THE ALPHA QUEEN THEY TRIED TO BREAK

Flynn’s POV

The sounds of laughter and heavy bass from the bar bleed faintly through the walls as the hotel room door clicks shut behind my sister, Celine. The muffled noise fades, leaving behind an unsettling quiet. I sit alone in a room that’s too neat, too unfamiliar, too far from home.

Why did I ever listen to Celine’s suggestion to come here. To have a party before my wedding.

“Oh gosh!”

In Celine’s words, I’ll be fine. She swore the drinks I’d had were just reacting badly with my system, and that a little rest would fix me. But it isn’t just dizziness I feel now. It’s something else entirely. A warmth that creeps beneath my skin. A hot, aching need curling in my stomach and spreading lower, throbbing in places I shouldn’t be feeling anything tonight.

“God, no — no, Flynn. You’re getting married in three days.” I run a trembling hand through my hair, tugging lightly at the strands like it might yank some sense back into me. But it doesn’t. The hunger remains. It’s primal, insistent.

I glance around the room, searching for distraction. I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. Never had reason to leave the pack lands until now. The room is larger than I expected, dressed in calming tones of lavender and pale cream. Lavender flowers in delicate glass vases line the dresser, filling the air with their heady, soothing scent, though right now it only seems to deepen my restlessness. The curtains — sheer, white, and featherlight — billow slightly in the night breeze from the open window, revealing glimpses of a starlit sky.

I sink down onto the bed, the cotton blanket soft beneath my palm, half-folded to reveal crisp white sheets with delicate green embroidery. It smells like fresh linen and something clean and expensive I can’t name.

I check the clock again.

“Where is she?” Celine had promised she wouldn’t be long. Just a quick trip to get water, maybe some aspirin, and come right back. My voice barely registers, a whispered rasp. “Why isn’t she back yet?”

The world tilts again, the room swimming out of focus, and that hot, needy ache pulses stronger. I close my eyes for a moment, willing the sensation to pass. It doesn’t.

A soft click at the door.

“Celine?” My voice cracks on her name as I glance up, expecting to see Celine’s slender figure and exasperated smile. But the silhouette is different. Broader. Male. A pretty male.

He has to be an angel clearly not human cause how can one be this handsome. My gaze still on him although my vision still blurred but enough to make out the sharp angle of his jaw, the firm set of his mouth, and those piercing blue eyes with his well groomed hair; a demigod. Even in my haze, I notice the scent of him — clean sweat, expensive cologne, and something purely male. It sinks into my senses like a drug.

I hate to say this but Ronan isn't a match.

“I—” a deep, unfamiliar voice begins.

Before I can finish my question or even process what’s happening, my legs betray me. My knees buckle, and I stumble forward, only to fall into the arms of the stranger now standing in my room.

His touch ignites a spark beneath my skin, the contact making my pulse race. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, charged with something electric and dangerous.

“Get off him, Flynn. Now!” The voice in my head is sharp, urgent. But my body refuses to listen.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, his voice deep and rough, laced with alcohol and something darker.

“I should be asking you the same,” I murmur, the words slipping out in a tone I barely recognize, flirtatious. My fingers, without my permission, slide up his chest. Hard muscle, warm and solid beneath my touch. His heartbeat thuds against my palm, steady and strong.

I lean into him, craving the feel of his arms around me, aching for the illusion of safety his strength offers.

“Please… kiss me,” I whisper, my voice thick with need.

For a beat, neither of us moves. The world holds its breath as our eyes lock, his pupils darkening. His gaze drops to my mouth.

“You want me to kiss you?” he repeats, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that coils around my spine.

A war wages inside me. “Stop this, Flynn. You don’t even know his name.” But the words dissolve, the heat in my veins drowning out reason.

He tilts my chin, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. The simple touch sends a shiver down my entire body. And then, without waiting for another word, his mouth crashes against mine.

His lips are warm, firm, tasting faintly of whiskey and sin. Our tongues meet, twisting in a desperate, uncoordinated dance of hunger. His hands roam over my back, up my sides, claiming every inch of me. Every touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

I feel like I’m unraveling, my body no longer my own, every nerve ending attuned to him. The world outside this room ceases to exist.

“Oh God,” I gasp against his mouth as he lifts me effortlessly off the floor, his hands gripping my thighs as if he’s afraid I might vanish.

“Damn! You’re beautiful, woman,” he growls, before laying me down on the bed like I’m something precious and fragile — even though the heat between us says otherwise.

His weight settles over me, his mouth exploring my neck, tasting my skin. I arch beneath him, my own hands greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate for more.

Clothes become a hindrance, our fumbling, passion-intensed movements stripping them away. As my soft black dress falls to the ground, the cool air kisses my bare skin. A total constrast to the heat of his touch.

“What are you doing?” A small, desperate voice inside me pleads, but it’s lost in the chaos of the moment, and under the governing of the drinks in our system.

“Damn,” he mutters as his gaze rakes over me, raw desire etched on his face.

I feel like I’m on fire. Every inch of me burns, aches for him, for release, for oblivion.

And just before reason can claw its way back, his mouth finds mine again, and I am lost.

Completely, utterly lost.