The Alpha’s claimed mate

When the clock beside the bed read 2:07 a.m., my heart finally slowed enough for me to notice the numbers at all. It rose and fell beneath my cheek in the steady rhythm of a man who had already fallen off the cliff of sleep. I envied him. The ledge was still there, however jagged and bright, lit by the after images of our love-making and the unsettling stare of the wolf who lived behind my eyes. She was still watching. She was always watching. I eased away from the heat of Jackson, inch by careful inch, until the cool air that stole between us could sweep through the room. My skin pricked where his sweaty-dry flesh touched mine. I tasted copper in my mouth-blood from where I had bitten him or he had bitten me or both of us together. The marks would be gone by morning; shifter healing is a miracle that way. Still, I felt each bruise like a brand. Mine. Yours. Always. Forever. Words that sounded simple in the dark and complicated in the light. My bare feet found the pine floorboards. They creaked, but Jackson didn't stir. I padded to the window and lifted the edge of the blackout curtain. Frost furred the corners of the pane. Outside, the pack's territory stretched away under a three-quarter moon the color of bone. Somewhere out there, wolves ran on four legs and didn't have to think about wedding dresses or seating charts or whether the alpha-elect's mate belonged at his side. They just were. Wolf. Pack. Purpose. No itchy second skin, no phantom tail that refused to manifest, no voice inside snarling, You're doing it wrong. I pressed my forehead to the glass. "What do you want from me?" I whispered. She answered with silence, which was worse than a growl. Silence meant disappointment. A memory ambushed me, like deja vu at the first shift. The last two weeks-such two years felt like. Jackson had driven me deep into the state forest at moonrise. He stripped out of his clothes with the easy confidence of a man who has been changing since he was twelve. I fumbled with buttons, fingers clumsy, stomach jumping. By the time I was finally naked, gooseflesh racing up my arms, he kissed my forehead and said, "Let the wolf rise. She knows the way." But she hadn't, really. I expected a velvet rush of enchantment-the painless pop of bone-and-sinew that the old legends promised, and dropped to hands and knees instead. My spine bowed until something inside me snapped like green wood. My jaw unhinged. My screams came out as howls threaded with human sobs. Jackson's black wolf had circled me-huge and patient-while I convulsed on the pine needles. When it was over, I lay panting in copper-brown fur, lungs raw, heart ricocheting off my ribs, and the first thing she did-my wolf, my other self-was turn her muzzle away as if she couldn't bear the sight of me. She had to be like that. Jackson insisted it was normal: "She's startled," he'd said, rubbing my ears the way you would comfort a spooked dog. "She'll settle." Behind me the bed sheets rustled. A tired rumble: "Chloe?" I let the curtain drop. "Bathroom," I lied. The en-suite had a chill that was even more pronounced than that of the bedroom. I turned the light on, squinting against the sudden glare. My reflection stared back from the mirror above the sink. Same freckled face, same slightly-too-wide mouth, same auburn hair tangled like I'd lost a fight with a windstorm. But my eyes were wrong. One moment they were the hazel they'd always been; the next they flashed yellow, slit-pupiled, alien. I watched the color cycle back and forth, a slow pulse timed to the beat of my heart. I leaned in until my breath fogged the glass. "Talk to me," I told the wolf. She lifted her lip. Not a snarl-more a sneer. Then my own reflection moved without me. One blink and she angled her head, ears pricking forward where no ears should be. My skin rippled as if breezes had passed under the surface. I jerked back, heart hammering. The fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, once, twice. Jackson's voice drifted through the door. "You okay, baby?" "Fine," I called, voice thin. I twisted the faucet, splashed icy water on my cheeks. When I looked up again, the mirror showed only me-wide-eyed, shivering, definitely human. "I'm good," indeed. ---- The time was around six in the morning when the sky was already blackened. The pack house was already a-buzz with activity. Low thuds from feet sounded on the stairs, coffee mugs collided, and out of the kitchen spilled another explosion of male laughter. Jackson lay asleep, with an arm flung across the warm dent I made in the