Chapter Ten: The Alpha’s territory
1028 Words
Fernanda sat there for a long moment, staring at the door Ace had walked through.
Her pulse was still racing, her coffee long forgotten.
She should leave. She should walk the other way, call a cab, and forget this man existed.
Instead, she found herself slipping her bag over her shoulder and following him out into the late afternoon haze.
He was leaning against a sleek black motorcycle at the curb, helmet in hand. The machine looked dangerous, all gleaming metal and coiled power—just like him.
“You ride?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Not with strangers,” she replied, tightening her grip on her bag.
He smirked. “Good thing I’m not a stranger anymore.”
“Debatable,” she muttered, but something in her voice betrayed her—curiosity, maybe even a sliver of anticipation.
He offered her the spare helmet without another word.
She hesitated. Then, against every piece of good sense she had, she took it.
The moment she climbed onto the bike, her thighs pressing against his, she felt the heat of him—steady, solid, and entirely too close.
“Hold on,” he said.
She thought he meant to the bike, but when he revved the engine and surged forward, instinct made her wrap her arms around his torso.
She could feel every muscle shift beneath her palms as they cut through the streets, the city blurring into streaks of light and shadow.
They rode for what felt like forever, the urban sprawl giving way to quieter roads, until finally, the scent hit her—thick, rich, unmistakably Alpha.
She knew without asking that they had crossed into his territory.
Ace slowed, guiding the bike up a winding drive lined with tall trees. At the top sat a house—no, a fortress—made of dark stone and glass, perched like it owned the land it stood on.
“This is…” she began, but words failed her.
“Home,” he finished, cutting the engine.
He swung off the bike, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair. Then he turned to her, his gaze steady.
“Come inside.”
It wasn’t a request.
Her heart pounded, but her feet carried her forward anyway.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, the air changed—denser, charged, carrying his scent in every breath she took.
Her knees felt weaker than she wanted to admit.
Ace shut the door behind her, the soft click sounding far too final.
And for the first time, Fernanda realized she wasn’t sure if she’d just walked into safety…
…or into the lion’s den.
Her gaze swept the interior as they stepped into the main hall. It was all sharp lines, rich wood, and clean, expensive minimalism—every detail screaming Alpha male lives here.
But it wasn’t just the design. It was the feel.
The place pulsed with his presence. Every surface, every shadow, smelled faintly of him.
She swallowed. “Do you always bring your clients home?”
His lips curved, slow and deliberate. “Only the interesting ones.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes,” he interrupted softly, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You are.”
She hated the way her heartbeat betrayed her, the way her body leaned ever so slightly toward him before she could stop it.
Ace moved past her, brushing just close enough for his arm to graze hers. He picked up two glasses from a cabinet, poured amber liquid into each, and handed her one.
She didn’t take it. “You think I’m just going to drink something a stranger gives me?”
His smile deepened, wolfish. “Smart Omega. I like that. But if I wanted you… weak,” his eyes flicked down to her mouth and back up, “…I wouldn’t need a drink to do it.”
A slow, dangerous warmth curled low in her belly. She hated him for it.
She finally accepted the glass—not to drink, but to have something to hold. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, and the contact felt like static under her skin.
“Show me around,” she said, aiming for casual, failing miserably.
He didn’t answer right away—just let his gaze linger on her face for one long heartbeat before turning and leading her deeper inside.
The further they went, the more that pull between them seemed to thicken. It was in the way he walked ahead but slowed just enough for her to catch up, in the way his scent wrapped around her until it was impossible to ignore.
They passed a room that made her stop. Dark velvet seating, low lighting, walls lined with books and something else—framed photographs.
All black and white. All intimate.
And every single one… was of an Omega.
Her throat went dry. “You… keep these?”
Ace stepped in behind her, his voice low in her ear. “I keep what’s mine.”
Her pulse jumped. “And am I…?”
“You tell me.”
The challenge in his tone was undeniable, the dangerous edge of it brushing against her nerves like a blade.
She turned, ready to step back, but he was already there—close enough that she could see the faint gold ring flicker in his dark eyes, close enough that she knew if she breathed too deeply she’d taste him.
“You smell like you want to run,” he murmured.
“Maybe I do.”
His grin was pure sin. “Then I’d have to chase you.”
The thought sent heat through her veins, and she hated how much of it was want.
He took the glass from her hand, set it aside, and leaned in—not to kiss her, but close enough that his breath ghosted over her skin.
“Careful, little Omega,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “My house… my rules.”
And when he stepped back, leaving her in the charged silence, Fernanda realized she was already breaking them.
- Writer
