My Alpha Stepbrother’s Breeder

The air in the Alpha’s study felt like it had been stripped of oxygen. I kept my eyes on my scuffed boots, trying to ignore the way the heavy scent of cedar and expensive bourbon was thick enough to choke on. That was Dylan’s scent. It was always Dylan. Even before I looked up, I could feel the heat radiating off him—a cold, predatory energy that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Look at me when I’m talking to you, Vienna." My stepfather’s voice was calm, but the underlying Alpha command made my knees wobble. Hector was usually the 'nice' one, the man who had brought my mother and me into this world of wolves and wealth. But today, he wasn’t a father. He was a King making a deal. I lifted my gaze, but I didn't look at Hector. I looked at Dylan. He was leaning against the mahogany bookshelf, his arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved from granite. He wasn't wearing a suit like his father; he had on a black t-shirt that stretched over his shoulders, his knuckles bruised from whatever—or whoever—he’d spent the morning hitting. He didn't smile. Dylan never smiled. His eyes were two chips of frozen grey, landing on me with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing. "She looks like she's going to faint, Dad," Dylan snapped. His voice was a low rasp, like tires over gravel. "Is this really the 'saviour' of the bloodline? This pathetic, shaking little rabbit?" "Dylan, enough," Hector warned. "Is it?" Dylan stepped forward, and I instinctively moved back until my spine hit the door. He didn't stop until he was inches away. He was a wall of muscle and malice. "You’ve been living under my roof, eating my food, and bleeding my father’s bank account dry for three years. And now, when the pack actually needs something from you, you look like you’re being led to the slaughter." "I’m not a rabbit," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "And this isn't your house yet, Dylan." A flicker of something—anger, or maybe a dark kind of amusement—crossed his face. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches from my ear. I could feel the heat of his breath. It sent a traitorous shiver straight down my spine. "It will be," he breathed. "And when it is, you’ll realize just how expensive that 'rabbit' attitude is going to be for you." "The Council has made their decision," Hector interrupted, sliding a thick stack of papers across the desk. The words BREEDER MANDATE were printed in bold, black ink at the top. It felt like a death warrant. "The pack’s fertility rates are at zero. Vienna, your blood tests... your scent... it’s the only match for Dylan’s lineage. If we don’t do this, the Blackwood line ends with him." I felt sick. "So I’m just... a biological necessity? A contract?" "You’re a gold-digger who hit the jackpot," Dylan spat, walking back to the desk. He picked up a pen like it was a weapon. "You get to stay in the palace, and all you have to do is provide an heir. Isn't that what you and your mother wanted? To be cemented into the Alpha line?" "You know that’s not true," I said, my voice rising. "I never asked for this! I don't even want to be in the same room as you!" Dylan let out a harsh, dry bark of a laugh. He signed the paper with a violent flourish and tossed the pen down. "The feeling is mutual, sweetheart. I find your scent repulsive. It’s too sweet. It smells like desperation." That was a lie. I knew it was a lie because I’d seen the way his pupils dilated whenever I walked past him in the hallway. I’d felt his gaze on the back of my neck at dinner. He hated me, yes, but there was something else simmering under that hate—something dark and hungry. "Sign it," Hector said, his voice softer now, but no less firm. "Vienna, for the sake of the pack. For your mother’s security." Always the mother card. They knew that was the only way to get to me. I walked to the table, my hands shaking so badly I had to grip the edge of the wood. I felt Dylan’s eyes on me, tracking every movement, every breath. He was judging me. He was waiting for me to break. I grabbed the pen and scribbled my name. It felt like I was signing away my soul. "There," I said, looking up at Dylan. "Are you happy now?" "Happy?" Dylan took a step toward me, his presence suddenly suffocating. "I’m far from happy, Vienna. You’re a parasite. And now, I’m legally bound to tolerate you in my bed until you produce something useful." "I am not going into your bed," I hissed. Dylan leaned over the desk, his face inches from mine. "Read the fine print, step-sister. The contract starts tonight. Trial period. Cohabitation. No more separate wings. You move into my