mattress. I envied him that, too-the ability to rest while the world rebooted around him. Alphas are like cats; they believe the universe will wait. Thermal leggings, thick socks, and an oversized flannel snagged from Jackson's closet. I dressed in the dark; it smelled of cedar and him. My duffel-bag packed with good intentions the night before stood at the door reminding me that I was supposed to drive down to Nashville today with my best friend Lila to try on wedding gowns. Lila, born wolf, never doubted her paws. Lila, who could run full-tilt through the forest, come back laughing with leaves in her hair instead of panic in her throat. I scribbled a note on the back of an electric bill: Gone early. Didn't want to wake you. Love you bigger than the moon. I had a moment's hesitation over that last line: corny, but true. I signed it with a heart that looked more like a lopsided apple, then tiptoed out. The hallway smelled like bacon and a wet dog. At night, about half the pack crashed here. It used to be a hunting lodge: all rough-hewn beams and antler chandeliers. I passed bodies curled up in sleeping bags on the living-room floor, a tangle of limbs and fur that would resolve into individual people only after coffee. Someone had left the TV on; the weather channel warned of an incoming ice storm. Great. Nothing like sleet to make wedding-dress shopping feel like a Disney movie. Lila met me in the foyer, shaking with all that preliminary small-reduced energy. She wore a beanie with a pom-pom that bobbed when she talked. "You look like you've pulled an all-nighter," she said, eyeing the purple under my eyes. "Not exactly." I zipped my coat. "More like a wolf-nighter." She grinned. "Jackson keeping you up? I approve." "Not just Jackson." I hesitated; the foyer wasn't private; two pups thundered past us chasing a tennis ball. I lowered my voice. "My wolf still won't talk to me. She just... judges." Lila's grin softened. "She's probably pissed you bought the dress appointment before asking her opinion. Wolves are snobs about fashion." Not She was naked by default. Which is why she doesn't care? I snorted. Lila shrugged. "Dominance thing. Let her pick the lace." Outside, frost had silvered the gravel drive. Lila's Jeep growled to life, heater cranked to tropical. I rolled towards the main road when I glanced back, just once. A shadow moved on the balcony upstairs-Jackson, bare-chested despite the cold, watching me leave. He raised a hand. I pressed my palm to the window in answer. Then the trees swallowed the house. Nashville was ninety minutes south, most of it on winding mountain roads. Lila filled the drive with chatter-pack gossip, venue drama, an epic fight between two bridesmaids over the color sage green. I nodded in all the right places while my wolf prowled the edges of my mind like a caged leopard. Every mile took us farther from pack land, and she didn't like it. Her restlessness translated into a low-grade headache behind my eyes. A garage off Broadway provided the parking for our journey to the boutique, where breath fogged. The store frontages scintillated with silk-and-tulle-clad mannequins. Vandals and new fabric wafted sweetly inside. A tiny woman with lavender-tinted hair greeted us, measuring tape already draped over her neck. “Chloe?” Sweetly singing. “Eight o’clock? We are so honored to be able to meet you.” I struggled to keep my smile plastered on. My wolf bared its teeth. Lila propped herself on a velvet chaise and downed a mimosa while I was passed off to an attendant named Britt, who directed me to the first rack. “Tell me your vision,” Britt crooned. Vision. Right. Jackson’s face when he first saw me walking down the aisle—would his eyes melt, or would the wolf in him preen at symbolism? I saw the pack gathered in a clearing, strings of fairy lights above them, with Cal standing at the front officiating, that paternal smirk on his face. I pictured my parents’ faces, too, although that was a blurry memory; they’d passed when I was eight, long before I understood what weddings were for. “I don’t know,” I managed. “Something… simple?” Britt’s smile faltered. “Simple” clearly was not a favored adjective. She produced a sheath of crepe with illusion sleeves. I stepped behind the three-way mirror and shimmied in. The dress was amazing, but the stranger in the mirror—sharp collarbone, eyes too bright—drew me in. The wolf flashed across the glass, hackles raised. I flinched. The attendant frowned. “Does it pinch?” “No, it’s—,” I began. She’s not worth it, the wolf said, loud and clear. My first real