Alpha's Games of Lies & Lust

Chapter 8

The heavy wood of the study table groaned under their weight, a sound that usually fueled Ryder’s ego. He was behind Milana, one hand fisting her hair to pull her head back while he pounded into her with a rhythm that was more aggressive than passionate. This was the fire he had traded everything for—the raw, fated-mate heat that was supposed to make him feel like a god.

But as he moved, his gaze drifted past the curve of her neck.

There, tucked just under the edge of the desk, was a stack of overdue maintenance requests and a red-inked budget report Zoriana had flagged weeks ago. He found himself staring at a line item for "Grey-Wolf Infrastructure" while Milana cried out his name. His body was performing, but his brain was stuck in a deficit. He was pulling her hair, trying to force himself to feel the thrill of the moment, yet all he could think about was how Zoriana would have already balanced the books.

He was bored.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. When he finally released, it wasn't with a roar of triumph, but a heavy, labored sigh. The knotting of their bond felt less like a spiritual union and more like a biological chore. The usual post-mating thrill was absent, replaced by a cold, nagging sense of inadequacy.

“That was amazing, Alpha,” Milana whispered breathlessly, her voice honey-sweet.

“Yeah. Great,” he muttered, untangling his fingers from her hair and immediately reaching for his trousers. He didn't offer a kiss or a lingering touch. “Go get cleaned up, Milana. I have... I have a lot to get through.”

He watched her skip out of the room, her hair a mess and a smile on her face, oblivious to the fact that the Alpha she just satisfied was looking at the closed door with a sense of mounting dread.

He sank into his leather chair and covered his face with his palms, breathing hard. He was beyond exhausted.

At first, he had tried to fill the void of the broken bond with the thrill of a new mating. He’d had Milana against every surface in the pack house. She was incredible in bed, fulfilling his every fantasy, but soon the novelty began to wear thin, and the work began to pile up. His ego was bruised as he realized Zoriana hadn't just been doing her job as Luna; she had been doing the major part of his job as Alpha, too. Now, it was impossible for him to catch up with a load and a half of tasks he had no idea how to run—and he didn’t have the luxury of time to learn from scratch.

Coaching Milana was another pain point. Goddess, the poor girl tried her best, but she was failing miserably. She managed to screw up even the most basic tasks, from the kitchen staff roster to reviewing the new pack school program. She tried, she cried, and she spoiled... everything she touched.

Ryder ran his hand through his hair nervously. Two weeks had passed since Zoriana left. The pack missed their Luna, and he missed her business-like approach—the ability to juggle multiple tasks effortlessly. She had been his rock, never complaining, always supporting him and lifting his spirit. Now, he spent his days continuously pacifying Milana after her constant screw-ups. But in the end, Milana was his fated mate, and Zoriana—no matter how capable she was—was a shameless traitor.

Nevertheless, Ryder tried to deny even to himself that he missed Zoriana dearly. Even as he tried to push the thoughts away, he was still wondering about her whereabouts, terrified that she wouldn't be able to survive as a rogue.

***

Meanwhile, in her trailer, Zoriana was reviewing documents with a wild grin. Everything was moving faster and better than she could have imagined. The pack registration had been approved. Most likely, because there was no field specifying the Alpha’s gender, the council had overlooked her name and signed off. Regardless of whether it was an oversight or not, she was officially the Alpha of the Morning Star Pack. She was an Alpha currently living in a trailer and spending her free time helping construction workers build the pack grounds, but she was an Alpha nonetheless.

The ZRoux Corporation was also thriving. She had founded the company only two weeks ago and already had two large clients.

After a soft knock, Scott entered the trailer. “Guess whose mating ceremony is coming up soon?” he asked suspiciously.

Zoriana rolled her eyes, muttering, “We have already agreed that the moment the pack grounds are built, we’ll hold a grand ceremony for you and Braydon. You guys mean a lot to me, so there's no need to remind me every day. I won’t back out of my promise.”

Scott shrugged, pulling a magazine from behind his back and placing it open on her table. “Werewolf Prince Gael is back from overseas, and he’s engaged to a werecat princess. There will be a grand wedding soon and every pack will be invited. It’s a great opportunity for us to network.”

“Yes, we need to establish as many connections as we can,” Zoriana replied casually. She glanced at the photo Scott was pointing to.

In the photo was a tall, well-built man with magnificent blue eyes and a beautiful smile. Zoriana froze. He reminded her of someone... the arrogant stranger she had met at the motorcycle showroom. But the Prince had a friendly, open look, with warm kindness in his eyes and adorable dimples—the total opposite of the arrogant asshole she’d met. His bride, on the other hand, looked like a narcissist, her chin held high with an expression like she owned the world. She had long, flowing brunette hair that cascaded in soft waves around her face and over her shoulders, with deep-set green eyes and a refined facial structure that gave her a sophisticated look.

Zoriana’s gaze returned to the Prince. She studied him, trying to place a familiarity she couldn’t quite name. Suddenly, the image of the wolf with the Royal mark flashed in her mind. A wild thought crossed her mind, but she dismissed it immediately. A Crown Prince had no business saving an Alpha female of a tiny, new pack. But still, he looked painfully familiar.

A loud bang against the side of the trailer cut her train of thought short. Zoriana and Scott raced to the door.

The scent hit them before they even saw her—a sickening mixture of copper, salt, and the sharp, bleach-like stench of a male’s release.

Zoriana gasped, her heart plummeting into a cold, hollow abyss as she stared at the broken, ashen figure of her friend. Aella’s hollow eyes and trembling frame mirrored a soul shattered by a terror too deep for words. She was barely standing, leaning against the trailer to steady herself. Her hair was a matted mess, her eyes staring aimlessly. She was stark naked, her body a map of bruises, bites, and fresh blood. The white, jagged stains that matted her hair and skin were the unmistakable, drying evidence of multiple attackers.

Zoriana rushed to her. “Aella! Were you attacked by rogues?”

Aella tried to look at her, opened her mouth, and for a second, Zoriana braced herself for a scream. But there was only the wet, clicking sound of a throat too dry and a spirit too shattered to function. Watching her friend—the girl who could talk her way out of any trouble—struggle and fail to find even a single word was a special kind of torture. It was the silence of someone who had been told they no longer had a right to speak. She simply collapsed into Zoriana’s arms, unconscious.