The Alpha's Secret Mate

Ashbourne Calls The town sign read: Welcome to Ashbourne – Population 782. Liana Rivers stared at the rusted letters through the car window, the paint peeling like scabs on old skin. The Uber rolled slowly up a gravel road lined with pines so tall and tight they blocked out the fading light. A shiver worked its way down her spine as the trees seemed to lean in, whispering secrets she couldn’t hear. “End of the road,” the driver grunted, slowing to a stop outside an old iron gate. Liana blinked. Beyond the gate sat a cabin half-swallowed by the forest. Vines crawled up the stone chimney, the roof sagged in the middle like it had exhaled its last breath, and one shutter swung lazily in the breeze. “This is it?” she asked, even though she already knew. The man didn't answer. He stared straight ahead, knuckles tight around the wheel. He hadn’t said more than a few words since they passed the last gas station—two hours and a lifetime ago. She wondered if he was afraid of this place too. Liana popped the door open and stepped into the chilled mountain air. The scent hit her first—wet pine, old wood, and something sharper beneath it. Something wild. Not unpleasant, but potent. Like the air knew something she didn’t. She paid the driver, thanked him, and before she could blink, his tires spun up gravel and he was gone, swallowed by the trees. Alone. Her phone showed zero bars. Perfect. With a sigh, she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and pushed open the creaking gate. It groaned like it hadn’t been touched in years. She crunched up the weed-choked path, boots slipping on moss and roots, until she stood in front of the ancient wooden door. The key—left to her in a brittle envelope with a lawyer’s stamp—fit surprisingly well. The lock clicked open, and the door swung in with a hollow sigh. Inside, the air was thick with dust and silence. She stepped into the cabin, heart thudding harder than it should. Her boots hit the floor with muffled thumps. The place looked untouched—cobwebs stretched between ceiling beams, a fireplace full of cold ash, and a small couch buried under a faded quilt. On the far wall, a bookshelf sagged under the weight of old, musty tomes. It smelled like memories she didn’t want to find. Her mother never talked about Ashbourne. Just that it was “a mistake.” A place to forget. Liana only learned about the cabin after the funeral, when the lawyer handed her the key with a quiet, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” She didn’t. She dumped her duffel near the fireplace and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. A picture hung crooked on the wall. She moved to straighten it—then froze. It was of a man she’d never seen before. Tall. Dark-haired. Eyes like shadow. And standing beside him, her mother. Younger. Happier. Wrapped in his arms. Liana’s stomach clenched. Why didn’t she ever tell me about him? A sudden snap echoed outside, like a twig breaking underfoot. She whipped around, heart leaping. Nothing. She moved to the window, pulled aside the dusty curtain. Still nothing—but the forest looked thicker somehow. Closer. Like it had crept in while she wasn’t looking. Another crack. Closer. Liana’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled around the window frame. A shape moved between the trees—too large for an animal, too quick for a person. She blinked. Gone. She yanked the curtain closed and backed away. Get it together, Rivers. You’re tired. Grieving. Haunted. Not hunted. She turned back to the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The silence was too loud. The air too still. That night, she lay curled on the moth-eaten couch, wrapped in the dusty quilt, eyes fixed on the shadows dancing across the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. Not because of the cold. Not because of the howling she swore she heard around midnight. But because something inside her stirred. Something she couldn’t name. Something that felt… awake. Morning came slow. Gray light filtered through the cabin’s grimy windows, casting long shadows across the floorboards. Liana sat up on the couch, hair a tangled mess, her body stiff from a night of broken sleep. She hadn’t dreamed. Or maybe she had, but couldn’t remember past the strange sensation still humming in her bones. She showered quickly—thankfully the plumbing still worked, though the water took forever to warm up—and pulled on a pair of black jeans, boots, and a thick hoodie. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, slapped on some tinted lip balm, and told herself she wasn’t scared. Just… cautious. She grabbed her phone—still no signal—and shoved it into her pocket before heading out. Ashbourne was walking distance, just a mile down the gravel road. Trees arched above her, letting in thin slices of light. Birds chirped here and there, but the forest still felt too quiet, like it was listening. She reached the town square just after 10 a.m. A handful of small shops sat nestled around a circular road—post office, diner, general store. Rustic charm oozed from every crack, like something out of a storybook that forgot to be cute. People stared. Not subtly either. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. A mother pulled her child closer as Liana passed. A man by the hardware store tracked her with narrowed eyes. Okay. Definitely not creepy at all. Liana straightened her spine and walked into the general store. A bell jingled overhead. Inside, the air smelled like sawdust and dried herbs. “Morning,” a woman greeted from behind the counter. Late forties. Warm smile, cool eyes. “You’re new.” “Is it that obvious?” Liana smiled tightly. The woman chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Need anything in particular?” “Groceries. Just moved into the old Rivers place.” The smile faded. “You’re Mara’s girl.” Liana blinked. “You knew my mother?” The woman hesitated. “Everyone did.” Before Liana could ask what that meant, the door swung open behind her with a gust of cold air and quiet dread. Liana turned—and her breath caught. He stepped inside like he owned the world. Or maybe like he hated it and was daring it to fight him. Tall. Broad. Dressed in black jeans and a henley that clung to every carved inch of muscle. A leather jacket hung off his shoulders like it belonged there. But it was his eyes—sharp, gold-flecked, and far too intelligent—that pinned her in place. And then— The scent. It hit her like heat and hunger rolled into one. Smoky, wild, earthy. Her knees weakened. Her chest tightened. He paused, eyes locking with hers. And something cracked inside her. Like lightning in her veins. Like gravity had shifted. He felt it too—she could tell. His jaw tightened. His pupils dilated. He took a step toward her. The woman behind the counter spoke, voice tight. “Alpha Riy.” Alpha. Liana’s pulse skipped. Wait. Alpha? Like… pack leader? Riy didn’t break eye contact. “She’s not from here.” It wasn’t a question. “No,” Liana said, voice steady despite the chaos in her bloodstream. “I’m not.” He stared at her, unreadable. Then said, “You shouldn’t be.”