The Biker Alpha’s Mate

CHAPTER3

STELLA’s POV.

The council chamber always smelled like old fur and stale ambition.

Eight hours of snapping jaws, veiled threats, and every elder convinced their opinion was the one the Moon herself whispered in their ear. I sat through it because that’s what good daughters of Alphas do—chin high, spine straight, ears pricked while the wolves who ran Moon Howl circled the same bone over and over.

And tonight, the bone was Bloodfang.

“We can’t afford to play clean anymore,” Elder Marius said, pounding his fist against the wood. His rings clinked like brass knuckles. “The Bloodfang are running across state lines next week. Interstate runs bring money. Power. Allies. If we let them expand unchecked—”

“If?” I cut in, slouched back in my chair like I wasn’t one council glare away from exile. “You mean when. The Bloodfang don’t half-ass anything. They’ll take the route, they’ll keep the route, and they’ll defend it until the rest of us choke on their exhaust fumes.”

A ripple of disapproval went around the table.

My father didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. His jaw was stone, and the stone was carved with patience that would crack later—when we were alone.

“So sabotage,” Marius snapped, nostrils flaring. “A leak here, a tipped-off patrol there. The run fails, their reputation is ruined. The moon Howl rise again.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

Because here’s the thing about sabotage—you can’t half-ass that, either. One wrong move, and you’re not clever. You’re dead.

“And if they find out?” I asked. “What happens when Bloodfang riders catch one of ours with a police scanner in his pocket? Do we send condolences to his mate? Or just a mop for what’s left of him?”

Silence. Thick, heavy, accusing.

Marius leaned forward, gray eyes glinting. “You have a better idea, princess?”

There it was. The word they always spat like it was a curse. Princess.

My wolf bristled, hackles rising. But I smiled, slowly. “Yeah. Don’t poke bears unless you’re ready to lose an arm.”

“Sabotage the run,” Elder Verran suddenly suggested, like he was suggesting we order another round of wine. His teeth gleamed yellow when he smiled at me across the table. “You’re young, clever, underestimated. They would never see it coming.”

Translation: Be our weapon. Slide into the dark and cut out the rival pack’s lungs while we keep our hands clean.

My father didn’t argue. He didn’t defend me either. He just watched, silent and unreadable, while the council spun their schemes. I knew what that meant. He wanted me to handle it. To prove I was as brave as our name.

And maybe I was. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

By the time I stalked out into the cold night, leather jacket zipped up to my throat, I was vibrating with fury. The wolf in me clawed at the walls of my skin, restless. Not just from the council. From him.

Because every time they said Bloodfang, my mind dragged up the same face. Straight jaw. Wild dark eyes. The scent that had ruined me on the side of a road under the moonlight.

Jace.

I hated that name. I hated that I knew it like a brand against my ribs.

The price of a name, I thought bitterly, is sleepless nights and a wolf that won’t shut up about mate.

Three nights later, the stink of gasoline and outlaw wolves thickened the air like perfume. The black-market parts meet was always chaos—The motor bikes gleaming under string lights, crates stacked with stolen tech, humans hustling drugs they would swear weren’t drugs if cops came sniffing. Wolves prowled in their colors, packs mingling where law couldn’t touch.

I pulled my helmet off, shaking out my hair. Heads turned. That’s the thing about being an Alpha’s daughter—people notice you even when you don’t want them to. Especially when you’re walking into a den where half the wolves would gut you for a headline.

But I wasn’t here for them. I was here to do what the council asked. To watch Bloodfang’s next move. To find a weakness.

I told myself that. Repeated it like a prayer.

Until I saw him.

Leaning against a Harley, arms folded, the neon glow lighting his scars. Jace.

My wolf slammed against my ribs so hard I almost stumbled. His head snapped up, like he had felt it too. And gods, he had. His nostrils flared, his eyes darkened, and for one reckless second I thought he would cross the distance between us and claim me in front of everyone.

Instead, his mouth curled into a smirk. Dangerous.

I hated how my knees went weak.

I hated how my body wanted me to move closer anyway.

I threaded through the crowd, pretending I wasn’t beelining straight for him. The music pounded, wolves laughed too loud, someone revved an engine, but the only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

When I stopped in front of him, I kept my chin high.

“Enjoying yourself, Bloodfang?” I asked, voice cool.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging down my body like he was accessing me.

“Depends. Are you here to arrest me, princess, or just stare until I blush?”

The bastard. He knew what the bond was doing to me. The heat crawled up my throat, the way my skin ached like it missed his.

“Neither,” I said. “Just making sure you’re not selling knock-off carburetors to kids again.”

“Funny,” he murmured, leaning in until his breath skimmed my cheek. “Last time we met, I wasn’t the one on the ground.”

The memory hit like a sucker punch—pinned against my own bike, his scent in my lungs, the bond detonating like fireworks under my skin. My wolf purred. My pride disagreed.

I bared my teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t stay down long.”

Something flickered in his gaze then—heat, hunger, restraint stretched thin. The bond pulsed between us, so heavy that even nearby wolves shifted, sniffing the air.

One c****d his head, muttering to a buddy, “Smells like… something.”

My stomach dropped.

We were too close. Too obvious.

“Step back,” I hissed under my breath.

“Make me,” Jace said softly.

Gods, he was impossible. And gods, I wanted to.

But before I could, Sirens wailed. Lights flared red and blue.

“Cops!” someone shouted.

The crowd erupted—wolves scattering, humans bolting, engines roaring. Crates toppled, metal crashed, smoke burned my nose.

And then his hand was around my wrist, hot and rough, yanking me toward the bikes.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, stumbling after him.

“Saving your ass.”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“You think they will care whose name you carry?” he shot back, eyes blazing. “You get caught here, princess, you’re done. Your pack’s done. So shut up and move.”

I should have fought him. Should have yanked free, let the cops cuff me and let the council clean their own mess. But his hand was fire against my skin, his voice was commanding, and my wolf was already sprinting.

We broke through the chaos, shoving past wolves and crates. His bike gleamed, chrome catching the police lights. He swung a leg over, shoved a helmet at me.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not—”

“Stella.” My name on his lips was a growl, low and wrecking. “On. The. Bike.”

And gods help me, I climbed on.

The engine roared, the bond hummed, and as the cops closed in, I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.