The Alpha's Secret Mate

chapter 7

They must have assumed I held no real authority over blackwood. After all, I did not share mason’s blood like his other two sons. I couldn’t fault them for that belief. The truth had been carefully contained—known only within my pack. To the rest of the world, the announcement had yet to be made.

Her gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, before settling back on my face. A faint smile curved her lips. “Don’t worry,” she said lightly, “your physique makes up for it. I’d expect nothing less from the one they call the ‘Mad Beast’ of the North.” A soft giggle escaped her, her fingers brushing against her lips, and that was when I noticed it—the glint of a wedding band resting on her middle finger.

“Why not wait in the living room?” he suggested, his tone easy, almost too easy. “We can have a pleasant chat. Luana is still getting ready. You know how girls can be.” He laughed, but the deception sat plainly on his face.

Let me out.

Drake’s voice thundered inside my head, low and restless. Patience had never been his strength. The pull toward his mate was growing stronger by the second, sharpened by something darker—the unmistakable scent of fear. It coiled in the air, thick and suffocating.

She was in danger.

I tilted my head slightly, studying Smith with a sharpened gaze.

“You know,” I said, my voice quiet but edged with something colder, “there’s a saying in blackwood.”

He raised a brow, curiosity flickering across his features. “Oh? And what is—”

“It’s not the growl of the beast you should fear,” I cut in, my voice dropping to something almost lethal, “but its silence.”

I let my aura slip free.

The shift was immediate. The air grew heavy, pressing down like an unseen weight. Both of them stiffened, their composure cracking as the tension coiled tighter. Smith’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face.

“I want Luana,” I said, each word deliberate, final.

“Now.”

A scream tore through the silence.

It was sharp. Desperate.

My head snapped toward the sound before the echo even faded. Damn it.

Everything else fell away—the voices, the lies, the people standing in my path. None of it mattered. My body moved on instinct, drawn by something far stronger than reason, until I stood before a locked, medium-sized double door.

The scent hit me like a blow.

Fear.

It clung to the air behind that door, thick and suffocating.

I stepped back slowly, once… twice… my muscles coiling tight. Then I lunged forward, driving my foot into the door with brutal force.

Wood splintered.

The door gave way.

Light spilled into the room, momentarily blinding, but I pushed through it—focused only on what lay beyond. And then I saw her.

A small figure, crumpled on the floor.

Golden strands of tangled hair fanned around her, catching the light like liquid fire. She lifted her head weakly, and our eyes met.

Hazel.

Wide. Shaking.

Pleading.

Something inside me snapped.

Anger surged forward, sudden and violent. It was a feeling I had buried years ago, beaten down by discipline and hardened by war. Emotion was a liability—something to be controlled, suppressed, erased.

But this… this was different.

I had never felt anything like this before.

“Keep your hands off my wife.”

The words came out low, dangerous—unyielding. For a fleeting second, I wondered if Drake had forced them through me. But no.

They were mine.

Every syllable.

The black-haired man froze, then slowly turned toward me, a twisted curiosity in his gaze. “Wife?” he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief.

My hand curled into a fist, tension coiling through every muscle.

He had no idea.

No idea how close he was to crossing a line he could never return from.

And in that moment, there was only one thought left in my mind—

He was going to regret this.

I pictured the sight in my mind—blood running down his mouth after I had torn his tongue free.

He laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “So you’re the ugly dog everyone’s been whispering about?”

The word ugly no longer bothered me. I had heard it too many times to care. The mask I wore most days had nothing to do with insecurity. It was protection—from the germs in the air, and from curious eyes. The less my enemies knew about my face, the better.

“And you must be the worthless piece of trash no one bothers talking about,” I shot back calmly. “The only thing people remember about you is how you prove your strength by preying on women.”

His jaw tightened instantly. I had struck a nerve.

Before he could respond, I stepped forward and drove my fist into his face. The crack echoed in the room like music to my ears. The blow caught him completely off guard. He staggered backward, clutching his nose as blood streamed through his fingers. A moment later, he lost his footing and collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.

I glanced down at my gloved hand before lowering myself to one knee.

Then I reached out to Luana.

She was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her wide, frightened eyes moved from my face to the hand I offered her, confusion written across her expression. As I watched her, I noticed the small mole along the right side of her jaw… and the softness of her tear-soaked cheeks.

Goddess… she was breathtaking.

A quiet, natural charm surrounded her, something that belonged to her alone. Yet the bruises and small cuts scattered across her skin dulled that beauty, like cracks on a delicate piece of glass.

How were you supposed to stay calm when every inch of your body burned with the desire to set the entire manor ablaze?

Right… count backward.

Ten… nine… eight…

Her fragile hand trembled as she slowly placed it into mine. The moment I noticed the faint brownish-blue mark on her wrist, my jaw tightened. Someone had gripped her hard enough to leave a bruise. And judging by its color, it wasn’t old.

A dark thought flashed through my mind.

Burn the manor. Kill everyone inside. Take her far away from this place.

No… control yourself.

Seven… six… five…

She looked up at me then. Her honey-colored eyes held a quiet sadness, a story of pain that reminded me of the low, mournful cry of a violin. For a fleeting moment, another image appeared in my mind—a young boy with large gray eyes carrying the same sorrowful expression.

A boy who had walked through hell.

A boy who knew exactly how it looked, how it smelled, how deeply it hurt.

That boy was me.

I drew in a slow breath, forcing myself to remember that I was still alive, still breathing. A familiar ache spread through my chest, as though someone had struck it with a heavy fist.

Luana Smith could be many things… but she was no longer the annoying girl I had to tolerate for years.

So what was she now?

I gently squeezed her trembling hand and helped her to her feet. Then I removed my black coat and draped it carefully over her shoulders, shielding her small, fragile frame from the cold.

The fabric of her dress was torn and stained, barely holding together. Judging from its design, it had once been a wedding gown.

My chest tightened.

What had they done to you, Luana?

Did Smith truly hate his own beautiful daughter enough to destroy her wedding like this?

The answer came almost immediately.

Yes.

But why?

Luana had the same sharp facial structure as Tyler. That meant she wasn’t illegitimate like I was. So what possible reason could he have?

Her sister Michelle—the spoiled brat—was the complete opposite. She seemed to be Smith’s pride and joy, the daughter he cherished most. Perhaps it was nothing more than a cruel rivalry between sisters… a struggle for power and favor.

Or maybe something far darker.

The man I had just struck had hurt Luana. Whether it had been done out of malice or some twisted excuse, I didn’t know. But the wedding band on his finger caught my attention. It matched the one Michelle wore.

They were married.

Which meant something even more disturbing.

Had Michelle truly allowed her own husband to violate Luana?

A wave of disgust rose within me.

What kind of sick family allowed something like that to happen?

Damn it.

If I had taken the time to look into this family properly, I could have saved Luana much sooner.

“I told you so,” Drake muttered beside me, clearly annoyed. And honestly, he had every right to be.

“What the hell?!” a furious voice shouted from behind us. “You disgusting ugly bastard! How dare you touch the future Alpha of the West and South!”

So my suspicion had been right.

The man was Michelle’s husband.

In that case… everything that had just happened to him was well deserved.

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw him struggling to stand, one hand covering his face as he fought to regain his balance.