Alpha's Accidental Mate

Morning After

I woke up to sunlight burning through my eyelids and a headache that felt like someone was using my skull as a drum.

"f**k," I groaned, rolling over.

Wrong move. My stomach lurched. I lay very still, breathing through my nose, waiting for the nausea to pass.

Where was I?

I opened my eyes slowly. This wasn't my bedroom. The ceiling was too high. The bed was too big. Everything was too expensive-looking.

Oh god.

Memories crashed into me like a truck. The party. The drinks. The dancing. Damien's bedroom. His mouth on mine. His hands—

I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. The room spun. My head pounded. But the panic was worse than the hangover.

I'd slept with my boss.

I'd slept with Damien f*****g Blackwood.

"No, no, no," I muttered, looking around frantically.

I was alone in the bed, thank god. The sheets were tangled around me. I was shirtless but still wearing my pants. Small mercies.

What had I done? What had we done?

I tried to remember details, but everything after that first kiss was blurry. Had we actually... I looked down at myself. My pants were still buttoned. Maybe we hadn't gone all the way? The hickey on my collarbone suggested we'd done plenty, though.

I needed to leave. Now. Before Damien came back and we had to have the most awkward conversation in human history.

I found my shirt on the floor and pulled it on with shaking hands. My shoes were by the door. I shoved my feet into them without bothering with the laces.

The house was quiet as I crept into the hallway. What time was it? I checked my phone. Ten thirty in the morning. The party had gone until at least two. No wonder I felt like death.

I had about a dozen texts from Riley, starting worried and ending relieved. The last one said she'd gotten home safe and hoped I had too.

I texted back: "I'm fine. Talk later."

I found the stairs and made my way down as quietly as possible. The living room looked like a party had happened. Empty glasses everywhere. A few people were cleaning up—catering staff, probably.

"Good morning," one of them said cheerfully.

"Morning," I mumbled, not making eye contact.

My car was still in the driveway, trapped behind a few others. I'd have to wait for someone to move. Or I could just—

"Leaving without saying goodbye?"

I froze. Turned slowly.

Damien stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing fresh clothes and looking completely put together. How was that fair? He'd been drinking too.

"I... yeah. I should get going."

"We need to talk."

"Not really a great time. I have a killer headache and—"

"Ethan." His voice was firm. Not angry, but not accepting arguments either. "Inside. Now."

He walked toward what looked like an office. After a moment, I followed.

The office was all dark wood and leather chairs. Bookshelves lined one wall. Damien closed the door behind us and gestured to a chair.

I stayed standing. "Look, last night was a mistake. We were both drunk. It doesn't have to be a thing."

"Doesn't it?" Damien moved to the window, his back to me. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Some of it. Enough to know we shouldn't have—"

"Do you remember everything?" He turned to face me, and his expression was strange. Worried, maybe. Or scared. Damien Blackwood didn't seem like someone who scared easily.

"Not all of it," I admitted. "Why?"

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Show me your neck."

"What?"

"Your neck. Let me see it."

Confused, I tilted my head. Damien crossed the room in two strides and gently moved my collar aside. His fingers were warm against my skin. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Shit."

"What?" Panic rose in my chest. "What is it?"

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "This is bad. This is really bad."

"You're freaking me out. What's wrong?"

Damien pulled out his phone and typed something. "Marcus needs to see this."

"Marcus? Why—"

"Just wait. Please."

We stood in awkward silence for about five minutes. I kept touching my neck, trying to figure out what he'd seen. It felt normal. A little sore, maybe, but that could be from the hickey.

A knock on the door made me jump.

"Come in," Damien called.

Marcus entered, looking concerned. His eyes went from Damien to me and back. "What's going on?"

"Look at his neck," Damien said quietly.

Marcus came closer and examined my neck the same way Damien had. His face went pale. "Oh no. Damien, did you—"

"I don't remember. I was drunk. I lost control."

"Someone want to tell me what the hell you're looking at?" I demanded.

Marcus and Damien exchanged a look. Some silent conversation happened between them.

"Ethan," Marcus said carefully. "What do you know about our company? Really know?"

"It's import-export. International business. What does that have to do with—"

"That's the cover," Damien interrupted. "The real business is more complicated."

I looked between them. "Complicated how?"

Another long silence. Then Damien said, "There's no easy way to say this. Werewolves are real. And you're looking at two of them."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Right. Good one. Is this some kind of hazing thing?"

Neither of them laughed.

My smile faded. "You're serious."

"Completely serious," Marcus said gently.

"Werewolves. You're telling me werewolves are real. And you're... what? You turn into wolves during the full moon? Howl at the sky?"

"It's more complicated than the movies make it seem," Damien said. "But essentially, yes."

I sat down. My legs felt weak. This was insane. They were insane. Or I was still drunk.

"I need to leave." I stood up again.

