The Alpha’s Fated Touch

Outrage

A crystal decanter shattered against the reinforced doors of the Alpha’s suite, the impact echoing down the hallway like a gunshot.

I didn't flinch, but Dante’s hand instinctively dropped to his sidearm.

"He's been locked in there for fourteen hours," Dante gritted out, his amber eyes flashing with a mix of fear and frustration. He paced the length of the corridor, his combat boots crunching on the plush carpet. "He missed the morning executive briefing. He missed the security sweep. The feral static is building, Lucia. I can smell it from out here."

"Then unlock the door, Dante," I said calmly, smoothing the front of my black skirt.

"I can't. He engaged the biometric deadbolts from the inside. Even my override codes are locked out." Dante dragged a hand down his face.

"I didn't use an override code," a voice chirped from the ceiling.

Dante jumped, his head snapping up toward the security camera mounted in the corner. A tiny, glowing green light blinked back at us.

"Elena?" Dante snarled at the camera. "Are you in my comms again?"

"I’m in everything, big guy," Elena’s voice floated through the intercom, accompanied by the distinct pop of bubblegum. "Also, you’re welcome. I just cracked the Alpha's biometric lock using a mirrored loop of his retinal scan from the lobby archives. The door is open."

The heavy deadbolts on Matteo's door slid back with a loud, metallic thunk.

Dante stared at the door, his jaw working furiously. "I am going to strangle her with her own ethernet cables."

"She’s efficient," I pointed out, stepping past him. "Now, stay out here. If he is shifting, you being in the room will only trigger his territorial aggression."

I didn't wait for the Beta to argue. I pushed the doors open and slipped inside, shutting them firmly behind me.

The master suite was a disaster zone.

The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, plunging the massive room into oppressive darkness. The air conditioner was blasting, yet the room felt like a furnace. The scent of distress, rain, and raw, violent Alpha pheromones was thick enough to taste.

Shattered glass littered the floor near the wet bar. The king-sized bed had been completely destroyed, the frame splintered, the mattress torn to shreds by massive claws.

"Matteo?" I called out, keeping my voice perfectly level.

A low, vibrating snarl answered me from the shadows near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the cold glass. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only a pair of dark sweatpants. His knees were pulled to his chest, his hands buried in his dark hair, gripping the strands so hard his knuckles were bone-white.

His eyes snapped up to me. They weren't storm-grey. They were a blinding, chaotic silver.

"Get out," he ground out, the words tearing past his vocal cords like jagged glass.

I didn't leave. I stepped carefully over a piece of broken wood and walked toward him. "You skipped your dosage, Alpha. We have a contract. Two hours of direct dermal contact a day. You're in breach."

"Lucia, stop." He scrambled backward, pressing himself harder against the reinforced glass. His massive chest heaved. "Do not come closer. My wolf... he is not stable."

"Your wolf is suffocating in sensory static because you locked yourself in a sensory deprivation chamber," I countered, closing the distance. "Why did you run off the balcony yesterday?"

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, the sound bordering on a growl.

He didn't have to tell me that he had felt the Mate Bond snap into place when he kissed me, but because my wolf was dormant, I had felt nothing but human adrenaline. My only pointer was his reaction. To a wolf, an unreciprocated Mate Bond was a psychological torture worse than the Haphephobia. His beast wanted to claim me, to mark me, to lock me away from the world—and he was terrified that if he touched me again, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from forcing a bond I didn't feel.

He was locking himself away to protect me from him.

"I am a danger to you," Matteo whispered, his silver eyes completely dilated. The veins in his neck strained. "When I touched your mouth... the noise stopped. But the hunger... the hunger got worse. If I touch you right now, Lucia, I will not be a gentleman."

My mind recited it’s mantra; Assess. Adapt. Survive.

I looked at the most lethal man in the city, broken and trembling on the floor just to keep me safe. My heart performed a strange, painful stutter in my chest.

"I didn't ask for a gentleman," I said.

I dropped to my knees directly in front of him.

Matteo flinched, turning his face away, bracing for the agony of the curse or the uncontrollable surge of his own beast.

I didn't hesitate. I reached out and planted both of my bare palms flat against his burning, sweat-slicked chest.

The reaction was instantaneous and explosive.

