The Alpha's Sin

I had only met him once, years ago. I was eight. He hadn’t looked at me then the way he does now. The car climbed the forest road with a groaning engine and wheels cracking old branches beneath it. Fog clung to the ground like a second skin, curling around the roots of trees that leaned too close. It didn’t feel like the woods were alive. It felt like they were watching. Ahead, Moonhollow Manor loomed like a corpse unearthed too soon—gray stone, rotting elegance, and something cold in its bones. They said grief makes the world feel hollow. But it wasn’t the world that felt empty. It was me. I sat stiff in the back seat, hands folded like a girl being delivered to judgment. My mother’s ashes were already scattered. Her name fading from unopened sympathy cards tucked in my duffel. Now there was only one name left. Icarus Duskbane. My stepfather. My legal guardian. The man who’d lived alone in that cursed house since marrying my mother—and vanished from our lives not long after. He never visited. Never called. Not even when she was dying. And yet here I was, sent to live with him like a burden no one else wanted. The forest thickened as we climbed. Branches scraped the windows like claws. The driver didn’t speak. Didn’t glance back. He knew better. Everyone did when it came to Icarus Duskbane. The manor rose from the mist all at once—black stone, shuttered windows, jagged spires disappearing into cloud. Not a home. A warning. The engine died. I hesitated. The second I opened the car door, cold hit me like a slap. Wet, earthy, and old. I stepped out. The front door opened before I reached it. He stood there. Icarus. He hadn’t aged. If anything, time had carved him into something harsher. Taller. Still as a blade in shadow. Black shirt. Darker eyes. A face sculpted from stone and silence. His hair was longer now, brushed back from sharp cheekbones and a brutal mouth. His gaze was silver. Piercing. Empty. Endless. He said nothing. Neither did I. I remembered that stare—how it made my stomach twist even when I was too young to understand why. He never blinked. Never looked away. Now, his eyes dragged down my frame. Slow. Unapologetic. He wasn’t just looking at me. He was seeing me. “I thought someone else might meet me,” I said, voice low. “You thought wrong.” His voice was deep. Gravel and smoke. It wrapped around me like heat and warning. He didn’t reach for my bag. Didn’t move aside. I passed him, brushing too close. He smelled like pine and rain and something feral. His breath stirred my hair as the door shut behind me. The sound echoed like a lock sealing. I was inside. Trapped. ***** The manor was colder than I remembered. It smelled like cedar and secrets. Chandeliers hung dark overhead. Curtains were drawn. No family photos. No trace of my mother. As if she’d never existed here at all. “Your room’s upstairs,” Icarus said. “End of the hall. Don’t wander.” “I’m not a child.” His eyes flicked to mine. Something flickered there—heat, irritation… or interest. “You were raised among children,” he said. “This house isn’t meant for them.” No. It was meant for monsters. I climbed the stairs with his stare dragging behind me. Heavy. Heated. Wrong in a way that made my skin feel too tight. My room was large. Bare. Clinical. The bed was stiff. The windows were locked. I didn’t unpack. I sat on the edge of the mattress and tried to breathe. Tried to remind myself I was safe. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. ***** I wandered downstairs long after the sun had gone. Barefoot. Wrapped in a thin robe I’d grabbed from my bag. The halls were hushed, still as tombs. But I heard something. Low music. Glass clinking. I followed it to a door cracked open. His study. I should’ve turned around. I didn’t. I stepped inside. Icarus sat by the fire, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. One hand wrapped around a tumbler of amber liquid. A book sat ignored in his lap. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “Can’t sleep?” he asked. “I don’t think this house sleeps at all.” A faint smirk. Dry. Dangerous. “Come in.” I did. The fire made his skin glow gold and bronze. I couldn’t stop staring. His forearms, his throat, the shadow beneath his jaw. I curled into the armchair across from him, pulling my legs beneath me. He watched. He always watched. “Why didn’t you come to the funeral?” I asked. His jaw ticked. “She wouldn’t have wanted me there.” “She didn’t want a lot of things. She still got them.” “I did what was necessary.” Flat. Final. No apology. “You hated her.” “She hated me.” No heat in his voice. Just fact. “I’m not her,” I whispered. Something changed in his expression. “No,” he said. “You’re not.” The way he looked at me… it wasn’t pity. Or guilt. It was claiming. Possession flickered in his gaze, dark and coiling. It curled in my chest like a fire I couldn’t smother. I should’ve been afraid. I wasn’t. “Do you miss her?” I asked. He drank. “No.” It should have disturbed me. It didn’t. “Do you regret marrying her?” Silence. Then—“No.” But his voice had changed. Rougher. Thicker. Because she led me to you, his eyes seemed to say. I shifted. My robe slipped slightly at my thighs. His nostrils flared. Just barely. There was something dangerous within me. Heat. Shame. Want. He set his glass down slowly. “You should be careful, Soraya.” My name on his lips was a sin. “Why?” “Because I don’t pretend. Not even for girls who dream of monsters.” My heart stuttered. “I don’t dream of monsters.” His smile was faint. Cruel. Knowing. “Yes, you do.” He rose. My breath froze. He crossed the space between us—slow, sure, inevitable. The fire behind him threw shadows over his face, made him look less man and more myth. He reached for me. Tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered. I didn’t move. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said. “I wasn’t—” “You were.” His voice was a threat and a promise. “You shouldn’t wander at night. I told you.” “I was… curious.” “Curiosity gets little girls hurt.” “I’m not a little girl.” Too fast. Too bold. Something in him shifted. “No,” he said, eyes dipping to my lips, my throat. “You’re not.” The fire cracked. His hand brushed my cheek. His thumb lingered at my jaw. “You should learn how to stay away from me. This—arrangement wouldn’t last long. After I find you some other arrangements, you’d be out of here as soon as possible. I am not a good man, Soraya.” “I never thought of you as one.” That stopped him. Just for a second. His jaw flexed. He looked like he might kiss me. Or ruin me. But instead, he stepped back. “Go to bed.” I didn’t move. His voice dropped. Rough. Final. “Now.” I rose. But we both knew—this wasn’t over. Not with the way he watched me leave. Like a Wolf staring at something in heat. And something crossed my mind. Was this the reason why my mother never let us live with him? I was left speechless. Confused. Because—what is going on with my heart? It was our first time meeting—and my mind was already a slave for him.