The ghost mate:tearing the alpha's Shadow

chapter 2

– Sera pov

What the hell did I do?

I woke up with that thought already in my head. My eyes were still closed. My body was still waking up. But the thought was there, loud and clear, like an alarm I couldn't shut off.

Then I felt the arm around my waist.

Heavy. Warm. A man's arm.

I opened my eyes. Grey light. Trees. Moss beneath my back. And a stranger pressed against my side with his face half-buried in the shadows and his bare chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

I looked down at myself.

Naked.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Oh no, no, no—"

I didn't need to remember. I already knew. The rogues. The terror. The stranger—the way he killed them like it cost him nothing. One motion. One crushed throat. Like swatting flies.

And me. The way I'd pulled him closer. The way I'd let him put his mouth on my throat.

I turned my head, careful and slow.

He was still asleep. His face was hidden in the shadows—dark hair across his forehead, the hard line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders that didn't soften even in sleep. I couldn't see him clearly. The grey dawn was too weak.

But I could see enough.

He was massive. Powerful. The kind of wolf who killed five rogues without breathing hard. The kind who crushed a man's throat with one hand and didn't stop to watch him fall.

And I had let him touch me.

Me. An omega. Wolfless. The lowest rank in the pack. I scrubbed floors and took orders and kept my head down because that was what omegas did. And last night I had spread my legs for a wolf who could probably kill an Alpha without breaking a sweat.

What was wrong with me?

I had to leave. Right now. Before he woke up and saw me clearly in the daylight—saw the cheap fabric of my clothes and the mud in my hair and the lowborn everything of who I was. Before he realized what he'd done with someone so far beneath him.

I slipped out from under his arm. Held my breath. He stirred—a low rumble somewhere deep in his chest—but he didn't wake.

I grabbed my clothes. My shirt was torn at the hem. My pants were wet from last night's rain. I pulled them on with shaking hands.

I didn't look at his face.

I didn't want to know.

If I knew what he looked like, I'd remember him forever. And a man like him would never remember a girl like me.

I ran.

Through the trees. Past the dead rogues still scattered in the mud. My legs burned. My lungs ached. A tender spot on my neck throbbed where he'd kissed me—or bitten me. I couldn't remember which.

All that mattered was getting home.

---

The pack house was quiet. I crept through the back door and up the stairs without making a sound. My father's voice was already rumbling from somewhere below—angry about something, always angry about something—but he hadn't seen me.

I made it to my room. Closed the door. Leaned against it and finally let myself breathe.

Then I caught my reflection in the mirror.

Naked. Bruised. Mud streaked across my ribs. And on my neck—

A mark.

Dark. Unmistakable. The skin around it raised and tender and impossible to hide.

"No," I whispered.

I touched it. My fingers came away trembling. He had marked me. The stranger had marked me. I didn't know his name. I didn't know his face. And he had put his bite on my throat like a brand.

Before I could move, the door flew open.

"Didn't know you got home already, human."

Zara stood in the doorway. Her eyes swept over my naked body, my bruised skin, my trembling hand pressed against my neck.

Her smile widened.

"What are you hiding?"

She was across the room before I could speak. Her fingers dug into my wrist. She yanked my hand away from my throat. Her eyes locked onto the mark.

"A mating mark!" Her shriek filled the room. "Dad! Mom! The pathetic human got marked by someone!"

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. My father burst through the door. His eyes found the mark on my neck.

His face went very still.

"Who marked you?"

"I don't know—"

The first blow caught me across the face. I hit the floor before I felt the pain.

"How dare you!" His boot connected with my ribs. I curled into myself. Arms over my head. Knees to my chest. "I should've never accepted you into this family!"

The second blow. The third.

"I can't let you tread on my honor as the pack's Gamma."

He grabbed my jaw. Forced my face up. His eyes were flat and empty.

"Three days," he said from the doorway. "The Nightwolf Alpha is choosing a bride at the mating ball. Find a way to make him choose you—or I will put you down like the worthless b***h you are."

The door slammed.

And I lay there on the floor, marked by a stranger whose face I'd never seen, bleeding from the man who was supposed to be my father, with three days to convince the deadliest Alpha in the region to marry a wolfless omega.

Three days.

Or death.