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The Masked Alpha's Secret Contract Bride

Elisha Plasket

5.0

Werewolf

20 Chapters

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I was born wolfless, a fragile bottom-feeder who gave everything to my fiancé. Then I caught him tangled in our apartment bed with my coworker. To drown the humiliation, I dragged a masked pit fighter into a hotel room, leaving him a thousand dollars as hush money before fleeing. But my ex wasn't done. He and his new pregnant fiancée used their pack status to get me fired from my only job. Without my paycheck, I couldn't afford the ICU bills for my grandmother, whose heart was failing from silver poisoning. With no options left, I stood in the freezing rain for ten hours, begging the pack's untouchable billionaire Healer to save her life. When the VIP doors finally opened, I froze in absolute shock. The Supreme Alpha looking down at me was the same masked fighter I had paid off like a cheap street walker. Why was the most powerful man in the pack fighting in underground pits? And why did he look at me with such a dangerous, predatory gaze? "Sign your name, or walk out that door and buy a coffin." He didn't demand an apology for the insult. Instead, he slapped a marriage contract on his mahogany desk. To save my grandmother, I picked up the cold pen and signed my freedom over to the devil.

The Masked Alpha's Secret Contract Bride Chapter 1

Emilie Holland POV:

I snapped my dry eyes open and gasped for air as a brutal hangover pounded against my temples.

When I tried to push myself up, a deep ache in my lower back dropped me right back onto the soft mattress, making the bed dip beside me.

I froze and turned my head slowly. Through the dim light of the black-market hotel room, a tall, broad-shouldered man lay sleeping with his back to me.

Wild sweat tracks marked his muscular back. Even in sleep, he gave off a heavy, suffocating pressure that made low-ranking werewolves tremble on instinct.

My stomach churned violently as last night's nightmare flashed through my mind-my fiancé Tristan Hayes and my coworker Chloe Sinclair tangled together on my apartment bed. Trapped at the bottom of the pack hierarchy as a humble intern at Federal Media, I had given Tristan everything, only to be betrayed in my own home.

To drown out that humiliation, I had gotten wasted at an underground bar and reckless enough to drag a random Rogue Striker from the fighting pits into a hotel room.

Swallowing the bile in my throat, I carefully lifted the corner of the blanket. The second my bare feet touched the freezing floor, my legs gave out.

I caught the nightstand to steady myself. My gaze landed on the cheap leather jacket tossed over the sofa, and on the battered, blood-stained silver half-mask that was still strapped across the man's face.

I couldn't let him wake up. In werewolf society, genetics determined everything from birth. I was born wolfless-a genetic defect with no Inner Wolf, no ability to shift, and zero combat power. A fragile bottom-feeder like me stood no chance against a violent, packless pit fighter.

Hands shaking, I dug my torn dress out from the mess on the floor and pulled it over my head.

The zipper caught at my waist. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I yanked it hard. With a sharp rip, the fabric barely closed.

I opened my handbag and pulled out ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. That was my rent money, now reduced to hush money for a reckless one-night stand.

I shoved the thousand dollars under his mask, right alongside a handful of pungent wolf-repellent herbs I always carried to mask my weak scent.

Without even stopping to put on my heels, I grabbed my shoes and bolted out of the room like a thief.

I sprinted down the hallway and into the damp back alley, my chest heaving until I finally tumbled into the backseat of a beat-up taxi.

The driver eyed my messy hair through the rearview mirror. I quickly turned my head and hid my face in the shadows.

"Take me to Saint Moon Werewolf Medical Center," I rasped. In the chaos of last night, I wasn't sure if I had touched that forbidden silver mask.

For our kind, silver was the only fatal weakness. Even for a wolfless girl like me, silver toxicity would burn through my veins and kill me. I needed a blood purity screening immediately.

An hour later, I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the medical center. Harsh disinfectant instantly washed away the herbal smell in my nose.

I hunched my shoulders and walked to the self-service kiosk, keeping my head down so I wouldn't offend any high-ranking wolves passing by.

The screen flashed an expensive fee for an urgent screening. Staring at my pathetic bank balance, I bit my lower lip hard and selected the cheapest standard ticket.

Upstairs in the crowded second-floor waiting area, I sank into a cold plastic chair. All I could think about was my grandmother, Martha, lying in the ICU on life support. If silver poison took me down, no one would be left to pay her massive medical bills.

I rubbed my temples, walked over to the water cooler in the corner, and chugged a full cup of ice water to calm my racing heart. The freezing liquid slid down my throat, yet the old silver burn scar on the back of my neck still throbbed with a dull ache.

"Emilie Holland, Room 3 for blood draw," an automated female voice called over the intercom.

I crushed the paper cup, tossed it into the bin, and pushed open the half-closed door of Room 3. A wave of freezing, terrifying pressure hit me right in the face.

Demian Malone POV:

I woke in the black-market hotel room the next morning with the taste of her still on my tongue and an empty bed beside me.

I turned my head slowly. The sheets were rumpled where she had lain, but the room was empty-no note, no clothes left behind, nothing but the faint ghost of her scent and the sound of the dripping bathroom tap.

My gaze swept over the mattress and landed on my mask-beneath it sat a crumpled stack of bills and a handful of pungent wolf-repellent herbs, laid out like a tip left for a whore.

I sat up slowly, my blood going cold before it went hot. A thousand dollars.

One thousand dollars. That reckless woman had actually treated the Supreme Alpha of the Silver Peak Pack and billionaire CEO like a cheap street walker she could pay off with pocket change.

Inside my head, my giant Dire Wolf roared in fury, Mine! Tear her apart! Sharp claws burst from my fingertips and pierced my palm. My Alpha healing ability closed the wound in seconds, but the rage in my chest kept boiling.

I stood in the VIP corridor on the second floor of my medical center a few hours later, rolling a metal lighter stained with pungent herbs between my fingers.

Suddenly, a faint, sweet scent of white peaches cut through the heavy disinfectant and hit my nose.

My heart clenched hard, and my blood turned to fire. Every sense in my body screamed in recognition, filling the hollow ache in my soul. It was her scent from last night.

I spun around, my cold silver-gray wolf eyes locking onto the door of Room 3 at the end of the hall, and strode toward my prey.