"Ethan, wait." Marcus blocked the door. "I know this is a lot to process. But you need to understand what happened last night."

"We hooked up. I get it. Mistake. Moving on."

"It wasn't just a hookup," Damien said quietly. "I marked you."

"Marked me?"

Damien gestured to my neck. "That's not a hickey. It's a bite mark. A mating mark. In our world, it means you're claimed. You're mine."

The room tilted. "Claimed? Like property?"

"No, not like that," Marcus said quickly. "It's a bond. A connection. It means you're under the pack's protection. It means—"

"It means your life just got very complicated," Damien finished. "And I'm sorry. I never should have let it happen."

I touched my neck again. It felt warm under my fingers. "This is crazy. You're both crazy."

"I can prove it," Damien said. "If you want proof."

"Fine. Prove it. Turn into a wolf right now."

Damien looked at Marcus. "Give us a minute?"

Marcus hesitated, then nodded and left the room.

When we were alone, Damien said, "This is going to be scary. But I need you to trust me. Don't run. Don't scream. Okay?"

"I make no promises."

He smiled slightly. Then he started to change.

It wasn't like the movies. It didn't look painful. His body just... shifted. Bones rearranged. Muscles reformed. Fur sprouted along his skin.

I stumbled backward, my back hitting the wall.

In less than thirty seconds, a massive black wolf stood where Damien had been. It was the size of a small horse, with dark fur and those same intense eyes.

The wolf—Damien—took a step toward me.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My brain was trying to process what I'd just seen and failing completely.

The wolf sat down, lowering its head slightly. Like it was trying to seem less threatening.

Then it changed back. The process reversed, fur receding, bones shifting. Damien stood before me again, fully human, fully clothed like the transformation hadn't destroyed his outfit.

"Still think I'm crazy?" he asked softly.

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. "This isn't possible."

Damien crouched in front of me. "I know it's a lot. But it's real. We're real. And that mark on your neck is real too."

"So what happens now?" My voice sounded far away.

"Now we figure this out. The mark creates a bond between us. Other werewolves will be able to sense it. They'll know you're under my protection."

"Protection from what?"

"From other wolves who might see you as a threat. Or a weakness." He sat down next to me. "I'm the alpha of my pack. That means I have enemies. And now, unfortunately, so do you."

"This is insane."

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a minute. My mind was racing. Werewolves. Packs. Enemies. Mating marks. It was too much.

"I need time," I said finally. "To think. To process."

"Of course."

"And I need you to stay away from me. At work. Everywhere."

Something flashed in Damien's eyes. Pain, maybe. But he nodded. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

He stood and offered me his hand. I ignored it and got up on my own.

Marcus was waiting outside the office. He gave me a sympathetic look. "If you have questions—"

"I have about a million questions. But not right now." I headed for the front door.

"Ethan," Damien called after me.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"Be careful. The mark will make you a target. Stay aware of your surroundings. And if anything strange happens, call me immediately."

"Fine."

I walked out into the bright morning, got into my car, and drove away from the Blackwood Estate as fast as legally possible.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I'd almost convinced myself it was a hallucination. A shared psychotic break brought on by bad tequila.

But when I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw it clearly. On the left side of my neck, just below my jaw. Not a hickey. A perfect bite mark. Two crescents of slightly raised skin that looked almost like a tattoo.

I touched it and felt a tingle run through my whole body. A warmth that spread from the mark outward.

I thought of Damien. And the mark grew warmer.

"Oh god," I whispered to my reflection.

This was real. All of it.

My boss was a werewolf. I'd slept with him. And now I was marked, bonded, claimed—whatever the hell that meant.

I slid down the bathroom wall, buried my face in my hands, and tried not to panic.

My phone buzzed. A text from Riley: "Brunch tomorrow? I need ALL the details about last night."

I laughed. It came out slightly hysterical.

Details. Right. Where would I even start?

Another text came through. This one from an unknown number: "It's Marcus. Damien gave me your number. I know you need space, but I'm here if you want to talk. This is a lot to handle alone."

I stared at the message for a long time.

Finally, I typed back: "Thanks. I'll let you know."

I spent the rest of Saturday in my apartment, googling werewolves and finding nothing useful. All myths and movies. No actual information.

By Sunday, I'd made a decision. I wasn't running away. I wasn't quitting my job. Whatever this was, whatever had happened, I'd deal with it.

But on my terms.

I texted Marcus: "Monday. Lunch. You're going to tell me everything."

He responded immediately: "Deal. I'll bring food. You're going to need your strength."

Great. That wasn't ominous at all.

I touched the mark on my neck again. It was warm, constant, a reminder of everything that had changed.

Two weeks ago, I'd started a new job. A fresh start.

Now I was apparently bonded to a werewolf alpha and caught up in some supernatural world I didn't understand.

My fresh start had just gotten a lot more complicated.