Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

   “Maxton had always known his curse would change his life, but he never expected it to begin with his mother’s blood on the floor.”

“He’s into you, I promise,” Maxton told his friend.

“Are you sure? ’Cause he really doesn’t look like he likes me,” his friend said, worry etched on her face, though her eyes still gleamed with hope.

“Believe me, he does. Just push his buttons a little, he’ll be happy. He doesn’t know how to express himself, that’s all,” Maxton replied.

At twenty-three, Maxton carried a secret—an ability to share people’s emotions and glimpse into their memories. A year ago, during his birthday celebration, he had collapsed . Three months in a coma, and when he woke, he wasn’t the same. No doctor could explain what had happened. But Maxton knew. He could feel the emotions of others as if they were his own.

At first, it terrified him. He didn’t dare tell anyone, not even his mother. But every full moon he would dream of running through the woods, always with a shadow behind him, a dog or maybe a wolf keeping pace. Along with the dream came searing pain that left him breathless. He never understood it, but somehow his mother always seemed to know how to help.

He never knew his father. His mother told him he died in a car accident, that he had loved Maxton deeply until his last breath. The strange gift

 or curse, was something he couldn’t trace. When he asked his mother, she would only say:

“My dear child, never feel ashamed. It’s a gift. You are special.”

And she was always there, helping him through the worst of it.

Over time, Maxton learned to adapt. But he was never prepared for the shock of emotions that slammed into him whenever he brushed against strangers, perverts, liars, teens drowning in hormones, even killers. He carried it all, even when he didn’t want to.

Eventually, he confided in his closest friend, Gladys. She had a crush on their supervisor, and she begged him to test his gift on the man.

“Wish me luck,” she whispered before rushing off to the supervisor’s office.

“Good luck, girl,” Maxton chuckled, shaking his head.

A few hours later she returned, flushed and glowing. The second she hugged him, he felt her emotions burst like fireworks—lust, excitement, love. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

“Girl, you’re a pervert! Your hormones are ready to devour that poor man. You’re not giving him a chance to say no, are you?”

“He asked me out! Tonight! Can you believe it?” she squealed, over the moon.

“Then go get ready. Ask him to pick you up—I’ll handle your work for tonight,” Maxton said, genuinely happy for her.

“But Max, we need to talk. About… your...” Her tone grew worried.

“Saturday. My place. Right now, you’ve got a date to plan.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “Saturday it is.”

He pushed her playfully toward the door. Both of them worked at a law firm—Gladys as a clerk, Maxton as personal assistant to the public attorney. Tonight, he was just glad to give her a moment of happiness.

Hours later, his phone buzzed. His mother had called. He rang her back.

“Hey, Mom.”

“We ran out of apples and veggies. Can you get them on your way back?” she asked, her voice warm as ever.

“I’ll be late, but I’ll get them. What are you making?”

“Chicken broth. But don’t bother with the apples this time. Just the veggies.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned as she chuckled and hung up.

By the time Maxton finished work, it was late. Exhausted, he left the office, wished the security man goodnight, and caught the last bus. Careful not to brush against anyone, he slumped into a seat by the window and closed his eyes, replaying the day’s events.

“Not a bad one,” he murmured.

When the bus reached his stop, he bought apples anyway before heading home. At the cashier’s counter, one accidental touch sent a flash through him—the man had just had a quickie with his boss. Maxton smirked. Way to go, dude.

Taking the shortcut through a narrow alley, he sensed it immediately. The air grew heavy. Tense. And then—blood.

He smell blood.

He brushed past a group of men in black jackets and dark glasses. The emotions pouring off them made his chest tighten, it was wicked, murderous, blind loyalty. His stomach dropped.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered quickly, but he knew better. The blood smell clung to them.

And then, dread seized him. The smell was stronger the closer he got to home.

His heart hammered. He ran. Faster. Faster.

When he reached the pavement, the front door was ajar.

“No… no, no, no…”

He burst inside—and froze.

Blood. Everywhere.

“Mom!”

He found her on the floor, gasping for breath, pressing her hand against the wound in her stomach.

She had been shot.

Maxton fell to his knees beside her, his voice breaking.

“Mom!”