The ALPHA DON’S UNMATED BRIDE

    “People like us don't get fated mates, we inherit curses, and marry enemies dressed as husbands.”—Sh.

Rivera. 

I could barely hear myself think as Nonna’s voice bounced off the marble walls of our estate, her temper tearing through the house like a loaded gun.

This was my rebellious stage. Or so she claimed after her daily debrief with Mama, who had the emotional range that was all over the place.

“You need to stop acting so immature!” she snapped, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at me from across the foyer. “Because staying out late in this family is how girls end up dead or worse.”

All I’d done was stay an hour after my music class spending a tinsy bit of  time with Nicklai, but they didn’t have to know that. But Good heavens from the way  my brother Rico had looked at me when I walked in, you'd think I’d burned down a pack temple.

“You know you’re not supposed to go anywhere  without informing Rico and Sean,” My mama hissed. “It’s dangerous out there alone. Imagine what your Papa will do when he finds you were not at your music lessons.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache.

Rico and Sean were technically my brother and cousin respectively. Realistically? My personal bodyguards.

“Papa won’t find out Mama.” I drawled.

Nonna’s face twisted like.

“You better pray to the Moon he doesn’t find out. Or you can kiss those violin lessons goodbye.”

My spine straightened and my lips clamped shut.

Because that was the only threat I ever  took seriously.

 “The Rosta coast is already reeking of hungry wolves with vendettas against this family. Don’t make keeping you alive harder than it already is.”

I sighed but didn’t argue.

“Now, get dressed.” She barked. “We are having dinner with the Morozovs tonight and this time you’re driving with us.”

The Morozov were the wolf of the Frostfang and our history's long neighboring rivals. How ironic that papa handed over one of his daughters just to have a hand in one of their areas.  

Hours later, after a long drive of Mama’s ranting we reached the Frostfang borders. The secretions between both our neighboring towns were like military zones impossible to pass by without strict orders but since this was an alliance we passed by freely. 

The Morozov house was everything you’d expect, powerful, dark. I could already feel my brother tense just from being here. No one liked the idea of papa trading off Rhea but there was nothing that could be done. 

But deep down, I wanted it. It was the only possible way things could change—and my three-year hidden relationship with the Morozov youngest son could finally see the light of day.

Or so I let myself believe.

The black gates of the Frostfang estate creaked open like the jaws of a beast, and there he was.

Nicklai.

He stood beside the entrance like he owned the frost beneath his feet. All black—slacks, button-down rolled to the elbows, sleeves hugging lean muscle, a silver pistol hanging just openly enough to be noticed.

His eyes didn’t even glance at me. Just a curt nod to my father and muttered, “Welcome.”

My stomach dropped.

Three years of stolen kisses, whispers in the dark, and reckless dreams of someday and it still hurt that we had to pretend in front of everyone else.

Sean, right behind me, made a sound between a grunt and a scoff as he looked around. “A marriage alliance and the bastard groom isn’t even here.”

I elbowed him hard. Subtlety was not his strength.

Nicklai must have heard him, but if it bothered him, he didn’t show it. His mouth twitched like he wanted to speak but couldn’t be bothered.

“He’s not home,” he said, voice low and detached. “But you’re free to wait. He’ll be back soon.”

Papa gave a nod, diplomatic as always. “We’ll wait.”

We took our seats round the table where all members of both our families sat. Papa and the boys yapped on about politics meanwhile Rhea stayed unnervingly quiet through it all.

Not that we were ever close. We hadn’t shared a room or a secret since we were teens. And yet, today, her silence felt louder. She looked somewhat depressed. Who wouldn’t be? After all, she was about to marry a man none of us had really seen in years

 I couldn’t help but feel bad for her but no one could go against papa’s words.

The moment I looked away, Nicklai was nowhere to be found. 

“Excuse me, “ I swallowed, drawing the attention of Zorah Morozov who sat opposite me, scrolling through her phone like she had no business being here. 

She looked up.

“I need to use the restroom.” 

She pointed with a lacquered nail. “Second floor, down the hall. Left side. Just don’t go wandering.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

I returned it with one just as fake. “Of course not.”

The minute I got to the landing, I glanced around — quiet. No guards. No Frostfang in sight.

I walked quickly, the house was like a maze if I was being honest. At the corner of a dead end was a door to a balcony, slightly ajar. I walked in. I could already smell the cigarette. I walked in.

I rolled my eyes. “I know we have to pretend Nick but don’t you think that was a little too much—“

My mouth fell the moment I saw who was actually standing there. Sleeves rolled up, cigarettes balanced between two fingers like it belonged there. He didn’t even look up, didn’t need to. Broad shoulders under a black suit, staring up at the moon.

Smoke curled lazily from his mouth as he stared out at the treetops, like the entire pack wasn’t downstairs awaiting his presence.

I’d never seen him up close. Not really.

He was a ghost in headlines, but Zayen Morozov — Alpha, Don, heir of the frost-kissed North. Papa had always warned us to stay away from. 

But now?

He was real. And tall. And fucking dangerous.

His eyes lifted slowly, settling on me. A cold flick of attention like I had just interrupted his smoke break.

“I thought you were someone else,” I said, instantly wishing I’d said nothing.

He said nothing.

Just took a drag, let the smoke bleed through his lips, and looked back at the skyline like I hadn’t spoken.

Rude.

“I was… looking for the bathroom,” I said softly, gripping the hem of my dress.

A beat of silence.

Then his lips curled, not into a smile but something close to it. Mocking.

“It’s not out here,” he said.

“No,” I whispered. “I suppose not.”

“If your bathroom is my coward brother, I suggest you do better. And your secret sneaky relationship needs effort.”