Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the Alpha King

LA

gn

cold, slice throu

els like it's been snapped and reset incorrectly. A deep, grinding ache radi

It's a physical thing, a fist clenching

to ge

powerful, intoxicating mix of cedar and cold winter air, clings to my skin, to the sheets, to the very air I'm breathing. It's an inva

ower lip, the sting of i

uch the pl

mmediatel

I scramble, grabbing for the clothes scattered like fallen leaves around the b

flection in the mir

n burns in my stomach, hot and acidic. This wasn't the plan. The pla

om door cl

s frame. Graham Rogers. His gray eyes, cold as a winter storm, sweep over me, taking in my pathetic, crumpled form on his

tinct is to run, but his gaze pins me in place. I try to muster a look of indif

esn't

step is silent, predatory. I scramble backward, my back

uch me. He do

ee table between us. The papers inside spill out, t

tion. "For one year. You'll be my personal assistant. Ava

to the paper

tails everything, from a non-disclosure agreement that carries a penalty of financial ruin to a clause sta

se, to spit the word "n

command layered beneath his casual tone. It settles over my shoulders like a physical weight, press

o holds the fate of every wolf in this city in

. I force it down, swallowing the lump of despair in my throat. My hand s

is a spidery,

the page, the pressure li

ction, maybe-crosses his face,

turning dismissive. He turns his back on me and walk

r. There's no

ofessional suit I'd stashed in my bag for my 'plan'. It feels like a lifetime ago. I quickly change, the crisp fabric a welcome armor. I layer co

vy suite door witho

ainst the cold wallpaper, and drag in a deep, shuddering breath. The tears I refused to shed for him now b

rs close, I catch one last glimpse of the suite's interior-t

eet, near the foot of the bed,

oo

kly, my face burning. Don't think ab

mbers, counting down floor by floor, as if each one p

doe