Chapter 3 - A DIFFERENT ENCOUNTER

Nalani’s POV

I knelt in the backyard garden, my fingers buried deep in the cool, dark soil around my mother’s prized flowers. The late-afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting golden patches across the petals. I was lost in the simple rhythm of tending them when a sharp buzz jolted from the pocket of my baggy brown pants. The vibration startled me so badly that I lost my balance and toppled backward from my squat, landing hard on the damp grass. Mud smeared across my palms and the seat of my pants in an instant.

“Yes?” I barked into the phone the moment I answered.

“Calm down, Stormy. Who pissed you off now?” Smith’s voice rolled through the speaker, thick with amusement. I could picture the crooked grin spreading across his face, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners.

I sighed, already dreading the laundry ahead. “What do you want?”

“Are you coming to the event tonight?”

I blinked. “What event?”

“You seriously don’t know?” He let out a soft laugh. “And don’t you dare raise that brow at me.”

I forced my expression neutral even though he couldn’t see it. “Just tell me already. What event?”

“The Alpha’s Summit. Formal gathering for high-ranked wolves to mingle with warriors. Warriors get to network, make connections before the tournament kicks off. It’s important.”

“Oh.” I glanced down at my mud-streaked clothes and the dirt under my nails. “I don’t have a gown for something that fancy. Thanks anyway, bye.”

“Nalani, don’t even start.” His tone flattened, all teasing gone in an instant. “This is a real opportunity. Gowns aren’t the problem. Be here in thirty minutes.”

The line went dead before I could argue.

I stared at the phone screen in disbelief, then let out a long, resigned breath. He was right, as usual.

 Smith had been the only one who truly believed in me. He saw past the temper, the stubborn streak and the nickname “Stormy” that followed me everywhere. He pushed me harder than anyone else, trained me longer, believed in my potential when no one else did. If he said this mattered, it mattered.

I brushed as much dirt off my pants as I could and headed inside to get ready.

Thirty-five minutes later I knocked on the door of Smith’s apartment. He lived alone in a sleek, modern space that always carried the faint trace of whatever perfume the latest woman had worn. The moment I stepped inside, unmistakable sounds drifted from the kitchen: low growls, breathy moans, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. He wasn’t alone.

I dropped onto the couch, flicked on the television, and cranked the volume to drown out the noise. After what felt like an eternity, a petite woman with short, spiky hair emerged from the hallway, completely naked. The sharp scent of sex clung to her like smoke. She glanced at me, smirked, and sauntered out the front door without a single word.

Smith followed a moment later, still nude, eyes lingering on her retreating backside. He stretched lazily, completely unselfconscious, before finally acknowledging my presence.

“Really?” I snapped. “You told me thirty minutes. You could’ve just said an hour.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “She was persuasive.”

I grabbed a throw pillow from the armrest and hurled it at him. He sidestepped easily, laughing.

“Come on,” he said, still chuckling as he jerked his head toward the hallway. “You’re not going in that gown you showed up in…I mean it's cute for a garden day, but you are definitely not walking into the Alpha’s Summit looking like you’re about to plant roses. Come with me.”

I raised an eyebrow but trailed after him, curious. He opened a door at the end of the corridor and flicked on the light, revealing a surprisingly large walk-in closet. Racks lined both sides, neatly organized with garments still in protective plastic or hanging tags. Dresses, suits, tailored shirts, evening gowns, some still bearing discreet designer labels.

I let out a low whistle. “Okay, when did you become a fashion hoarder?”

Smith grinned, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Perks of the side hustle. I do photography on the weekends, mostly editorial shoots for a couple of high-end brands. They gift me pieces sometimes. Male and female stuff. Keeps the closet interesting.”

I stepped inside, running my fingers over silk and satin. “You never told me you were basically a celebrity stylist now.”

“Not quite,” he said modestly. “But it means I’ve got options. Pick whatever you want. No pressure.”

My eyes landed on a soft pastel pink gown… elegant, off-the-shoulder, fitted through the bodice with a gentle flare at the hips. It looked feminine yet strong, the kind of dress that would catch the light without screaming for attention. I pulled it off the rack and held it up to myself in front of the full-length mirror on the opposite wall.

“What do you think of this one?” I asked, turning to face him. I gave a slow twirl so the fabric caught the light, the pale pink shimmering softly like dawn on water.

Smith’s expression shifted from casual to openly impressed. He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied me.

Mouth open. He stared for a long beat, then crossed the room and spun me.

“Vous êtes d’une beauté éblouissante, ma dame,” he murmured in flawless French, lifting my hand to kiss the back of it with exaggerated gallantry.