Matteo’s spine arched, a guttural, desperate groan ripping from his throat. The feral silver in his eyes shattered like fragile glass, replaced by the deep, stormy grey of his human consciousness. The suffocating heat in the room immediately began to dissipate, sucked away by the neutralizing current of my touch.

He didn't pull away. He collapsed forward.

His massive arms wrapped around my waist, dragging me effortlessly into his lap. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent in huge, desperate breaths. His body was trembling violently, the aftershocks of fighting his own nature for fourteen straight hours.

"You're a fool," I whispered, sliding my arms around his broad shoulders, my fingers burying into the thick hair at the nape of his neck. "You hired me to be your cure. Use me."

"I am," he rasped against my collarbone. His grip tightened, entirely possessive, pinning my hips flush against his. "God, Lucia. You have no idea what you do to me."

He tilted his head back, his breathing finally slowing to a normal rhythm. The sheer exhaustion on his face was heartbreaking, but the Alpha command was steadily returning to his posture.

"Better?" I asked, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

"Functional," he corrected, his eyes dropping to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes. He was forcing the restraint. "What is the tactical situation outside this room?"

"Dante is ready to shoot the server racks because Elena keeps changing his desktop background to a cartoon dog," I reported, a small smile touching my lips. "And the preparations for tomorrow night’s Engagement Gala are finalized. The guest list is locked."

Matteo’s jaw tightened. "Did the Morettis RSVP?"

"Mr. Moretti declined, citing a 'family emergency,'" I said, my strategic mind instantly clicking back into gear. "But Celeste accepted the invitation. She’s coming."

Matteo’s hands slid from my waist to my hips, his grip firm. "Cancel her invitation. She is a biological weapon, Lucia. I won't have her in the same room as you."

"No," I said firmly, holding his gaze. "We need her there. If we ban her, the press will say we are hiding. They will say my embezzlement charges are real and I'm afraid to face my family. We let her walk into our territory, and we let her smile for the cameras. I want her in the open."

"She will try to sabotage you."

"I am counting on it." I smoothed my hands down the lapels of his ruined sweatpants. "Let her set a trap. I’ll make sure she’s the one who steps in it."

Matteo stared at me. The fear of his own wolf receded, replaced by that dark, intoxicating respect he only ever showed when I outmaneuvered our enemies. He brought one large hand up, cupping the back of my neck.

"You are going to be the death of my sanity, little strategist," he murmured.

"I thought I was the cure."

"You're both."

A sharp, electronic buzz interrupted the moment.

The intercom on the wall crackled to life. "Sorry to interrupt the brooding," Elena's voice chimed in. "But a courier just dropped off a package at the front desk. It bypassed standard security because it has a Wolf Council diplomatic seal on it. Addressed to the future Luna."

Matteo’s eyes narrowed. He effortlessly lifted me off his lap, standing up in one fluid motion. He didn't let go of my hand.

"Bring it up to the War Room," Matteo ordered the intercom.

Ten minutes later, we stood in the center of the eightieth-floor command center. Dante stood by the door, his arms crossed, watching Elena with a mixture of deep suspicion and suppressed fascination as she used a pocket knife to slice through the heavy wax seals of a massive, flat black box.

"No explosive residue. No chemical triggers," Elena reported, popping her gum. She flipped the lid back.

I stepped up to the table, Matteo right behind me, his hand resting a heavy, warm weight on my lower back.

I looked inside the box.

My breath caught in my throat.

Lying on a bed of black velvet was a dress. It was made of shimmering, flawless silver silk. It was an exact, stitch-for-stitch replica of the dress I had worn to the Moretti gala. The dress Celeste had ripped the family crest from. The dress I was ruined in.

Sitting on top of the bodice was a small, cream-colored card with elegant cursive handwriting.

To make sure you remember your place tomorrow night. See you at the party, sister. — C.

Dante swore under his breath. "Psychological warfare. She's trying to rattle you before you even step in front of the cameras."

Matteo’s aura flared. He reached for the box. "Burn it."

"No."

I placed my hand over his, stopping him, my eyes locked on the silver silk.

The memory of the rain, the humiliation, the laughter of the crowd rushed through my mind. But this time, it didn't paralyze me. It fueled me.

I picked up the dress, the expensive fabric slipping through my fingers like water.

"She wants to play mind games," I said, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. I looked at Matteo. "Let’s play."