The Alpha's Forgotten Heir

The heat in the pack hall burned through my worn shoes. Dust settled on the heavy velvet curtains, hanging like dark walls around the back exit. I carried three empty trays, my arms sore from slaving through the annual pack gala. Nobody paid attention to an omega. We were ghost labor. We cleared dirty plates, mopped spilled wine, and stayed out of sight. Then the air changed. A sharp, silver scent cut through the smell of roasted meat and heavy perfume. Cedar and winter rain. My wolf stirred in my chest, waking up with a sudden, painful jerk. I dropped a silverware basket. Sparks flew off the metal as it hit the stone floor. "Watch your step," a deep voice growled from the shadow of the doorway. I looked up. Alpha Lucas stood there. He looked terrifying. His black hair fell over his eyes, wet with sweat. His formal jacket was unbuttoned, showing the hard line of his throat and chest. He panted softly, hand resting against the doorframe. His blue eyes locked onto mine. The air grew heavy, thick with raw power. My knees trembled instantly. "Alpha," I whispered. My voice betrayed me, squeaking like a scared mouse. So much for keeping my composure. He moved faster than my eyes could follow. One second he was ten feet away. The next, his heavy hands gripped my waist. He pinned me against the cool brick wall of the hallway. "You," he murmured in my ear. His breath burned my skin. "What are you doing back here?" "Cleaning," I gasped out. "I was leaving." "No," he growled low in his throat. "You smell like mine." That was impossible. I was a low-ranking omega with patch-marked fur and no status. He was the future Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack, destined for greatness or a political bride from the Northern territories. Anyway, logic vanished the second his mouth pressed into the crook of my neck. Sparks shot through my blood, wild and untamed. I knew I should push him off. I should run back to the kitchen and hide under the metal counters until morning. But my body betrayed me. I wrapped my hands around his shoulders, clinging to his linen shirt like a drowning swimmer. He didn't speak another word. He lifted me easily, dragging me into the small store room off the main hall. He locked the heavy iron bolt behind us. Darkness swallowed us whole, leaving only the sound of our ragged breathing. He pulled me down onto a pile of surplus pack blankets. His fingers traced my jawline, rough and warm. "Tell me your name," he demanded, his lips brushing mine. "Elena," I breathed. "Elena," he repeated. He said it like a command. Like he owned the word, and owned me along with it. I gave into the dark. I gave into the wild heat rushing between us. For one night, I forgot my place in the hierarchy. I forgot my faded clothes and my cold floor in the cellar. I let the future Alpha hold me like I mattered. His touch was heavy, possessive, and absolute. I lost track of time. The hours dissolved into breathless whispers, sharp scratches of claws against fabric, and the intense heat of a bond trying to seal itself in secret. When the light began to turn gray behind the small window, he fell silent, resting his heavy head against my chest. His breathing slowed. He was asleep. I lay there in the quiet room, my heart hammering against my ribs. My skin still stung from his touch. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I brushed a strand of black hair from his forehead. He looked almost peaceful like this. Not like the brutal leader who could snap an intruder's neck without blinking. A loud key scratched in the lock outside. My stomach dropped into a cold pit. The heavy iron door swung open, splashing bright hallway light across the dusty blankets. Lady Victoria stood at the threshold, flanked by two armed guards. She wore a silk gown, her gold hair perfectly styled. Her eyes swept over the messy room, over our tangled limbs, and locked onto my face. She did not look surprised. She looked ready to destroy me. "Get up, trash," Victoria hissed, stepping into the room. "Explain why you are in bed with my fiance."