I laughed despite myself. “Okay, enough. You’re ridiculous.”

Damn, Stormy,” he said quietly. “That’s the one. It brings out the warmth in your skin and makes your eyes look like they’re glowing. You look… powerful. Like you belong on that red carpet.”

I glanced back at my reflection, surprised at how right it felt. The gown hugged my curves without being restrictive, the color soft but striking against my red hair.

“You sure?” I asked, smoothing my hands down the sides. “It’s not too… delicate for me?”

He shook his head firmly. “It’s perfect. Delicate on the outside, deadly on the inside—just like you. Trust me. Now go change before I start taking test shots.”

I laughed and headed into the attached bathroom to slip it on, heart beating a little faster with anticipation.

Outside, the event had a full red-carpet setup: flashing lights, velvet ropes, a long line of gleaming vehicles. Smith flashed his dazzling smile at the cameras, the one that always made women melt, and I forced my own chin high, even as nerves twisted in my stomach.

Inside, the hall took my breath away. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across polished marble floors. Flowers spilled from tall vases in dramatic cascades of crimson and white. The air thrummed with power: dozens of high-ranked Alphas and their betas mingling, their combined auras pressing against my skin like invisible weight.

I wondered if I would see him tonight, the Alpha from the training hall. The one whose touch still lingered on my skin like a brand, whose golden eyes had burned into mine in that changing room.

“Stormy,” Smith said, steering me toward a small group of men. “Let me introduce you to the Beta of Halestone pack.”

Greg was tall and broad, with a handshake like iron. He held my hand a second too long. “You must be the feisty little warrior who sparred with a Gold Moon Alpha. Word travels fast.” His eyes raked over me slowly. “You’re not what I imagined, though.”

I pulled my hand free, ignoring Smith’s subtle warning glance. “And what did you expect?”

“Someone fiercer. And less beautiful.”

I pasted on a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Appearances can be deceiving.” I excused myself before I said something that would earn me trouble with a Beta.

I needed a drink. Something strong.

The small bar at the side of the hall was cozy, dimly lit, and mercifully quiet. I slid onto a stool. “Vodka. Neat.”

The bartender winked and started mixing. I downed the first glass in one go, the burn steadying my nerves. My mind drifted back to the Alpha, Caspian. I’d asked Smith about him, but he only knew the basics: Gold Moon lineage, powerful, rarely seen at events like this.

I ordered another. Then another. The vodka burned clean and steady down my throat, loosening the knot in my chest. The hall was packed now, voices blending into a low, constant roar around me. I was definitely getting tipsy, the edges of the room had gone soft, the lights a little brighter but I still had to appear on stage later. Warriors would be introduced one by one, and I refused to stumble up there looking like I couldn’t hold my liquor.

“Stormy, where have you been?” Smith appeared suddenly at my side, breathless, his eyes scanning me like he’d been searching the entire hall. “I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s almost time. Go to the back and change into combat gear—now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed my elbow gently but firmly and steered me toward the large side room, pushing me through the doorway before disappearing back into the crowd.

Several warriors were already changing. I scanned the rack of outfits and spotted a crisp white set with a black stripe running from knee to neck: sleek, flexible, perfect. I reached for it.

A hand snatched it away.

I turned. Sheila stood there, smirking.

“Can I help you?” I crossed my arms. “I took that already.”

“Turns out I want it.” She tossed another outfit at me. “You can have this one.”

I caught it on reflex. Green: crop top and tight trousers. The color clashed horribly with my red hair. The fit was too snug, too revealing, more like clubwear than warrior gear.

I glanced back at the rack. Everything else was either too big or too small. This was the only one in my size.

Something felt off.

But the announcer’s voice echoed through the hall. Time to go.

I changed quickly, tugging at the hem in vain. The crop top barely skimmed my ribs; the trousers clung like a second skin. I looked ridiculous. Exposed. Slutty.

“For the highlight of the evening,” the host boomed as we filed onto the stage, “let’s welcome the warriors participating in this year’s tournament!”

Applause thundered. I kept my chin up, scanning the crowd.

The host introduced us one by one. When my name was called, cheers erupted, louder than I expected. I caught Sheila’s smug smile from the side of the stage. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

She’d planned something. I knew it. But what…?

“And now,” the host continued, voice dropping dramatically, “this year we’re shaking things up. Alpha Kieran, Goldmoon Alpha of Ashwood pack has requested a special sparring demonstration with one of our warriors. But there’s a twist: he will only spar with any warrior wearing green.”

The hall went silent.

Every head turned toward me.

I was the only one in green.

Sheila’s smirk widened.

