ALPHAS of the PEAK

“Sit down, Maddie. You’re out. Your wolf is as blind as your human eyes,” Harrison sneered, his voice dropping into that gravelly Alpha-heir frequency that made the hair on my arms stand up.

“Like hell I am, Harrison! That pitch was a foot above my head. Even a rogue with one eye could see that was out of the strike zone!” I gripped the heavy ash wood bat until my knuckles turned a ghostly white. The scent of damp earth and aggressive boy-musk rolled off him, thick and suffocating.

Harrison stepped into my personal space, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallowed me whole. He smelled like cedarwood and a coming storm—the signature scent of the Cole lineage. “I’m the Lead Scout for this match. My word is Law of the Pack. You struck out, Cruz. Move your scrawny tail off the field.”

“You’re cheating!” I barked, the vibration catching in my throat. I wasn’t shifted—none of us were at eleven—but the heat in my chest felt like liquid silver. “Just because your father runs the Northern Reach doesn’t mean you own the dirt we’re standing on.”

Harrison’s eyes flashed a brief, predatory gold. “In this territory? I do.”

Grant Lawson, perched on the pitcher’s mound, let out a jagged laugh. “Give it up, Maddie! You’re just a twig-leg girl trying to play a Guardian’s game. Go find Serena and play with ribbons.”

The boys in the dugout howled, a sound more animal than human. My face burned. I looked at the bat in my hand, then at Harrison’s smug, aristocratic jawline. I didn’t think. I just moved. The bat swung in a blurred arc, whistling through the air until it connected—not with the ball, but with the dirt right between Harrison’s boots, spraying mud across his pristine white tunic.

“Oops,” I spat, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “My grip slipped. Must be those ‘twig legs’ failing me.”

Harrison didn’t flinch. He wiped a speck of mud from his cheek with a slow, deliberate finger. “You’re going to regret that, Little Wolf.”

“Is that a threat, Harrison? Or are you going to go cry to your Luna mother?”

He lunged. I scrambled back, my oversized boots tripping over the home plate. I hit the dirt hard, the impact jarring my spine. Before I could scramble up, Harrison was over me, his knees pinning my shoulders to the grass. He was heavy—solid muscle even at this age.

“Let me up!” I thrashed, my palms scraping against the grit.

“Apologize,” he growled, his face inches from mine. I could see the flecks of amber in his pupils.

“Never. You’re a pathetic, power-tripping mutt.”

He leaned down, his teeth baring in a silent snarl near my ear. “One day, Maddie, you’ll be on your knees for real. And I won’t be this nice.”

He shoved off me, leaving me gasping in the dirt. The game broke up as the elders howled the call for the midday feast, but the sting in my chest wasn’t from the fall. It was the way he looked at me—like I was a prey animal he hadn't decided to kill yet.

Seven years later.

The air in the Cruz Estate tasted like stale tradition and expensive incense. I stood by the stone hearth, my fingers tracing the jagged scar near my hairline—the one Harrison gave me when we were fourteen with a thrown silver-tipped dagger during "training."

“You look like a funeral arrangement, Madeline,” my mother, Vivienne, remarked without looking up from her vanity. She was brushing her hair with rhythmic, violent strokes. “Straighten your back. The Crescent Moon Ball isn’t a place for sulking.”

“It’s a meat market, Mother. Let’s call it what it is.” I adjusted the silk of my gown. It felt like a cage.

“It’s an alliance,” she corrected, her voice cold as a mountain stream. “The Cole family is arriving within the hour. Harrison has completed his Alpha trials in the Black Ridge. He’s no longer the boy who pushed you in the mud.”

“No, now he’s the man who wants to annex our southern hunting grounds,” I muttered.

The heavy oak doors to the Great Hall creaked open. My father, Richard, stepped in, his face tight. “They’re at the gates. Madeline, I expect decorum. No biting. No snarling. If you embarrass this house tonight, I’ll send you to the silver mines in the Outlands. Do I make myself clear?”

I felt the familiar ghost of a collar around my neck. “Crystal.”

I walked out to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The torches flickered, illuminating a fleet of black SUVs—modern iron horses for the modern wolf. The lead door opened, and a man stepped out.

He had grown. Gods, had he grown.

Harrison Cole stood six-foot-four, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of a kingdom. His hair was darker, his jawline honed into a lethal edge. He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. He didn’t smile. He just stared, his presence a physical weight that made my inner wolf whine in a way I hated.

Beside him, Serena Whitlock climbed out, her hand immediately finding his forearm. She looked like a goddess carved from marble—perfect, polished, and utterly lethal.

“Maddie!” A voice hissed from the shadows of the hallway. I turned to see Nadia Rahman, her eyes wide. “They’re here. And Grant is with them. He’s looking for you.”

“Let him look,” I said, turning back to the courtyard.

Harrison was moving now, walking toward the entrance with a predator’s grace. He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up one more time. He raised a hand, two fingers touching his temple in a mocking salute.

I flipped him off.

His lips pulled back into a dark, dangerous grin. The war wasn’t over. It was just moving into the bedroom.

