ALPHA BIKER WHO CLAIMED HIS BROTHER'S MATE

13

MAYA’S POV:

I stared at the delivery man as I signed the digital pad. He gave me a knowing, slightly sympathetic look before piling the bags just inside the doorway and heading back to his van. I shut the door and took a deep breath before I started moving the bags.

It took me three trips to get everything upstairs. Then I fell flat on the bed for a quick rest. When I had regained some strength, I sat up and started pulling items out of the crisp paper bags. It wasn’t just clothes; it was an entire wardrobe of high-end dresses, soft denim, and designer labels. There were flowy sundresses, tailored pants, and cashmere sweaters. But then I reached the smaller boxes at the bottom.

My face went red instantly.

They were lingerie—lace, silk, and sheer mesh in deep reds and midnight blacks. They weren’t just functional; they were provocative. My heart hammered against my ribs as I held up a set of black lace underwear.

Does he want me in this? Is this for his entertainment?

The thought of him wanting me in this seemed ridiculous, but he had kissed me—two nights ago, after we arrived.

Curiosity and a strange, fluttering nervousness got the better of me. I stepped out of my dirty clothes and slipped them on. They fit perfectly—like they were molded to my body. He knew my exact size, and I didn’t know if that was strange or a good thing.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the delicate straps, marveling at how different I looked. I looked… desired. Like someone any man would want. Except Jalen, of course, who hated me and decided it was best to cheat on me.

THUD.

The door swung open without a knock. I gasped, spinning around and instantly crossing my arms over my bare chest. Rafe stood in the doorway, his frame filling the space. He smelled of tobacco, as usual.

His golden eyes didn’t meet mine at first. They dropped, dragging slowly over my legs before settling on the lace at my hips. The air in the room vanished, and my throat went dry. He didn’t look away, and he didn’t apologize. He just stared, his jaw working as if he were fighting back a thought he didn’t want to have.

Panicked, I dove toward the bed, grabbing his discarded oversized hoodie and yanking it over my head in one frantic motion. I felt his eyes follow the movement, tracking the curve of my body before the cloth shielded me.

“Thanks to me for getting the size right,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. “I hope you liked your clothes,” he added in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver down my spine. He didn’t sound angry anymore—he sounded strained. “We leave in thirty minutes. I got word the ship just arrived. By the time we get there, the pack members should be back in their homes. I reckon they’ve had enough of that failed wedding ceremony.”

The mention of the wedding was a heavy slap to my face. The memory of everything Jalen did to me on that ship came crashing down. I didn’t want Rafe to see how his words had broken me.

“I… yes. I like them,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on my feet. “I just need some privacy to finish getting ready.”

“Sure,” he muttered. He stayed for one beat too long, his gaze burning through the hoodie, before he finally turned and shut the door.

**

Thirty minutes later, I walked down the stairs. I had chosen a short, flowy white dress that felt light against my skin. It was a contrast to the darkness swirling around us.

I found Rafe in the living room. He was leaning against the sideboard, a glass of whiskey in his hand. My chest tightened. Between the cigars and the bottle, I wondered how he was even standing, let alone planning to drive. He was a self-destructive storm, yet he looked effortlessly powerful doing it. I wondered how many years one had to smoke and drink so much to have such a high tolerance. He could smoke an entire pack and still seem fine.

We were werewolves, so his body was constantly repairing the damage—but for how long would his wolf last?

As I reached the bottom step, his eyes raked over me, starting at my sandals and moving up to my face. I stood there, feeling like a piece of meat on display, the silence stretching until it became uncomfortable.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll go change,” I said defensively, my hand gripping the banister.

Rafe didn’t answer immediately. He gulped the rest of his drink in one go, the ice clinking against the glass, and set it down with a heavy thud.

“No,” he said in a thick voice. Then he clicked his teeth. “I like it.”

He stood up. “You look great. Let’s go.”

I muttered a thank you, wondering how one moment he was getting on my nerves and the next he was apologizing.

He grabbed a set of keys from the hook. I expected him to lead me toward the driveway where his bike sat—it was like his best friend in the world. Instead, he walked toward the back of the house and opened the heavy door to the garage.

Inside sat a sleek, blood-red Ferrari. I had only seen him drive it once—on the day of my introduction. The day Jalen came with his family to ask for my hand in marriage.

He walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for me. He was back to his gentlemanly gestures, which felt out of place again, but I had no choice but to accept.

I slid into the leather seat. He shut the door firmly before walking around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and without a word, he backed out of the garage and sped off toward the docks.