The Biker Alpha’s Mate

STELLA’S POV. Some girls paint their nails when they are stressed. Others vent to their girlfriends, cry into a pint of ice cream, or doom-scroll until their eyeballs bleed. Me? I straddle six hundred pounds of steel and ride into the night like it owes me an apology. The council had done it again—another three-hour meeting where wrinkled old men argued in circles about how to “contain” the Bloodfang Riders, as if outlaw wolves with guns and no moral compass could be neatly boxed and tied with ribbon. My father sat at the head of the table, his face set straight, every word of mine dismissed like smoke in the wind. Too reckless, too headstrong, too… female. Like being a female was enough reason to treat me like I was lucky to be in a pack’s business. Like I wanted any of this. So yeah, I needed an outlet before I clawed someone’s face off. That’s how I ended up here, leather jacket zipped, helmet hanging from one handlebar, the other hand wrapped around the throttle as I tore down the back highway. The night air whipped my hair back, cool against my skin and my wolf stirred beneath it, humming with restless energy. Freedom tasted like gasoline and danger. I grinned as the wind touched every part of me that threatened to burn, making the engine louder, letting the world blur. The thing about night rides? They strip away everything. No council politics. No suffocating expectations. Just the road, the machine, and the pounding of my own heartbeat. But wolves don’t get peace for long. Halfway through a sharp curve, a scent slid under my nose, subtle but wrong. Musk and rot. Wolf—but not Moon howl. Not anyone from our allied packs. Which could only mean… Rogue. My spine stiffened. My wolf bristled, hackles rising. And then my life flashed before my eyes just as a bullet fired. The first one missed my head by inches. Another grazed the side mirror, sending my glass scattering. “s**t!” I swerved, the bike fishtailing. My pulse jackhammered, instincts roaring—fight, flee, fight. Headlights flared behind me. Dark shapes. Two, maybe three riders. Human scent mixed with gunpowder. They weren’t just rogues. They were working with Bloodfang. Of course, they knew my route. Of course, they would wait until I was dumb enough to sneak out without backup. “Smooth, Stella. Real smooth,” I muttered, leaning hard into a turn. The roar of engines grew closer. One of the bastards raised a gun up again. And then I saw someone. A figure moved away from the shadows of the trees, moving fast like he was trained to do so. A shot cracked, but not from the rogues. One rider toppled sideways, blood spraying, bike screeching into the guardrail. Another tried to swerve but caught a blade across the throat—clean, efficient, merciless. He f*****g threw the knife like this was arrow training. My wolf froze, nostrils flaring. Jace. Of course it was him. The pack’s unwanted son. The ghost everyone whispered about but no one dared claim. A shadow of Moon Howl who disappeared for years and reappeared even deadlier. And now, apparently, my midnight savior. Not that I needed saving. Okay, maybe I did. The last attacker tried to run off, but Jace was already there, yanking him off the bike with a crack of bone. The man didn’t rise again. Everywhere was silent. Only my engine’s purr and my ragged breathing remained. Adrenaline burned through my veins, part terror, part fury. My wolf paced, restless, fixated on him. I braked hard, swung the bike around, and leaped off. “What the hell do you think you’re?” Jace moved. One moment I was shouting, the next I was pinned, my back pressed against the still-warm leather of my own seat, his body caging mine in. His hand caught my wrist before I could throw a punch, grip hard against my wrist. “Are you out of your mind?” I snarled, twisting. “You can’t just—” And then it hit me. Not the weight of him. Not the dangerous glint in his eyes. The scent. Wild cedar. Smoke. It slammed into me like lightning through my bloodstream, heady and impossible to ignore. My wolf reared, recognition crashing over me in a tidal wave. Oh no. Oh hell no. My breath hitched, traitorously shallow. My heart forgot how to beat. Heat spiraled low in my belly, sharp and intoxicating, pulling me toward him like gravity had suddenly been rewritten. Mate. The word ripped through me, undeniable. My wolf howled in triumph. I stared up at him, wide-eyed, choking on the sudden hunger curling between us. His face—fury hardened, scar bisecting one cheek was too close. Too sharp. His eyes burned gold, flickering with the same realization. He felt it too. “Stella,” he rasped, voice dark velvet, threaded with something feral. My knees wanted to buckle. My hands wanted to claw him closer. And gods, my brain wanted to slap me because this was Jace. Dangerous, brooding, untouchable Jace. We both knew what this meant. The mate-bond. Forbidden. Explosive. Unavoidable. I swallowed hard, tried for words, tried for sanity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His mouth curved, not a smile, not even close. “Trust me, sweetheart. I wish I were.” And then engines. Dozens of them. I knew what this was. The low thunder of MoonHowl reinforcements tearing up the road, headlights cutting through the trees. My father’s wolves. My father’s soldiers. And here I was, pressed beneath Jace, mate-heat sizzling between us, the scent of blood still fresh. Shit. The bond flared hotter, so thick I was sure the entire damn troop would smell it the second they arrived. Jace’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second, as if he knew it too. As if he didn’t want to let go. And I stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding, staring at the one man I was never supposed to want while the rest of my world roared straight toward us.