She Belongs to Me

Tyler POV

When I first saw the young female looking like absolute hell on the streets of Wolfden, I didn’t think anything of her. 

She sported a nasty bruise on her face, and there was a haunted gleam in her wide eyes, like she’d seen a ghost of her past and was doing her best to deny it. Hood up, shoulders hunched, she could easily have been mistaken for one of the many druggies that slunk down alleys of these parts.

My guys and I? We went for fun. For escapism. No drugs, no alcohol—just a place to get away from our controlling families.

I was twenty-five, and yet I was acting like an unruly teenager who didn’t want to be told what to do.

And that was fun. Giving my dad the middle finger was my favorite part of the day.

Sleeping with women. Barhopping. Doing parkour in Wolfden’s abandoned parks.

Maybe not in that order. Sometimes.

But just doing shit that made us feel like we were living.

Connor was daring me to flirt with an old lady in the late-night cafe across the street when fate shoulder-checked me.

I admit I treated her like shit.

She didn’t deserve it.

But I felt like shit that night and didn’t want to give anyone the light of day.

Watching her trip into the fountain made regret coil in my gut. She didn’t deserve a scoff, and she definitely didn’t deserve to get fired because of me.

I wasn’t that shitty of a person to leave her surrounded by wolves—literally.

Even if she was rogue-branded.

“Watch where you’re going, omega,” I had said coldly.

“I-I’m not an omega,” she had stammered back.

It hadn’t occurred to me she’d be a rogue instead of just an unranked wolf. Rogues had no pack, therefore no loyalty. They were threats; challengers, rule-breakers—criminals. They had no place among packs as long as their bad reputation persisted.

It didn’t matter why she had been branded onto her forehead or by whom. It only mattered that she was branded, and that called for the cruelest of judgments.

It was a miracle she was even hired by that dickhead Raul. 

Now it was my fault I got her fired.

On top of it all, I didn’t feel the mate bond until she was yanked out of the fountain.

That was why I saved her.

Stephanie.

She was my mate.

I didn’t know her last name, she had no idea who I was, and now I had no idea what to do with a weepy female in a body suit in the parking lot of a bar with a bad reputation.

They were getting a one-star review from me.

One star: bunny outfits sexy but not on theme. Lets employees trip into water fountain. Manager is a d!ckhed. U suck. Won’t come back. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked if she wanted to die here. I only meant that if I hadn’t gotten her out of there, one of those narrow-minded bastards back there might have seriously hurt her.

Maybe I should’ve just shown my backbone by repeating what my wolf blurted out:

You deserve more.

Steph eyed me like I would toss her a handbomb at any second. Well, she clearly had trust issues. Somehow, I knew she didn’t get that bruised face bruise by accident. Rogues rarely had good home lives.

My wolf, however, practically purred at any shred of attention from her. He wanted us to get even closer than we already were—and that was barely two feet.

She—Stephanie, my fucking mate—smelled like treated water, a gross mix of chlorine and a hint of old pennies. But…

But under that, and growing stronger the more I breathed her in… warmth. Stephanie smelled like oranges and fresh mountain air. 

Every Sunday, Mom made my dad and me walk through the forest near the mountainside. After that, I’d be rewarded with oranges she bought from the farmer’s market.

They were scents of comfort, of calm.

Of home.

That’s what they said a mate was supposed to be, to feel. 

Home.

How the hell was I supposed to see this as home?

She was red-eyed with tears and chlorine, dripping pond water, half-dressed, branded with a rogue mark. She probably wanted a male to settle down with, have pups, and spend her days knitting sweaters.

I was not that male. I had no tethers. I was a one-night-stand, no-strings-attached kind of wolf. 

And I had no intention of changing my type from petite brunettes with brown eyes.

I sighed heavily, refraining from rolling my eyes. “I’m not going to drive you to my house just to murder you. I’m not a serial killer.”

“No, but you’re a wolf.”

“So are you,” I said, arching a brow. 

“Yes,” she whispered, taking another step back. My wolf bristled in discontent. “But I’m just a…”

“Rogue.”

“Mm-hm.”

