Bound by the Alpha Twins

Chapter 1: Under the Mistletoe Rihanna’s POV The gym smells like pine, peppermint, and too much cologne. Strings of multicolored Christmas lights zigzag across the ceiling, and glittering paper snowflakes dangle just low enough to brush the tops of people’s heads. Pop remixes of holiday classics boom through the speakers, loud enough to make the floor vibrate under my heels. Everyone’s either dancing, laughing, or acting like this is the most magical night of their lives. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, eyes darting around the room. They all have partners. Every last one of them. Girls spin around in red and green dresses, smiling like their lives are perfect. Guys pull them in close, grinning as if they’re the stars of some sappy holiday movie. I stare at them, trying not to feel bitter. It’s fine, I tell myself. I don’t need a dance partner. I’m better off without one. But my chest tightens anyway. Last year, I was one of those girls. Ethan, my boyfriend at the time, had me spinning under the lights, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. Then, a month later, he met his “true mate” — some girl named Amber who I guess smelled like destiny or whatever. It’s a werewolf thing, and I’m still not over it. I spot Ethan now, his arm draped around Amber, her head resting on his shoulder. Her stupid blond curls bounce as she laughs. I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” Clara’s voice comes from beside me. I glance at her. My best friend looks stunning in a dark green dress that hugs her curves perfectly. She’s sipping punch like she’s bored with the entire scene. “Completely,” I mutter, eyes still on Ethan and Amber. “Some people just love to rub it in.” “Forget them,” Clara says, nudging me with her elbow. “They’re not worth it. Come dance with me.” I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good right here.” She sighs, giving me that look — the one that says I’m being difficult. But she doesn’t push it. She never does. “Suit yourself,” she says, and just like that, she’s gone, swept onto the dance floor by her date. I exhale slowly and glance around the room again. My gaze moves to the giant banner hanging over the stage. Merry Christmas, Pinecrest High! it reads in big, glittery letters. Festive. Cheery. Fake. I glance up and freeze. Right above me, hanging from the ceiling, is a single sprig of mistletoe. Seriously? I shift to the side, trying to get out from under it. No way am I playing into that cheesy holiday tradition. I’ve already had my heart stomped on once this year — I’m not about to give anyone else the chance. “Running away, Calloway?” My head snaps up at the sound of that voice. My heart stumbles in my chest. Roy Blackwood. Tall, broad, and way too calm for someone with the reputation of a kingpin. His silver-gray eyes are sharp, always watching like he sees something no one else does. His black hair is tousled, like he just rolled out of bed looking perfect. He’s wearing a fitted black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms that look like they were carved out of marble. Next to him, leaning against the wall with a cocky grin, is his twin brother, Troy. If Roy is ice, then Troy is fire — wild, unpredictable, and just as dangerous. He’s got that same mess of black hair, only his grin is sharper, his eyes wilder. He’s in a white button-down with the top two buttons undone like he couldn't be bothered to finish dressing. Both of them are staring at me. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little tradition,” Troy says, his grin widening. His gaze flicks upward, straight to the mistletoe. Oh no. “Not interested,” I say flatly, tilting my head up to glare at him. “Move along.” Roy raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Doesn’t work like that.” He steps forward, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re under the mistletoe, Calloway.” “I know,” I snap. “And I’m moving.” “Too late,” Troy says, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. His grin grows sharper, more wicked. My heart kicks in my chest. “Don’t you dare.” But they do. Roy moves first, tilting my chin up with his fingers. His touch is firm but somehow gentle, his eyes holding mine for a long, breathless second. “Tradition,” he murmurs, and before I can argue, his lips brush against mine. It’s not a quick peck, either. It’s slow. Deliberate. Like he’s proving a point. Heat floods my face, and I’m too stunned to move. By the time I come to my senses, Roy’s already pulling back, his eyes still locked on mine. Then, before I can catch my breath, Troy steps in. “My turn,” he says, eyes glinting with mischief. He grips my waist, pulling me in like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His lips crash against mine — wild, fierce, and nothing like Roy’s. My head spins, my fingers curl into fists, and for a moment, I forget where I am. The music, the lights, the crowd — it all fades. Troy pulls back, grinning like he’s just won something. “Told you, Calloway. Tradition’s tradition.” My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I shove him back, ignoring the heat still burning on my lips. “Both of you are insane,” I snap, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Stay away from me.” Roy tilts his head, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s just figured out. “No can do, Calloway.” Troy snickers. “Yeah, I don’t think we will.” I stare at them, pulse racing, breath shallow. "Try me," I say through clenched teeth. Their eyes darken, and I feel something shift in the air — something I don’t understand, but my instincts are screaming danger. “Challenge accepted,” Troy says softly, his grin razor-sharp. Roy nods, his gaze unwavering. “See you soon, Calloway.” With that, they turn and walk away, the crowd parting for them like they’re kings. I stand there, heart thudding, cheeks flushed, breath coming too fast. I glance up at the mistletoe still hanging above me like it’s mocking me. Stupid mistletoe. But it’s not the mistletoe I’m thinking about as I watch them disappear into the crowd. It’s them. Roy and Troy Blackwood. And I have a sinking feeling that I just made a mistake.