The ballroom was a blur of fur, silk, and hidden agendas. I stayed near the shadows, sipping a dark red wine that tasted like iron.

“You’re hiding, Maddie. It doesn’t suit you.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know the voice. It was deeper now, a resonant cello vibration that hummed in my very marrow. Harrison.

“I’m observing,” I said, keeping my gaze on the crowd. “It’s easier to see the snakes when you’re standing still.”

He stepped up beside me, the heat radiating off his body making the air between us shimmer. He smelled of woodsmoke and dominance. “And what have you seen, Little Wolf?”

“I see an Alpha-heir who still thinks he can cheat his way to a win.” I turned then, facing him fully. Up close, he was devastating. The scars of his trials were hidden beneath his suit, but I could sense them. “What do you want, Harrison?”

“The elders are talking about a Union,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He stepped closer, forcing me back against the cold stone of the pillar. “They think our bloodlines would produce the strongest Enforcers the North has seen in a century.”

I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “I’d rather mate with a silver-plated rogue.”

Harrison’s hand shot out, his fingers gripping my waist. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated pheromones that made my knees buckle. He pulled me flush against him. I could feel the hard line of his thigh between mine, the rhythmic thud of a heart that beat much faster than a human's.

“Liar,” he breathed, his head dipping low, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. “Your scent is screaming, Maddie. You’re soaked in desire. I can smell how much you want me to break you.”

“Go to hell,” I gasped, even as my hands betrayed me, bunching the fabric of his jacket.

“After you.”

He didn't wait. He grabbed my wrist and hauled me toward the heavy velvet curtains leading to the library. I struggled, but it was half-hearted, my body already betraying my mind. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, he threw me against the mahogany table. Books clattered to the floor, but I didn't care.

He was on me in a second. His mouth crashed against mine—not a kiss, but a claim. It tasted of salt and ancient hunger. I bit his lip, drawing a bead of dark blood, and he groaned into my throat, his hands tearing at the silk of my gown.

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he growled, his teeth grazing my collarbone.

“And you’ve always been a thief,” I retorted, my breath coming in ragged hitches. “Taking what isn't yours.”

“Everything in this room is mine tonight.”

He hiked my skirts up, his large, calloused hands sliding up my inner thighs. I gasped as he found the center of me, already slick and aching. His fingers were relentless, mocking, driving me toward a ledge I wasn't ready to fall from.

“Look at me, Maddie,” he commanded.

I opened my eyes, my vision swimming. He was watching me with a terrifying intensity. He reached for his belt, the leather snapping in the quiet room.

“I’ve waited seven years to put you in your place,” he whispered.

He lifted me, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The friction of his suit against my bare skin was almost too much. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his length pressing against my entrance.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his muscles quivering with the effort of holding back. “Tell me you hate me, and I’ll walk out that door.”

I looked at him—my enemy, my tormentor, the boy who stole my dolls and the man who wanted my soul. I reached up, my fingers digging into his hair, and pulled his head down to mine.

“Shut up and ruin me, Harrison.”

He lunged forward, burying himself deep inside me in one forceful thrust. A scream tore from my lungs, muffled by his mouth. It was too much—the size of him, the heat, the sheer, territorial violence of the movement. He didn't move gently. He pounded into me with the rhythm of a war drum, each strike echoing in my skull.

The table creaked under our combined weight. I gripped the edge of the wood, my head flung back, eyes rolling as the pleasure began to turn into something sharper, something more primal. He was growling now, a low, gutteral sound that vibrated through my chest.

“Mine,” he panted, his sweat dripping onto my skin. “Maddie... you’re... mine.”

He flipped me over, pushing my face into the leather-bound books. I felt the cool paper against my cheek as he took me from behind, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew there would be bruises by morning. He was relentless, a force of nature that refused to let me breathe.

The world narrowed down to the sound of our skin slapping together, the scent of sex and old parchment, and the agonizing climb toward the peak. When it hit, it was like a silver bullet to the brain. My vision went white, my muscles seizing as I came so hard I thought my heart would stop.

He followed seconds later, a jagged, raw howl breaking from his throat as he filled me, his body shaking with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of me, his heavy weight pinning me to the table. We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock and our shattered breathing.

Finally, he shifted, pulling out with a wet sound that made me shiver. He stood up, adjusting his clothes as if we’d just been discussing pack politics. I stayed on the table, my limbs trembling, my skin stinging from the friction.

He reached down, picking up a fallen book and placing it neatly back on the shelf. Then, he leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Round two is at my place, Cruz. Don't be late.”

He walked out without looking back, leaving the door ajar. I sat up, my legs shaking so badly I had to hold onto the table to keep from sliding off. My dress was ruined, my hair a bird's nest, and my soul was officially in trouble.

Then, I heard a gasp from the doorway.

I looked up. Standing there, her face pale and her eyes wide with horror, was Serena.

“Maddie?” she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor where my torn lace lay.

Behind her, the shadows moved. A tall figure stepped into the light. It wasn't Harrison. It was Oliver Kensington, and he was holding a camera.

“Well, well,” Oliver drawled, a nasty smirk playing on his lips. “Wait until the High Council sees what the Cruz heiress does in her spare time.”