Alpha's Wrong Match, Fated Mate

- ELISE (ALEX) JONES I whispered to my stepsister, Olivia, as she was passing by. "Target sighted." "Go get 'em, tiger," she breathed. The borrowed wig was scratchy as hell, the hired suit was two sizes too big, and I felt like a fraud in every sense. But that was the point. I was standing against a marble pillar in the Moonstone Pack’s grand ballroom, watching my stepsister walk toward the stage like she was heading to a firing squad instead of a stage to an engagement party. Liam Kane was standing at the center of the room. He was the young Alpha of the Bloodfang Pack, perilously good-looking, all sharp lines and brittle bone. He had a stare so severe it felt like he was examining us with a bug, looking for a reason to snap our neck. I snatched a tray of champagne glasses from a waiter, gulped down two glasses in three seconds, and then belched, causing the heads of a group of old-money she-wolves nearby to turn their heads with disgust. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and said, “Pardon me, ladies. The bubbles get me every time. Where's the groom? I must welcome my new brother-in-law to the family.” I spotted Liam by the fountain, looking bored out of his mind while some Elders droned in his ear. I whistled a loud, off-key melody and stumbled toward him, purposely crushing a flower arrangement in my way. "Liam! My man!" I shouted, throwing a heavy arm around his rigid shoulders. He stiffened instantly. His scent caught in the back of my throat, sharp cedar and cold mountain rain. It was a high-status Alpha smell, the kind that usually made people drop to their knees. I just squeezed harder. He clearly wasn't used to being handled by the "unwashed commoners." "Wow, nice watch," I said, leaning in close so he could catch the strong smell of gin. "Is it pure gold or a fake one?" The room went dead silent. A half-dozen pairs of eyes turned toward me. Liam froze. He stared at my arm as though a giant slug had crept on his custom tuxedo. "And you are?" "Alex. Olivia’s brother. The dearest one," I said, my smile widening. "Just got back from... places. Rough places. You got any snacks? This party is all bubbles and no bacon." He yanked my arm off his shoulder like he was flicking away a fly. "Alex. I wasn't aware the Jones family had a son." "I’m a surprise," I said, stepping even closer. "A huge, expensive surprise. Listen, man, what’s the word on the dowry? I’ve got some gambling debts in Velox City that aren't going to pay themselves. Olivia told me you’re basically a walking ATM machine." Liam’s eyes narrowed. The "Perfect Alpha" mask was starting to crack. "I see. We’ll discuss pack finances when the time is... right." "Why wait?" I snatched a greasy hors d'oeuvre and shoved it into my mouth, talking while I chewed. "We’re family now. What’s yours is mine, right? Especially the top-shelf booze." I saw his jaw set. Good. If he thought the Jones family came with a parasitic, drunken brother, he’d drop Olivia like a hot coal. “You are making a scene,” Liam said, and his voice fell to a threatening, low growl. "I'm having a party, Liam! Lighten up!" I struck him in the chest and laughed as his eyes flashed a dangerous, predatory look. The alcohol had turned my thoughts hazy, but my heartbeat was pounding wildly beneath my ribs, adrenaline rushing through me like fire. I remembered his fingers tangling in my hair, possessive and rough, yet strangely careful at the same time. And that kiss, gosh, that hot kiss felt far too good to be part of the plan. His hand gripping my waist, the expensive cedar-and-smoke scent of his cologne mixing with my “bad boy” sweat clinging to my skin, the two of us stumbling toward the elevator as we’d already lost control. I convinced myself it was just one of those dangerously vivid, alcohol-soaked fever dreams. The sun stabbed through the velvet curtains of the hotel suite the next day, and the "dirty dream" beside me started to move. I groaned, moving my face against the mattress. It was sticky with something that smelled like blue curacao. My head felt like it had been put through a wood chipper. I was still wearing the "Alex" suit, though my shirt was open at the chest, where I had tied it with a cloth. The jacket was draped over the edge of the couch, and my wig was a little crooked. The mattress groaned beside me. Oh s**t, that wasn't a dream! I kept my eyes shut, frozen. I don't want to remember what happened last night. I recalled being “Alex”, who was a complete nightmare, jumping