border. Who my cousin is supposed to marry in two weeks. And he hasn't looked at her once since he sat down. "More cream, dear?" Sarah's voice drips with sweetness as she leans toward Alpha Paul, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "No." Even now he doesn't look at her as he speaks, and the single syllable carries enough dismissal to make her smile falter. I move to clear an empty plate, and his attention tracks me across the room. The weight of it presses against my skin, following the curve of my hips as I bend to gather silverware. My instincts, usually beaten into submission, stirs restlessly. My wolf part recognizes something in him that my human brain can’t process. When Sarah notices the direction of his stare, her expression hardens beneath the practiced sweetness. "Morgan, sweetie." Sarah's voice drips artificial honey. "Fresh tea. This pot's gone cold, and we have so much to discuss about the wedding preparations." I retrieve the fresh pot from the sideboard, steam curling from its spout. As I lean forward to pour, Sarah's elbow catches the handle with calculated precision and scalding liquid splashes across my hands. I bite down on my cry of pain so hard that I taste copper. "Oh no, how careless of me!" Sarah presses her palm to her chest in mock horror. "I'm so sorry, cousin, are you hurt?" The skin of my hands screams in agony, turning an angry, mottled red. I clutch them against my apron, unable to speak through the throbbing. Metal scrapes against porcelain, and I glance up to find Alpha Paul gripping his knife with white-knuckled intensity. The butter knife in his fist bends like taffy, metal groaning under his grip His jaw works silently, muscles flexing beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones, and his pale blue eyes have gone dark with barely leashed fury. "It's nothing," I manage, backing toward the kitchen door. "I'll fetch a fresh pot immediately." "Actually, wedding preparations require items from town," she says sweetly, retrieving her phone and sending me a supply list. "Take the van and return before dinner." Gratitude floods through me, unexpected and fierce. Escape, however temporary, feels like oxygen after drowning. I flee to the next room, pressing my burned hands beneath cold water until the pain dulls to a manageable throb. "You're hurt." I look back and Alpha Paul stands in the doorway, filling it completely. His gaze travels from my burned hands to my face, and something lethal flashes in those arctic eyes. "It's nothing, Alpha." I try to step around him, but he moves faster, caging me against the sink. "You're lying." He leans closer, his breath hot against my face. "Your pulse jumps when you lie, little wolf. Among other things." Before I can ask what he means, he's lifting my hands to his mouth. His tongue flicks out, dragging across the worst of the burns, and the pain just... stops. Wolf saliva. Healing properties. I know the science but my brain short-circuits at the feeling of his mouth on my skin. "Better?" His breath is hot against my wrist. I nod, not trusting my voice. "Good." He releases me, stepping back, and I immediately miss his proximity. "Go. Before I do something that'll start a new war." I run, the questions chase themselves through my skull without answers. Why does he look at me like that? Why does he care? Why do I feel like that near him? *** The human town is freedom, even temporary. I rush through the wedding supply shopping—ribbons and champagne flutes and all the props for Sarah's fantasy wedding to a man who looked at her like furniture. Each task brings me closer to the one place I actually want to be, and when I finally push through the door of Ricky's café, the tension in my shoulders begins to unwind. "There's my favorite mystery girl!" Ricky waves from behind the counter, her wild curls bouncing as she hurries toward me. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me." "Never." I slide into our usual booth, tucking my hands beneath the table. "I just couldn't get away until now." She settles across from me, her brown eyes warm with genuine affection. Then her gaze drops to where I'm hiding my hands, and her expression shifts from welcoming to concerned. "Let me see them." She reaches across the table, her fingers gentle as she pulls my hands into the light. "Morgan, what the hell happened to you?" "Tea accident," I lied, watching her examine the angry red burns. "It looks worse than it feels. It doesn’t hurt anymore, really." "Bullshit." She cradles my hands like wounded birds, her jaw tightening. "You keep looking over your shoulder like someone's hunting you down right now." Someone is, I think, remembering pale blue eyes and the dark satisfaction in Paul's smile. I just don't understand why. "Things are changing," I whisper, unable to give her more than fragments of truth. "There's a lot happening at home that I can't really explain." Ricky leans forward, her voice dropping to match mine. "Then don't explain, just get out of there already. I've been telling you for years that situation isn't right. Come stay with me—my apartment isn't fancy, but the couch is comfortable and my roommate moved out last month." My heart aches with the impossible kindness of her offer. She has no idea what she's asking. No concept of the world I inhabit or the dangers I would bring crashing into her peaceful human life. "I can't do that to you." I squeeze her fingers gently, ignoring the sting of my burns. "But I appreciate you more than you'll ever know." "You're impossible, you know that?" She sighs, but there's love beneath her frustration. "Just promise me you're being careful." "I promise," I tell her, and the lie tastes sour on my tongue. We talk for another precious hour before I force myself to leave. The supplies won't load themselves, and the consequences of returning late don't bear thinking about. I'm lifting the last box into the van when a familiar voice cuts through the afternoon air. "Well, well." Sarah steps out from behind the vehicle, flanked by two of her closest friends. "Meeting your pathetic human friend again, I see?" My stomach drops as she stalks toward me, her heels clicking against the pavement with predatory precision. "You know that's forbidden, cousin." She backs me against the van's cold metal frame. "Especially now, when we're about to finally achieve peace with the Blood Ridge pack, we can't have you contaminating our reputation with human associations." One of her friends raises a phone, and I hear the artificial click of a camera capturing images of me standing near the café entrance. "What are you doing?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel as panic claws at my throat. "Gathering evidence." Sarah's hand closes around my throat. "I wonder what my future husband would think about you sneaking off to see humans?" She squeezes just enough to make her point, cutting off my air for a terrifying heartbeat. "Or what Father would do if he knew you were risking our alliance with your selfish behavior?" Her smile stretches wide as she releases me, watching me gasp for breath. "Those photos are going somewhere very safe," she continues, backing away with satisfaction glowing in her eyes. "And they'll stay there as long as you remember your place." She disappears around the corner with her friends, their laughter trailing behind them like poison. I lean against the van, pressing my palm to my bruised throat as the full weight of her threat settles over me. She knows about Ricky, and she might use that knowledge to tear apart the only light I have left. Ready to be obsessed? 😈🔥 Read The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now! 🐺❤️‍🔥