The Alpha's forbidden contract

Beneath The Alpha's Guard

Isabella Vega’s world was a haze of moonlight and howls, the forest from her vision swallowing her whole. Wolves circled, their amber eyes glowing, their growls vibrating through her bones. Her chest burned, that clawing sensation tearing at her, like something trapped inside was fighting to break free. Jaxon’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate...“Isabella, stay with me!” and then darkness claimed her.

She woke with a gasp, her body jerking upright. Soft sheets slid against her skin, and the scent of sandalwood and leather filled her lungs. She wasn’t in the hallway anymore. The room was dim, lit by a single lamp casting golden light across a massive bed, its dark wood frame carved with wolf motifs. A window stretched floor to ceiling, framing the ocean’s restless waves under a pre-dawn sky. This wasn’t the staff room. This was Jaxon Creed’s private suite.

Her heart pounded as she swung her legs over the bed’s edge, her uniform wrinkled but intact. Her sketchbook lay on a nearby table, open to her drawing of Jaxon, his eyes staring back from the page. The memory of her collapse flooded back, Damon’s taunting words, the wolf painting’s glowing eyes, the searing pain in her chest. And Jaxon, shielding her, his touch like fire.

The door creaked open, and Jaxon stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm. He’d changed into a fitted black sweater and jeans, the casual look doing nothing to soften his intensity. His gray eyes locked onto hers, searching, and for a moment, she swore they flickered gold again, like they had in the hallway.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low, laced with relief but edged with something darker, guilt, maybe. He crossed the room, stopping a few feet away, as if afraid to get too close. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she said, her throat dry. She rubbed her chest, the clawing sensation now a dull ache. “What happened? Why am I here?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “You passed out. I brought you here to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She stood, her legs shaky but holding. “From Damon? From whatever’s making me see things? Or from you?”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, the air between them crackling. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Isabella.”

“Then stop hiding it,” she snapped, closing the distance herself. She was done with riddles, done with the way her body betrayed her around him. His scent enveloped her, stirring that restless thing inside her, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “I saw my face in your journal. I heard you talk about mates and alphas. And now I’m seeing wolves in my head, feeling things I can’t explain. Tell me what’s going on, Jaxon, or I’m gone.”

He stared at her, his expression torn, like he was waging a war inside himself. His hand lifted, hovering near her cheek, and her breath hitched, the memory of his touch in the library flooding back. “You’re not ready,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pained. “But you’re already part of this.”

“Part of what?” she pressed, her voice trembling. She should’ve been scared...her boss, a billionaire with secrets, was talking in circles but all she felt was a reckless need to know him, to understand the pull between them.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair, his shoulders tense. “This world,” he said finally, his voice low. “My world. It’s not just money and power. It’s blood. It’s instinct. It’s... wolves.”

Her heart skipped, the word hitting like a shock. “Wolves?” she echoed, her mind flashing to the painting, the claw marks, her visions. “You mean, like... werewolves?”

He didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough. He moved to the window, staring out at the ocean, his silhouette sharp against the glass. “Ten years ago, I lost someone,” he said, his voice rough, like the words were being torn from him. “Someone I was supposed to protect. I swore I’d never let anyone get that close again. But you...” He turned, his eyes locking onto hers, raw and unguarded. “You’re changing everything.”

Her chest tightened, not from the clawing, but from the weight of his words. She stepped closer, drawn to him despite every warning screaming in her head. “Why me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why was my face in your journal?”

He closed the distance in one stride, his hand cupping her jaw, his touch gentle but firm. “Because I saw you,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek, sending heat racing through her. “Before I even met you. In dreams. In visions. You’re tied to this, Isabella, whether you want to be or not.”

Her breath caught, his touch igniting something wild inside her. She should’ve pulled away, he was her boss, a man with secrets that could destroy her but her body leaned into him, her lips parting. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and a low growl rumbled in his chest, not angry, but hungry. The air crackled, the space between them shrinking, and for a moment, she thought he’d kiss her, claim her right there.

A sharp knock shattered the moment. Jaxon stepped back, his hand dropping, his expression shuttering. “Stay here,” he said, his voice rough as he moved to the door.

But Isabella wasn’t staying put. That clawing feeling was back, stronger now, urging her to follow. She grabbed her sketchbook and trailed him, her sneakers silent on the hardwood floor. The hallway was dark, the wolf painting’s eyes glowing like beacons. Jaxon stopped at the end, where Scarlett stood, her red hair stark against her black suit, her green eyes flashing with barely concealed fury.

“There’s a problem,” Scarlett said, her voice tight. “The perimeter’s been breached. Matthew's pack is testing us.”

Jaxon’s body tensed, his hands curling into fists. “Where?”

“South gate,” Scarlett said, her gaze flicking to Isabella, venom in her eyes. “She shouldn’t be here.”

“She stays,” Jaxon snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned to Isabella, his expression hard but his eyes softening for a split second. “Don’t move.”

He strode off with Scarlett, leaving Isabella alone in the hallway. Her heart pounded, the clawing in her chest pulsing in time with her pulse. Blackwood’s pack. Damon. The words from her vision, She’s already chosen echoed in her mind. She opened her sketchbook, her hands shaking, and started to draw, her pencil moving on its own. The forest from her vision took shape, wolves circling, but now she saw a woman in the center, herself, her eyes glowing gold, a wolf at her side.

The pencil snapped in her hand, and pain seared through her, sharper than before. She dropped to her knees, her vision blurring as the forest returned, more vivid now. She was running, her bare feet pounding dirt, the moon overhead casting silver light. Wolves flanked her, their howls filling her with strength, not fear. And Jaxon was there, his eyes gold, his hand reaching for hers.

“Isabella!” His voice yanked her back, and she blinked, the hallway solid again. Jaxon knelt beside her, his hands on her shoulders, his face etched with worry. “What’s happening to you?”

“I saw it again,” she gasped, her chest heaving. “The forest. Wolves. Me.” She held up the sketchbook, the drawing of herself staring back, her eyes unnaturally bright.

He cursed, taking the sketchbook, his fingers brushing hers. “Your art,” he said, his voice low. “It’s not just art. It’s a gift. A curse.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice trembling. She was on her feet now, his hands steadying her, his touch anchoring her to reality.

“It means you’re one of us,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “Or you will be.”

Before she could process his words, a howl pierced the air, not in her vision, but real, echoing through the mansion. Jaxon’s head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing like a predator. “Stay here,” he said again, but this time, his voice was a plea, not a command.

He sprinted down the hall, and Isabella’s instincts screamed to follow. She clutched her sketchbook, her legs moving before her mind caught up. The hallway led to a glass door opening onto a terrace, the ocean’s roar mixing with another howl, closer now. She stepped outside, the humid air hitting her like a wave. In the distance, near the estate’s south gate, shadows moved...figures too fast, too graceful to be human.

Jaxon stood at the edge of the terrace, his silhouette sharp against the dawn. A figure emerged from the shadows...Damon, his blond hair catching the light, his smile cruel. “You can’t hide her forever, Creed,” he called, his voice carrying a taunt. “She’s waking. And when she does, she’s mine.”

The clawing in Isabella’s chest erupted, a roar she didn’t recognize as her own. Her vision blurred, gold light flooding her eyes, and the last thing she saw was Jaxon turning, his face a mix of fear and awe, as her world went black.