on the bed, ordering five trays of room service, and droning on to Liam about watching a three-hour documentary on competitive dog grooming while I ranted about my fake life in the merchant marines. Liam had followed me here, mostly to keep me from burning the Pack House down, but I had no idea the amount of scotch we’d put away. "My head," the voice moaned again. I heard the rustle of sheets. Then silence. A long, heavy, terrifying silence. "No," Liam whispered. "No, no, no." I opened one eye. Liam jerked up, clutching the sheet to his chest. His usual "Alpha-perfect" hair, which could have resisted a hurricane, was standing up in three different directions. He was staring at the space between us. Then he looked at me. Or rather, he looked at "Alex." "Alex?" he croaked. "Aggghh!" Liam made a half-strangled gasp. “Tell me I'm dreaming." I rolled over, propping myself up on an elbow and making sure the wig stayed in place. "You okay, brother-in-law? You hit the deck pretty hard." He looked horrified. His eyes darted between my face and the empty bottles on the nightstand. "What happened last night? Why are you in this bed?" "We were bonding, Liam!" I gave him a drowsy, roguish wink. "You told me I was the only one who understood what it’s like to be a genius. Then we had a pillow fight. You lost, by the way." "Pillow fight," he repeated. He looked at a burst, feathered pillow in the corner. "We did not have a pillow fight. I don’t... I don’t 'bond' with men." “The empty pizza boxes tell the contrary,” I said, gesturing at the pile on the desk. “You even told me about your turtle when you were a boy. RIP, Shelly. You got really emotional, man." Liam’s face turned three different shades of red. "I told you about Shelly?" “You cried like a baby,” I lied gaily. “You're a cuddler, Liam. Who knew?" Liam scrambled out of bed, lunging for a hotel robe and looking like he was about to vomit. He paced the destroyed suite, stepping over a stray shoe. "This is a disaster. This is a scandal. If the Pack Council hears that I... that we..." He stopped, pointing at me. "We should say nothing happened. Do you hear me? We drank, we talked about turtles, and we passed out. That is the official record." "Sure, sure," I said, scratching my chest through the dress shirt. "But the 'unofficial' version is way better." "I am not a cuddler!" he barked, his voice cracking. He was physically reacting to me. Every time his eyes landed on my "Alex" persona, he shuddered. The bad boy act was working better than I’d expected. He didn't just hate me; he was terrified of what I represented to his controlled, Alpha world. "Well, I’m heading out," I said, swinging my legs off the bed and feigning a stumble. "Olivia is probably wondering where her favorite brother is. And her future husband." "Stay," Liam snapped. I blinked. "Excuse me?" "You aren't going anywhere near Olivia or the press until I decide how to handle this," Liam said, his eyes searching the room as if looking for a 'delete' button for the last twelve hours. "You’re a walking PR disaster, Alex. A noisy, boozed-up mess." "Ouch. My feelings, Liam. They’re fragile." "Shut up," he said, rubbing his temples. His gaze lingered a second too long on my face before he tore it away with a scowl of pure self-loathing. "I need to think. I need a shower. I need to call my lawyer. And you... must wear a shirt, one that is not covered with salsa.” “Oh, it is buffalo sauce,” I corrected. He muttered something and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a loud bang. I sank back into the pillows, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I’d survived the night. Based on the look on his face, he’d be calling off the wedding before noon. I just had to keep being Alex for a little longer. How hard could it be? What was so difficult about being the most annoying man in the world? I had done it for twelve hours, and I was already a natural. I reached for my phone to text Olivia, but my hand stopped. Next to Liam’s expensive watch on the nightstand was a small sketch on a napkin. It was a portrait of a person, rough, but strangely accurate. Liam had sketched me while I was asleep. I looked at the lines, how he’d captured the tilt of my head. It gave my stomach a weird, awkward kick. "Great," I whispered to the empty room. "He doesn't just hate me. He’s obsessed." The bathroom door swung open, and Liam stepped out, steam swirling around him. His expression was so conflicted it was almost painful to look at. The game was on.