THE WRONG KIND OF ALPHA

"THE MOST TERRIFYING THING ABOUT FIRE IS NOT THAT IT BURNS. IT'S THAT PART OF YOU ALWAYS WANTS TO SEE HOW CLOSE YOU CAN GET." 

STELLA

The rain hammered against the tall windows like it wanted inside. I kept my breathing shallow, trying to match the rhythm of the storm so nothing about me stood out. The room was deliberately dark, only the low fire in the hearth and the occasional flash of lightning gave any shape to the furniture. Good. He couldn’t see my face clearly. He wasn’t supposed to.

Derek’s scent hit me first, whiskey and something darker, like smoke and pine. Alpha. The real thing. My stomach twisted with fear and something I refused to name.

He was already waiting in the high-backed chair by the fire, legs spread, one hand loosely holding a glass. I felt his eyes on me the second I stepped inside. Valentina’s silk robe clung to my skin, too delicate, too expensive. I wasn’t her. I was just the girl who needed money for her mother’s next round of treatments, the girl who had agreed to this nightmare.

“Come here,” he said, voice low and rough. No greeting. No softness. Just command.

I moved before my brain could scream at me to run. My bare feet were silent on the rug. When I got close enough, his hand shot out and caught my wrist, tugging me down onto his lap in one smooth motion. My thighs straddled his, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric. I flinched as his palm settled on my lower back—right over a bruise I’d gotten hauling crates at the warehouse yesterday. The sharp sting made me suck in a quiet breath.

His grip tightened. “Something wrong tonight?”

I shook my head, keeping my face turned slightly away. I couldn’t speak. One sentence in my real voice and this would be over. Prison or worse waited if he found out I wasn’t his promised Luna.

Derek’s other hand slid up my thigh, pushing the robe aside. His fingers were calloused, possessive. He squeezed, hard enough that I knew I’d have fresh marks tomorrow. “You feel… different.” The words rumbled against my chest. He leaned in, nose brushing my neck, inhaling. “So different but the same, you decide to switch things up a bit for me right baby?”

I stayed silent, heart slamming so hard I was sure he could feel it. My body betrayed me anyway—heat pooling low despite the terror. His lap was solid beneath me, already hard, and the way he rocked me against him once, slow and deliberate, dragged a tiny, choked sound from my throat before I could stop it.

He stilled. Then chuckled, dark and surprised. “That’s new. Valentina doesn’t make pretty noises like that.”

Shut up. Don’t react. Survive.

His hand moved higher, cupping my breast through the silk, thumb brushing over my nipple until it tightened. I bit the inside of my cheek hard. Another flinch when his fingers found another sore spot on my ribs. Work bruises. Cheap labor bruises. Nothing like the flawless skin Valentina hid under her clothes. 

“Flinching now?” His voice dropped lower. He sounded intrigued. Dangerous. “What’s got you so sensitive tonight, hmm?” I tried to stay still, but he gripped my jaw, forcing my face toward his. Not hard enough to bruise—yet—but enough to remind me who held the power. In the firelight his eyes were shadowed, predatory. He studied me like he was peeling back layers. I kept my gaze lowered, lips pressed tight. 

He kissed me then. No warmup. Just raw hunger, tongue pushing past my lips like he owned the air in my lungs. I tasted whiskey. Felt the scrape of his stubble. My hands fisted in his shirt before I could stop them. He groaned into my mouth at the small reaction, hips rolling up against me. “Fuck, you’re responsive tonight,” he muttered against my lips. “Finally decided to stop pretending?”

I whimpered—actually whimpered—when he bit my lower lip and tugged. The sound seemed to flip a switch in him. Suddenly his hands were everywhere, rough and demanding. He shoved the robe off my shoulders, letting it pool at my waist. Cool air kissed my skin, then his hot mouth followed, sucking hard on my neck, my collarbone. I arched without meaning to, grinding down on the thick ridge in his pants. Shame burned my cheeks. Fear clawed at my throat. And underneath it all, unwanted heat kept building.

He stood up, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Two strides and my back hit the silk sheets of the massive bed. The mattress dipped as he followed, caging me in. Lightning flashed, illuminating the hard lines of his face for a split second—sharp jaw, dark eyes locked on me like I was prey that had suddenly become interesting.

He stripped the rest of the robe away. Then his shirt. The sight of his bare chest—broad, scarred, powerful, made my breath catch. Werewolf Alpha. Built to dominate. Derek hooked my legs over his arms, spreading me open. His fingers traced down my stomach, lower, finding me already wet. He made a low, satisfied sound. “Soaking for me. That’s new too.” Two thick fingers pushed inside without warning, curling deep. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the moan that tried to escape.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Don’t,” he growled, pulling my hand away and pinning it above my head. “I want to hear it. I like this version of you better.”

He worked his fingers faster, thumb circling my clit with merciless precision. My hips bucked. Tears pricked my eyes from the intensity—fear and pleasure twisting together until I couldn’t tell which was which. Every time I tried to stay quiet, he’d do something—curl his fingers just right, bite my breast, squeeze my throat lightly—and another broken sound would slip out.

He liked it. Too much.

By the time he freed himself from his pants, I was trembling. He was big. Intimidating. He rubbed the thick head against my entrance, teasing, watching my face in the dark.

“Tell me you want it,” he said.

I couldn’t. I just nodded frantically, terrified he’d push for words. He didn’t wait long. One powerful thrust and he buried himself to the hilt. The stretch burned in the best-worst way. I cried out, back bowing off the bed. Derek cursed, hips snapping forward again, setting a brutal pace. The sound of skin on skin mixed with the rain. Silk sheets twisted in my fists. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so he could bite along my throat.

“ tighter… hotter…” he grunted between thrusts. “What the fuck changed, Valentina?”

I was falling apart. Every stroke dragged me closer to an edge I didn’t want to fall over, not like this, not with him. But my body didn’t care. It clenched around him, greedy and traitorous. He felt it and laughed low, grinding deeper.

“That’s it. Give it to me.”

My orgasm hit like a storm breaking. I shook, thighs quivering, a strangled moan tearing from my throat. Derek didn’t slow. If anything, he got rougher, chasing his own release with single-minded intensity. His grip on my hips would leave fingerprints. He drove into me so deep I saw stars, then stiffened, spilling inside me with a guttural groan. For a moment, the only sounds were our ragged breathing and the rain.

He stayed buried inside me, forehead pressed to mine. His hand came up, surprisingly gentle for a second, brushing damp hair from my face. Then his fingers traced my jaw, my lips, like he was memorizing something new.

I froze.

His body tensed above me. The gentle touch vanished. He gripped my chin hard, tilting my face toward the faint firelight.

“Who are you?” I heard him muttered lightly as exhaustion took over me and all I could see was black.