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After fifteen years in the human world, I finally returned to my biological werewolf pack. My father and stepmother thought I was just a pathetic, wolfless orphan returning in cheap clothes to beg for their charity. The moment I arrived, they banished me to a damp, moldy servant's room. My half-sisters openly mocked my appearance and eagerly plotted to publicly humiliate my inability to shift at the upcoming full moon hunt. My stepmother, Georgiana, even held my hand with fake tears, probing to see if I remembered how she had abandoned me in the freezing rain fifteen years ago. They treated me like absolute dirt, entirely confident that they could easily crush me and control me for their own amusement. Did they really think I was still that helpless little girl? Did they honestly believe I survived fifteen years of exile just to come back and be their victim all over again? At the family dinner, my sister tried to shame me in front of everyone. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of Chanel, have you, sister?" I didn't shed a single tear or show a hint of anger. I calmly pulled out a priceless antique compass gifted by my adoptive family, the billionaire Beaumonts. Then, I placed my Cambridge degree and my elite analyst contract with the supernatural world's most feared intelligence agency, Aegis, right on the dining table. Watching my abusive family's faces twist from arrogant mockery to utter, trembling terror, I smiled. My revenge had officially begun.
Contents
The Alpha King's Hidden Wolfless Mate Chapter 1
Emmie Blackwell POV:
The newspaper felt flimsy in my hands. I kept my face hidden behind the crinkling pages, my eyes scanning the bustling street corner over the top edge.
Fifteen years in the human world had thinned my senses. Here, the air was thick, a chaotic soup of werewolf pheromones, exhaust fumes, and fried food.
A man in a courier's uniform broke from the flow of the crowd, his steps purposeful. Evan Foster.
He placed a nondescript cardboard package next to my untouched coffee.
"Mr. Silas wishes you well," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.
Then he was gone, melting back into the river of people as if he'd never been there.
My fingers trembled slightly as I slid the package onto my lap, beneath the table. I carefully tore open one end. Inside, nestled in foam, was a brass compass.
I slipped the compass into my worn leather backpack, stood up, and tossed a few bills onto the table.
I merged with the crowd, letting its momentum carry me toward the edge of the city. My focus narrowed to the path ahead.
A sharp squeal of tires sliced through the din.
My head snapped to the side. A rusty red pickup truck had jumped the curb. It was hurtling down the sidewalk, directly toward a little boy standing frozen in its path, his eyes wide with terror.
There was no time to think.
My body moved on its own, a primal instinct I didn't know I possessed. I shoved through the scattering people, a single thought screaming in my mind: get to him.
I reached him in two long strides, my hand shoving his small back hard. He tumbled out of the way, onto a patch of grass.
The momentum carried me forward, my balance gone. I stumbled, crashed headfirst into something solid.
A wall of muscle.
A hand clamped around my upper arm to steady me, and where his skin touched mine, a jolt of pure electricity arced through my veins.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and looked up.
He was huge, towering over me, his shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. His eyes, a startling shade of golden-brown, were narrowed, fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs. But as he took in my scent, his expression shifted. The fury was still there, but now it was mixed with something else.
His grip on my arm tightened, his fingers like steel bands.
"Let go of me!" My voice was a shaky whisper, but my eyes held his, defiant.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.
His eyes flickered past me, toward the spot where the boy had been. I followed his gaze. The boy was gone. But just for a second, I saw him, at the mouth of a dark alleyway down the street.
He was smiling. A strange, knowing, adult smile. Then he vanished into the shadows.
The man's face turned to ice. He thought I was with him.
He hooked an arm around my waist, lifted me off my feet as if I weighed nothing, and threw me over his shoulder.
"Put me down! Are you insane?" I shrieked, hammering my fists against the hard planes of his back.
My backpack slipped from my shoulder and hit the pavement with a heavy thud. My compass, my key on the dirty sidewalk.
He didn't even glance back.
He strode toward the alley where the "boy" had disappeared. People gasped and scrambled out of his way, their faces a blur of shock and fear.
A wave of pure despair washed over me. My plan, fifteen years in the making, was ruined before it had even truly begun, all because of one stupid, heroic impulse.
As I struggled, a thin silver chain slipped out from the collar of my shirt. The locket my adoptive parents had given me swung free, glinting in the afternoon light.
The man's head tilted slightly, his gaze catching the flash of silver. But his focus was on the alley. He was hunting.
And I was the bait he'd just caught.
He plunged into the darkness of the narrow passage, the city sounds instantly muffled. He spun around and slammed me against the cold, damp brick wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me again.
He didn't release me. He pinned me there with his body, one forearm pressed hard against my collarbones, his face just inches from mine. His golden eyes bore into mine, cold and demanding. "What did you steal?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
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