The Alpha's Unexpected Mate

1

Another year of this. Another year of this soul-sucking, bone-crushing torment. Senior year was supposed to be this grand crescendo, the sparkling c****x of our teenage lives. College dreams, tight-knit friendships, maybe even a few wild parties that people whispered about for years. But not for me. For me, it was just survival. Another year of ducking Heather’s cruel gaze, of praying the bruises wouldn’t bloom so dark this time. Another year of walking on eggshells, hoping against hope that maybe—just maybe—I could slip through unnoticed. But hope—that sneaky little traitor—always seemed to backstab me.

Last year, I spent two weeks in the hospital. Two. Weeks.

“Why are you still here, you useless girl?” Sister Erica’s voice cut through the fog in my brain, sharp as a slap. I startled, knocking my glasses off the counter. Her face was a permanent scowl, like the world had wronged her in every conceivable way and I was somehow the scapegoat.

“I’m leaving now,” I mumbled, fumbling for the glasses, the metal frames cold and familiar against my fingertips. My backpack was heavier than usual today, stuffed with soggy papers and broken dreams, but I slung it over my shoulder anyway. The sooner I left the orphanage, the better. I had spent my whole life in its gray, suffocating walls. I didn’t want to die here. There had to be more to life than this cursed town, this cursed existence.

Outside, the sky was a bruise, swollen and dark. By the time I shoved open the heavy iron doors, the rain had already started. Tiny droplets turned into angry bullets within seconds.

“Of course,” I muttered, yanking my hoodie over my head. It wasn’t much of a shield, but it was all I had. Last time I stole an umbrella from Sister Agnes’s room, I wasn’t allowed to eat supper for a month. And breakfast? Ha. That had never been an option. Sister Erica hated finding me in the kitchen. Said I was greedy. Said I didn’t deserve to take up so much space. Whatever that meant.

The bus didn’t even bother with our street. I had to walk to school, cutting through the forest—a shortcut that saved me twenty minutes but earned me Ranger Jack’s eternal wrath. “Stay out of the woods,” he always barked. “It’s dangerous!” But I’d take my chances with the trees over the alternative: being late and becoming Heather’s morning entertainment.

The rain seeped through my sneakers, squelching with every step. By the time I reached the school parking lot, the bell was already screaming its shrill warning. I broke into a run, slipping on wet asphalt, my lungs burning as I reached the classroom door.

“Sorry I’m late,” I gasped, dripping onto the linoleum like some pathetic stray dog. Mrs. Gomez peered over her glasses at me, her mouth pinched in disapproval.

“Take a seat, Miss Clarke,” she said, her voice sharp enough to carve marble. She turned back to the blackboard, where a complicated equation sprawled like a foreign language.

I slid into the nearest chair, trying to disappear. Heather’s flaming red hair caught my eye instantly. Front row, center stage, like a queen surveying her kingdom. She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into a slow, venomous smile. Then she leaned toward one of her minions, whispering something that sent them both into muffled giggles. My stomach twisted.

Here we go.

Heather wasn’t just mean. She was a master artist, painting cruelty with broad, unapologetic strokes. In middle school, she had taken scissors to my hair during lunch. The teachers had to shave my head because of the damage. She was almost expelled for that one. Almost. Her father had stormed into the principal’s office, throwing his weight around until Heather got away with nothing more than a fake apology. “I’m so sorry, Aria,” she had said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. And that was just the beginning.

The bell rang again, and I bolted for the door, weaving through the crowded hallway. My goal was simple: stay invisible. If Heather couldn’t see me, she couldn’t hurt me. But the universe had other plans.

“Hey, Aria,” a voice called. My heart stuttered. Eva. She was walking toward me, her dark curls bouncing as she moved. For a split second, I thought—maybe—things could go back to the way they were. Back before Heather poisoned everything. Back before Adam.

“Hi,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper. But Eva didn’t stop. She brushed past me without meeting my eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. My chest ached with the familiar sting of rejection.

Eva and I used to be inseparable. She was the sister I never had, the one bright spot in my otherwise gray life. And then Adam happened. Adam, with his stupid smile and his stupid charm. He had confessed his feelings for me sophomore year, and everything fell apart. Eva was furious, convinced I had betrayed her, that I had somehow stolen Adam’s affection. But I didn’t want him. I never did. It didn’t matter. Heather got to Eva first, spinning her web of lies until Eva believed every word. And Adam? He played along, dating Eva while treating me like I was invisible.

By lunch, I was starving. My stomach growled as I passed the cafeteria, but I kept walking. I didn’t have the energy to face Heather and her posse. Instead, I found an empty classroom and sat on the floor, pulling a granola bar from my backpack. It was stale, but I ate it anyway, savoring every crumb. Mr. Edwards—my favorite teacher—used to sneak me extra breakfast packs on Wednesdays. He said I reminded him of his daughter. This year, I was in his class, and for the first time, I felt a tiny spark of hope. Maybe things would be different.

The door creaked open, and I froze. My first instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to go. A boy stepped inside, his hair damp from the rain. He looked at me, startled.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, backing toward the door. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, brushing crumbs off my lap. “You can stay.”

He hesitated, then closed the door behind him. “I’m James,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from me. “You’re Aria, right?”

I blinked. No one ever used my name unless it was to mock me. “Yeah,” I said cautiously. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen you around,” he said, shrugging. “You’re hard to miss.”