quarters within the hour." My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "What? No. Hector—" "It’s the Council’s rule, Vienna," Hector said, refusing to look at me. "The bond needs to be stimulated. Proximity is key." "I’ll have Tedre move your bags," Dylan said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. Tedre was his Lead Enforcer, a man as cold as Dylan himself. "Don't bother bringing the floral perfume. I want to see how long it takes for your real scent to break through that fake human mask you wear." "I hate you," I whispered. Dylan’s eyes darkened, a flash of silver bleeding into the grey. The wolf was close to the surface. He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His skin was burning hot. "Good," he growled. "Hate is a much better motivator than love. It’s more honest." He let go of me as if he’d been burned, turning to his father. "We’re done here. I have a pack to run. Make sure she’s in my room by eight. If she’s a minute late, the deal for her mother’s 'medical expenses' is off the table." He walked out without a second glance, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him. I stood there, paralyzed. My mother, Tiffany, had always told me that being a wolf’s mate was a blessing. But I wasn't a mate. I was a breeder. And I wasn't being paired with a man; I was being given to a monster. Eight o'clock came too fast. The Alpha’s wing was different from the rest of the house. It was darker, colder, smelling of old stone and Dylan’s oppressive masculinity. I stood outside his double doors, my suitcase at my feet, feeling like I was standing at the gates of hell. I knocked. Once. Twice. "Get in here," his voice boomed from inside. I pushed the doors open. The room was massive, lit only by the glowing embers in the fireplace. Dylan was standing by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He had stripped down to just a pair of grey sweatpants, his back a map of scars and muscle. "Close the door," he commanded, not turning around. I did as I was told, the click of the lock sounding like a guillotine. "Where am I supposed to sleep?" He finally turned, his eyes raking over my silk pajamas with a look of pure disdain. "The bed is big enough. Just stay on your side. If you touch me, you’ll regret it." "Trust me, Dylan, touching you is the last thing I want to do." He moved then—faster than I could follow. One second he was by the window, the next he was right in front of me, slamming his hand against the door behind my head. He smelled like woodsmoke and leather. He smelled... incredible. My body betrayed me, my breathing hitching as my biological instincts recognized him, even if my mind wanted to scream. "You're lying," he whispered, his face dropping to the crook of my neck. He took a long, deep inhale, and I felt his teeth graze my skin. "Your heart is racing. Your scent is changing. It’s turning sweet, Vienna. Like honey." "Stop," I gasped, trying to push him away, but his chest was like a brick wall. "You want this," he sneered, his eyes locking onto mine. They were glowing now, full Alpha. "You’ve wanted to be the Alpha’s female since the day your mother dragged you here. You just want me to be the villain so you can feel innocent when you’re screaming my name." "You're a narcissist," I spat, my eyes stinging with tears of frustration. "You're a cruel, arrogant—" He grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him. The friction of his bare skin against my silk top sent a jolt of electricity through me that made my toes curl. "I’m your only hope for a future," he corrected, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky register. "And tonight, we start the 'stimulation' part of that contract." "What does that mean?" I asked, my voice barely a breath. Dylan’s hand moved up, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look at him. His expression was ruthless, devoid of any tenderness. "It means," he said, his lips brushing against mine, "that I’m going to remind you exactly why we’re in this room. And I don’t need to like you to make sure you're ready for me." He didn't kiss me. Instead, he bit my lower lip—hard enough to sting, hard enough to make me gasp—and then he leaned in, whispering against my mouth. "The contract says I have to produce an heir. It doesn't say I have to be gentle. Now, get in the bed. Before I decide to start the 'process' right here against the door." I was shaking, my heart thundering in my ears. I wanted to run, but my feet were frozen. As he stepped back, giving me a look of pure, predatory challenge, I realized the nightmare was only just beginning. And the worst part? My wolf was howling for him to come back.