Her lower lip wobbled. I knew another round of tears were coming up. Hell no.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Whoever did that”—I jerked my chin at her combined bruise and rogue mark—“I’m not that kind of wolf. Come to my house. I’ve got a shower and some of my mom’s old clothes.”

Steph just blinked, still unsure. “You can just… take me home.”

My wolf growled, and even I felt defensiveness make my skin prickle. Every fiber in my body screamed, No.

“No,” I told her. “You’re coming with me where I can protect you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then she closed it. At least she had enough sense to not refuse something good—something better.

I pulled my keys from my pocket, hitting the unlock button. Behind her, the luxury sportscar rumbled to life. 

She gasped sharply. Maybe she was impressed—maybe it was fear. Either way, she was goins to slide that half-exposed ass into the leather seats.

“Come on,” I urged, gently nudging her toward it. “I’ll get your shit.”

“But how—”

“I’ll figure it out.”

I opened the passenger door with an act of chivalry, waiting until she was settled in. On the short walk to the driver’s side, I texted Connor.

Get that rogue’s keys and wallet and whatever. Rough up that asshole manager if you have to.

I slid into the driver’s seat. Steph, unexpectedly, was fiddling with the controls to get the heat blasting on her wet hair.

“Uh, what are you doing to my car?” I demanded, cranking the radio volume way up when she turned it way down.

She glared at me, and her nose scrunched. Even in the dim light, I could make out a smattering of dark freckles. “It’s too late to be blasting music.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

I growled, ready with a response, but my wolf stopped me.

Too mean.

So I just scowled instead, putting the volume halfway. I turned up the heat, adjusting the vents to land on her where they would dry her best. I felt her eyes—those wide, eyelash-framed hazel pools of emotion—watch my every move. It felt like being watched with a laser.

Blessedly, the drive home wasn’t far. But it felt like it.

We barely spoke.

She made herself as small as pathetically possible, knees to her chest, cheek on her knee, hair covering half her mottled face—damp bangs attempting to cover her forehead mark.

It made me angry.

At the next red light, I snapped, “What are you, a pillbug?”

Her eyes flashed. “Excuse me?”

“You’re curled up all pitiful! You’re a wolf, damnit! Whether you’re my mate or not, I fucking hate insecurity. Fucking own yourself.”

The spark of challenge in her glare softened to something I couldn’t pin down—gratitude, maybe? “You… really think we are? I mean, my wolf…”

I snorted, though I was glad it didn’t sound derisive as the light turned green. “My wolf says it’s as undeniable as the sky is blue, and the sun rises in the east.”

Steph laughed softly, barely a breath but real. “My wolf agrees. She’d sooner believe the sun sets in the east.”

“Well, that’s that, then.”

“Yeah. Yes, I suppose so.”

The conversation fell off, but Steph unfurled herself. It was slow, but she did it.

And then I was pulling into the paved driveway, and her jaw dropped. 

“This… this is your house?” She gaped, leaning forward to see how big the Alpha’s house was. “You have a circle driveway?!”

I parked the car in front of the double entry doors. “Yep. Fancy as hell.”

Her brows knitted again at the apathy in my voice, but I didn’t linger on it. I got out and opened her door like a butler. 

Thank fuck the staff had left hours ago.

Steph climbed out, immediately making herself small again as she followed me up the steps to the double doors. I tapped the code into the pad; when I heard the inner workings of the locking system, I pushed both open. 

Everything was dark. Dad had gone to bed. Even if he was up and heard, he wouldn’t bother checking up. I’d come home in the ungodly hours with a female plenty of times.

Steph whispered, “Wow,” as I closed and locked the doors, looking around like she’d entered an ancient castle.

“Passed through the generations,” I said. “Come on, the bathroom’s upstairs.”

We made it halfway up before she gasped softly. I twisted to look at her.

And hated that my heart skipped a beat at the wide-eyed wonder in her eyes.

“I’m Stephanie, by the way. Stephanie Channer.”

The corner of my mouth tugged into a smirk. She had no idea.

“I’m Tyler,” I said, letting it hang just enough for her to be confused. Then I dropped it, smooth as a knife through butter. “Tyler Rogers. Future Alpha of the Crescent Ridge pack.”