sentence from her, and it dripped with acid. I stood frozen. Britt took it for emotion. “Lots of brides do tear up,” she assured, bustling over to adjust the train. I caught Lila’s eye in the reflection. She mouthed, You okay? I shook my head, just a fraction. The wolf kept talking. Weak. Soft. He’ll regret binding himself to damaged goods. I held the skirt in fists that suddenly became wet with sweat. “Can I have a minute?” I asked. “Of course!” Britt disappeared behind a curtain. Lila reached my side in two strides. “What did she say?” she whispered. I told her. My voice shook. Lila’s face cycled from surprise to anger and then something like pity. “She doesn’t mean it,” Lila said. “Wolves test. They push. It’s part of the bonding.” “Feels less like bonding and more like bullying.” I was looking at the dress. Crepe wrapped around my hips like blame. Lila squeezed my arm. “You’re the alpha’s mate-elect. That makes her the alpha-female-elect. She’s terrified she’ll screw it up, so she’s tearing you down first. Classic imposter syndrome by proxy.” I gave a watery laugh. “Great. My inner animal needs therapy.” Then my phone rang, a shrill sound piercing the air. His name on the screen glowed: Jackson. I moved away from Lila. “Hey,” I said. He sounded like he had just woken up from a long sleep. “Where are you?” “Nashville. Dresses. Remember?” Silence. “You left without saying bye.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I left a note." "Notes aren't the same." He sounded hurt. My heart twisted. "I'm sorry. I just... couldn't." Another pause, but this time shorter. "Come home." I glanced at the mirror. The dress slumped at my feet like spilt cream. "I just got here." "Ice Storm is coming sooner than they thought. Roads will close. I will feel better if you are here." The wolf within me lifted her head quirkily awake. Safety, she whispered. Pack. Home. I swallowed. "We'll head back after lunch." "Now, Chloe. Please." Lila was already gathering her purse, reading my face. Britt was hovering in the background, confused. I took one last look at the dress—the beautiful, simple, wrong dress—and made my decision. "I'll be there in two hours," I told Jackson. "Drive safe." His relief was almost palpable. "Love you bigger than the moon." I smiled against all odds. "Love you bigger." The moment we stepped out of the boutique, the sky was an old pewter color. Sleet was hissing against the sidewalk. Lila tossed me the keys. "You okay to drive?" I nodded. The wolf's pace was picking up, but quietly so, an unnoticed path in her thoughts. I felt her settle into my bones as a passenger does today. For the first time since the change, we shared an identical wish: getting home. The highway was eerily empty. Lila slept, in the front passenger seat, completely oblivious, as her hat covered her eyes. I held the steering wheel with both hands, the windshield wipers now doing a sorry job. Thirty miles away from the lodge, the first tiny flakes turned into sheets. The Jeep swerved around a curve; I corrected it, heart in my throat. My wolf lurched forward—not to take control but to lend me her senses. The stench of black ice came before my eyes caught it, and I felt the light drag of the tires, like an unnerving vibration in my teeth. We moved together, human reflexes woven with animal instinct. By the time we saw the pack lodge through the trees—lights ablaze like a beacon—I was trembling, awash in adrenaline and something else: gratitude. The wolf retreated to her corner, but the look she gave me wasn't scorn anymore. It was cautious respect. Jackson was at the door before I killed the engine. Snow dusted his hair. He yanked the driver’s door open and swept me into his arms, muffling his face in my neck. “Don’t ever do that again,” he muttered. I clung to him, nose full of cedar and mate. “I won’t.” Behind him, the pack spilled onto the porch, drawing forth with the drama of the storm and the safe return of the alpha-heir’s mate. Cal stood with crossed arms, his expression unreadable. Somewhere in the crowd, someone started clapping, and then the whole pack clapped. My cheeks burned. Jackson drew back just enough to stare at my face. “Did you find a dress?” he said. I shook my head. “I found something way more important.” He raised an eyebrow. “My wolf,” I said. “She finally said something that could be called useful.” Jackson smiled slowly and proudly. “And what did she say?” I reached inward and felt her waiting, so alert and calm. She bowed her head, just the faintest of nods. I translated for him. “She said, Take me home.”