My heart slammed against my ribs. She’d known. Somehow she’d known exactly what he’d request and made sure I ended up in this color.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the warriors cleared the stage, leaving me alone under the lights.

Alpha Kieran strode out: tall, broad-shouldered, blue eyes locked on me like a predator. He took my hand in both of his, raised it to his lips, and kissed my knuckles.

The crowd gasped.

A high-ranked Alpha kissing a warrior’s hand, a low-rank, was unheard of. No one dared question it.

My wolf purred, traitorously pleased. I silenced her instantly.

This was a setup. He was cocky, arrogant, probably a womanizer. The way he looked at me, like I was already his, made my skin prickle.

But I’d sparred with an Alpha once. I could hold my own again… I hope.

I gripped my katana with both hands, jaw clenched, forcing myself to ignore the way the too-tight green outfit dug into my skin and the frantic pounding of my heart.

The air between us crackled, thick and electric. Every eye in the hall was locked on the stage.

Alpha Kieran drew his short blades in one smooth motion. Steel flashed under the lights.

The crowd held its breath.

He moved.

I reacted on instinct.

The fight was over almost before it began. He was too strong… overwhelmingly so. I threw everything I had into it: speed, grit, every ounce of training Smith had drilled into me. I refused to fold easily. I refused to give Sheila the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

But he was relentless. Controlled. Unmatched. His power pressed against me like a tidal wave, forcing me back step by step, breath by ragged breath. I fought until my arms trembled and my lungs burned, but it wasn’t enough.

When it ended, blades locked, my body shaking, the crowd roaring, I was still on my feet. Bruised. Exhausted. Defeated in strength, but not broken.

My eyes snapped back to the present.

I stood in front of the playback screen in the back room, the recording paused on the final clash. Smith stood beside me, arms crossed, studying the frozen frame of the match.

He paused the recording and pointed to the screen, his finger tracing the frozen moment where Kieran’s blade had forced me back.

“He came at you with raw strength and overpowered you here,” he said, voice calm but firm. “You dropped your guard for just a split second. That’s all it took.”

He advanced the footage frame by frame, highlighting two more spots where my stance had wavered, where hesitation had cost me precious ground.

“And here… and here,” he added, tapping the screen. “You were fighting smart, but those tiny lapses gave him openings.”

I stared at the images, jaw tight, the ache of the match still lingering in my muscles.

“I can’t let that happen again,” I muttered, the words half promise, half vow.

Smith nodded, about to reply, when the door to the back room slid open with a soft hiss.

Speak of the devil.

Alpha Kieran stepped inside.

The air shifted instantly—his presence filling the space like a storm rolling in. My stomach flipped, remembering how it felt when he’d pinned me: his body heat, his strength, the way I’d struggled and failed to break free. He moved with that same effortless confidence, eyes finding me immediately., still radiating that effortless power..

“You held your own out there,” he said, voice low and smooth. It sent shivers racing down my spine.

He held out a black business card. “I’d like to discuss a potential opportunity with you.”

I took it, careful not to touch his fingers.

“But let’s be real,” he continued, a sly smile curving his lips. “I’m not just looking for a warrior. I’m looking for someone who can keep up with me in every way.”

I snorted. “So a warrior and fuck-buddy combo. Got it.”

His eyebrow lifted, eyes glinting with amusement ignoring what I had muttered. “And I have a feeling you might be the one.”

My eyes narrowed. Part of me, the ambitious part, wanted exactly this: to serve a Gold Moon Alpha, to rise through the ranks. But I wanted to earn it. Not be handed it because of how I looked in tight green clothes.

“I’ll consider it,” I said, voice husky despite myself. “And I’ll call when I decide, Alpha.”

He smiled, knowing, predatory, let his gaze linger on the outfit one last time, then turned and walked out.

I watched him go, unable to look away.

I flipped the card over. Black, pristine. A crescent moon embossed in the center.

I’d seen that shape before.

But where?

I was too tired to think.

I slipped the card into my pocket and turned to Smith. “I’m heading home.”

He raised an eyebrow, the look on his face saying everything he didn’t voice: What was all that about? The business card. The lingering gaze. The offer that felt like more than just a job.

I ignored it. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t have the energy left to explain something I didn’t understand myself.

“Get some rest, Stormy,” he said quietly, voice softer than usual. “You fought like hell out there. That’s what matters.”

I managed a small, tired smile. “Thanks. For everything.”

He nodded once, and I walked out without looking back.

The night air hit me as I stepped outside… cool, clean, carrying the faint scent of rain and distant pine. The city lights blurred at the edges of my vision, or maybe that was just exhaustion settling in. My heels clicked against the pavement, steady even though my legs felt like lead.