Chapter 1

I swear, all I wanted was to make some easy money off my breast milk.

But how come? After feeding the little one, they want me to feed the big one too?

I stood in the Alpha's study, staring at the pack Healer, who looked way too excited, and at Alpha Roman himself, who sat behind his desk rubbing his temples like this conversation was physically hurting him.

The Healer cleared her throat.

"Miss Johnson, the little heir accepts your milk not just because you're human. We ran your blood work. You most likely carry white wolf bloodline. Your milk has natural healing properties."

She glanced at the Alpha. Then back at me.

"Alpha Roman has been struck with heat toxin. There is no known cure. But your milk could detox him. He says if you agree to help, he'll raise your salary to a hundred thousand dollars. A month."

"Even if I wanted to," I said, spreading my hands, "I don't produce enough milk for a grown man. Look at him. He's huge."

"That's not a problem," the Healer said cheerfully. "I'll share a method with you. To boost your supply."

My phone buzzed. She'd texted me a list.

How to increase your milk supply:

1. Eat more protein.

2. Exercise.

3. Let your partner massage your breasts. Stimulate the nipples?

4. Have really good sex, and reach your climax more often???

I stared at number four so hard I completely missed the last thing the Healer said out loud.

Something about how the milk only works fresh.

Something about how it has to be taken... directly from the source.

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It all started two weeks ago.

I found out my husband had a gambling problem. And by "problem" I mean he'd emptied our savings, maxed out three credit cards, sold our apartment out from under me. And, as a final loving touch, canceled my health insurance to free up cash for poker night.

I filed for divorce the same day.

So there I was. Twenty-eight, freshly divorced, and completely broke.

To keep a roof over my head, I signed up as a paid volunteer at a medical research lab. Free room, free meals, cash at the end of the trial. The trial was for a new drug that helps mothers who can't produce milk. Postpartum women only.

I told them I gave birth four weeks ago.

Look. Judge me all you want. Homeless people can't afford morals.

But here's the thing nobody warned me about: the drug worked. It worked insanely well. I had never been pregnant in my life, and from the first dose, my body started making milk like crazy.

The doctors were thrilled. Best results in the whole trial. They also mentioned, very casually, that my body would keep producing for about a year before it stopped on its own.

A year. And since my breasts now swelled up painfully every few hours, demanding to be emptied on their schedule instead of mine, finding a normal job became impossible.

Then one night, right when I was running out of hope, I scrolled past a job listing:

WANTED: Wet nurse for newborn. Live-in position. Private estate. $10,000/month.

Honestly, it sounded like a scam. Like the beginning of a true crime documentary.

But the notice taped to my door said the trial ended tomorrow. Between a shady ad and sleeping on the street, I chose the ad.

They sent a helicopter for me.

Apparently Griffin Manor sits in a valley with no roads in. The only way to reach it is by air.

We flew over endless dark pine forest, then the trees broke open, and there it was. A stone manor the size of a small castle, sitting in a green valley with a silver lake behind it. Gardens. Fountains. A garage that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood.

Whoever these people were, they were the kind of rich that doesn't have a number anymore.

The baby I was hired to feed was named Henry. Henry was adorable. Chubby cheeks, a sweet temper, and a pair of huge, deep blue eyes.

He also had a very, very hot father.

The man stood six foot six at the very least. Up close, his shadow swallowed you whole. The first time I looked directly at his face, I forgot what I was doing there. A chiseled jaw, shadowed with stubble. Deep blue eyes, exactly like Henry's.

He wore a beige linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms were thick and veined, dusted with dark hair, flexing as he gently bounced the baby. A burp cloth hung over one shoulder, and the shirt underneath probably cost more than a year of my rent. Henry had already spat milk all down the front of it. He didn't seem to care at all.

There was one more strange thing. Everyone living on this estate called him... Alpha.

At first I took it for some odd tradition of an old rich family. It didn't take me long to learn the real reason.

Every single person in this manor was a werewolf.

Once he realized I had figured it out, Alpha Roman called me to his study.

I went in fully prepared to be murdered, or eaten, or both. Instead, he poured me tea with his giant hands, sat me down in a soft chair, and told me the truth.

"We're werewolves, Miss Johnson. This valley has been my pack's home for three hundred years. We want peace. We don't hurt humans. We never have."

He held my eyes, steady and calm. "You're free to leave. The helicopter will take you back today if you want, with full pay. But I hope you'll stay. For Henry."

His voice turned gentle on his son's name.

"Maybe that's why Henry is so attached to you," he added quietly. "His mother was human."

"Was?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Where is she?"

"She's gone." He paused. "An accident."

His brows pulled together. I couldn't read what was underneath. Grief, or guilt, or something darker. He didn't offer more, and I didn't dare ask.

"I'll raise your pay to twenty thousand if you stay," he said. "For your kindness. And your courage."

I did some quick math. One year here, and I could buy back the apartment my ex had signed away, and start my life over for real.

And honestly? Werewolf or not, with a view like that man walking around the manor... I wasn't exactly suffering.

So I stayed.

"Everyone out."

Alpha Roman's low voice snapped me out of my memories. The Healer bowed and hurried out of the study. I slipped out right behind her.

Back in the nursery, Henry was asleep.

But maybe he caught my scent, because his eyes fluttered open, bright and instantly awake, and both little arms reached up for me as he whimpered and rooted toward my chest like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Okay, okay, greedy boy." I laughed and unbuttoned my blouse.

He latched on with a contented sigh and settled into a steady, greedy rhythm.

Then the door swung open behind me.

I jumped and spun around, and my bare breast swung with the motion, on full display for the man standing in the doorway.

"Oh." Alpha Roman turned away so fast his shoulder cracked against the doorframe. "Excuse me."

I waited until Henry had drunk his fill and drifted off, milk-drunk and smacking his little lips, then settled him in the crib and fixed my clothes.

"You can turn around now," I said. "What do you need?"

He said he came to apologize for the Healer's unreasonable request.

Up close, he was overwhelming. I had to tilt my head all the way back to look at him. Lamplight cut across his cheekbones, and his deep blue eyes were darker than usual, almost black, with something restless moving underneath.

"Do you know what heat toxin means," he said, and his hand closed around my arm as if he didn't notice himself doing it, "for a werewolf?"

I shook my head. The nursery smelled faintly of milk, warm and sweet.

He seemed... hot. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that, but also literally overheated. He tugged at his tie like it was strangling him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was close enough now that I could see a vein pulsing on the side of his neck.

"Your scent..." His voice dropped. His gaze slid down and locked, shamelessly, hungrily, on my chest.

I looked down too.

And that's when I saw it. Beneath his perfectly tailored beige slacks, an enormous, unmistakable tent.

He bent forward at the waist immediately, ears flaming, like a high schooler caught doing something he shouldn't.

"I apologize," he said stiffly. "Werewolves are... more sensitive to scent than humans."

My heart was slamming against my ribs. My brain, in a heroic effort to save the moment, chose that exact second to say:

"I mean, you guys are kinda related to dogs, aren't you?"

Ice water poured down my spine.

Seriously, Cathy? He's an Alpha. An apex predator among apex predators. And you just insulted his entire bloodline, to his face, in his own house?

He froze for a beat.

Then he burst out laughing.

The laugh was deep, rough, and warm, and it shook his whole massive frame. His teeth flashed white, and the smile lit up that cool, shadowed face of his like a window thrown open. When he finally looked at me again, something amber-gold flickered in those bottomless blue eyes.

"Well," he said, voice still husky with laughter. "Lucky for you, Miss Johnson... dogs are people persons."