Fake Heiress, Real Princess: Six Alpha Spoil Me

Chloe's POV

The rain was relentless, soaking the Los Angeles dirt until the air around the Shadow Woods smelled like wet mud and rotting leaves.

This was the twelfth hour of the winter storm.

My black tactical bag hit the mud hard, landing just outside the Frostclaw Pack's boundary stones.

"Alpha Morris is done smelling you, Chloe. Even a whiff of your scent makes him want to gag."

The speaker was Andy, a beta with shifty, cold eyes.

He was intentionally flaring his aura, letting out those aggressive beta pheromones that pricked at my skin like needles through the rain.

"The real Alpha's daughter, Rita Marshall, is finally home," Andy sneered. "As for you—your real parents were just some white-trash nobodies from rural Oregon. Do yourself a favor and get some self-respect. Don't even think about contacting us again."

He flicked a sleek, black titanium card at me. "Ten grand. Alpha Morris says consider this your severance for being kicked out."

I didn't even look at the card. I just leaned over and hoisted my bag.

Andy wrinkled his nose in disgust and took a step back like I was a walking plague.

According to pack law, I had to perform the "rejecting" before I could leave.

I stood tall and took a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand. Then, I tilted my head back and let out a low, gut-wrenching howl.

The mournful sound cut through the rain, echoing deep into the heart of the forest.

In that moment, I felt the faint, psychic tether to the pack—the "Pack Link"—snap. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest where my connection to the hive used to be. It hurt so much my fingers trembled.

"Now beat it," Andy spat.

I turned and walked away without looking back.

I'd arrived with nothing, and I was leaving with nothing but a black bag.

Up on the boundary watchtower, the guards were snickering.

"Finally, the trash took itself out. She smelled like a dying stray anyway."

"Tell me about it. Dead weight like her just drags the whole pack's stats down."

I ignored them, popping a sprig of wolfsbane into my mouth and chewing slowly. The cool, numbing flavor helped drown out the nauseating scent of the beasts behind me.

The Frostclaws thought I was useless?

Fine. They'd find out soon enough exactly what they'd just thrown away.

I didn't head for the sticks. Once the rain let up, I cut through Echo Park and headed back to my real home—a weathered block tucked away in the shadows of the city.

The air here was a messy blend of exhaust, old newspapers, and cheap coffee.

It was a human neighborhood. People here were too busy surviving to notice the supernatural world.

I pulled up in my beat-up pickup. Ben, sitting in his rocking chair on the porch, raised his mug to me. "You look like you've lost weight, Chloe."

"Just took a long trip, Ben," I said with a light smile.

Ben used to be a "fixer" for the local outfits. Even in retirement, the sharp glint in his old eyes was enough to scare off any low-level thugs.

"Glad you're back, kid. My damn old injury would've finished me off if you'd stayed away any longer. I ran out of that salve you mixed up."

"Me too, Chloe! I can't sleep worth a damn without that incense."

My neighbors were a colorful bunch: retired Special Forces, former intel spooks.

I liked it here. The noise of the city was a lot easier to handle than the power struggles of a pack.

"Meeting at the plaza tomorrow afternoon," I told them. "I'll get everyone's meds squared away."

Jordan, the building manager, ran over and handed me a set of keys. "Kept an eye on the place for you, Ms. Middleton. Didn't let a single squatter get near the door."

"Thanks, Jordan." I handed him a pack of high-end cigars I'd picked up.

He took them with a wide grin. "No trouble at all! You staying for good this time? These old-timers are a handful without you around."

"Yeah," I said, taking the keys. "I'm staying."

I waited until Jordan's footsteps faded down the hall before I pulled out a rusted, skeleton key.

The wooden door was just a decoy.

Once I turned the lock, a sleek LCD screen slid out from beneath the peeling paint.

"Biometrics detected. Enable iris scan?"

"Yes."

A thin blue light swept across my eyes.

"Welcome home, Ms. Middleton."

The alloy door slid open silently, and clinical white lights flooded the room.

I grabbed a cold soda from the fridge, but before I could take a sip, my phone buzzed with an urgent electronic chirp.

"Chloe, time to pick up a contract! The money is calling..."

I swiped the screen. "Talk to me."

"Boss, I've got a job in LA. You in?" My contact's voice was buzzing. "A billionaire in D.C. is looking for his missing granddaughter. Word is the trail leads straight to Los Angeles. Payout is enough to buy three mansions in Beverly Hills."

"Not interested," I said. "I don't do 'missing persons' cases. Don't bore me."

"Wait! Don't hang up!" his voice dropped. "There's another one—a national bounty posted by the Darkstar pack."

I stopped tapping the side of the bottle. "Go on."

"The Darkstars is going ballistic looking for someone. They've put up a ten-million-dollar bounty just to get the 'Hidden Healer' to show their face. Even the person who gives the tip gets a massive cut."

Darkstar. One of the oldest and most lethal packs in the country.

I paused. "Send me the details."

A second later, the file hit my phone: Darkstar Pack hosting a gala at Caesars Palace. Seeking a healer for a high-ranking family member.

The medical description was only one line: "Alpha Lorenzo. Wolf-soul depletion. Chronic condition."

In a race of creatures with freakish healing abilities, "depletion" usually meant a death sentence.

I looked out at the flickering neon lights of the LA skyline. "Tell them I'm in."