My cheeks burned. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He laughed, a sound so warm it made the cold, damp room feel less miserable. “I guess it is.”

For a moment, we sat in silence, the rain tapping against the windows like a nervous heartbeat. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The moment I reached the doorframe of the classroom, Brandon stepped in front of me like a living, breathing roadblock. His presence, mountainous and immovable, forced me back into the stale air of the nearly empty room. I froze, every muscle in my body coiled tight.

“I didn’t think you’d show your face,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, like he wanted them to dig in and stay.

I didn’t answer. I kept my head down, eyes locked on the scuffed tile floor. Safer this way. Don’t engage, don’t react, don’t breathe too loudly.

Once upon a time, Brandon wasn’t the villain in my story. Once, he was a dream with sandy blond hair and a crooked smile. The kind of boy you build a whole world around, only to have him set it on fire. That version of him didn’t exist anymore—if it ever really did.

“Oh, look at that, she’s mute now,” Heather’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and glittering. She sidled up next to Brandon, her hand curling around his arm like a snake staking its claim.

I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to break or snap or beg. Mrs. Gomez had bolted, her usual post-class sprint to the restroom leaving the room under their rule. The other students had scattered, some throwing me pitying glances on their way out, but no one ever stayed. No one ever helped.

“Ew, what’s that smell?” Regina chimed in, her voice syrupy sweet but laced with venom. “Oh, I know—it’s the scent of thrift store rejects. Straight from the orphan aisle, huh, Aria?”

The laugh track followed, cruel and synchronized, like they’d rehearsed it. My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I wanted to tell her to shut up, to shove past them and leave. Instead, I tried to slide around them, aiming for the door like it was the finish line of some invisible marathon.

But Heather’s hand shot out, her nails digging into my shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and hot. “Where do you think you’re going, freak?” she hissed, before shoving me hard.

I stumbled, gravity pulling me toward the edge of a desk. My hip slammed into the corner, and my knees buckled. A cascade of chairs followed, metal legs clanging as they tumbled on top of me. The world tilted, my vision blurred, and then there it was: warm, sticky wetness trickling down my scalp.

Blood.

Great. Just great.

“Let’s go,” Brandon said, his voice bored now, like I wasn’t worth the effort anymore. “She’s not worth our time.”

And then they were gone, their laughter echoing down the hallway like a victory song.

I stayed on the floor, tangled in the wreckage. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the sting of humiliation, and for a moment, I thought about just lying there until the janitor came to clean up the mess. But the throbbing at the back of my head reminded me that I couldn’t ignore this. Not today.

The nurse’s office loomed in my mind like a haunted house. Rosa was no Florence Nightingale. She was more like the headmistress of a reform school, perpetually scowling and muttering about how much trouble I caused.

When I finally dragged myself through her door, she glanced up from her crossword puzzle, her face already twisted in irritation.

“Aria. Again?” she snapped, setting the puzzle aside. “It’s not even lunchtime, and you’re already bleeding all over my office. What is it this time? Another fight? Another ‘accident’? Honestly, it’s no wonder you don’t have any friends.”

Her words stung more than the wound. I sat on the crinkly paper of the exam table, saying nothing as she dabbed at the cut on my scalp with a too-rough hand.

“You’re an orphan,” she continued, as if I needed the reminder. “What happened to your parents was horrible, sure, but that doesn’t give you a free pass to act like this.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the retort that bubbled in my throat. There was no point in arguing with her. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her the truth. No one ever did.

Rosa’s voice softened, just barely, as she moved to the first-aid cabinet. “You still having those dreams? The ones about the wolves?”

The question caught me off guard. My head snapped up, and for a moment, I saw something like concern in her eyes.

“No,” I lied.

The dreams were always the same. A man with wild eyes and a voice that dripped honey. He called to me from the edge of a forest, his hands outstretched, his body shifting between man and beast. He was terrifying and beautiful and impossible, and he felt more real than anything else in my life.

Rosa frowned, her hand pausing mid-air. “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping. Are you walking through the woods again?”

“Maybe.”

Her frown deepened. “Don’t. It’s not safe. Not anymore.”

“Why? Is there a bear or something?”

“Worse,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Pack politics. New leaders. New territory. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

My stomach twisted, but I shrugged like it didn’t matter. Rosa had a way of making everything sound like a conspiracy theory. “I’ll be careful.”

Her eyes lingered on me as I stood and grabbed my bag. She didn’t stop me as I walked out, but her warning followed me down the hallway, sinking into my skin like a splinter.

By the time I reached the edge of the forest, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows through the trees. The woods had always been my refuge, the one place where the weight of the world didn’t feel so crushing.

I stepped off the beaten path, leaves crunching underfoot, and inhaled the cool, earthy air. My head still throbbed, but out here, it was easier to forget. Easier to imagine that somewhere in the tangle of branches and vines, there was a version of me that wasn’t broken.

The howl came suddenly, sharp and piercing, shattering the quiet.

I froze.

It was closer than usual.

My heart pounded as I turned, scanning the trees for movement. A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision—tall and hulking and not quite human.

“Aria,” a voice called, low and rough, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

It was the voice from my dreams.

I spun around, but the woods were empty. The air felt heavier now, charged with something I couldn’t name.

I should have turned back. I should have run.

But instead, I stepped deeper into the trees, drawn toward the voice like a moth to a flame.

The pull of the forest and the mystery of the voice had always been there, but now it felt undeniable. Somewhere, out there, the dream was waiting to become real.