THE ALPHA'S SAVAGE MATE

Chapter 9: The Alpha playboy

Jake's POV

Sunlight spilled into my bedroom, filtered through the sheer curtains, but it wasn’t what woke me. The faint scent of perfume lingered on the pillow beside me: sweet, floral, and already fading.

Ashley? No, Hailey. Definitely Hailey.

I smirked, running a hand over my face. She was gone, just like I’d expected. They always left before dawn. That wasn’t a rule I’d ever laid down, but it was an unspoken understanding. They knew the deal: no strings, no morning-after bullshit. Just one night.

The sheets were still tangled around my legs as I swung them over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the cold marble floor. My muscles protested as I stood, sore from a combination of last night’s sparring session and the extracurricular activities that followed.

I stretched, the tension easing slightly as I moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the far wall. My bedroom was nestled on the top floor of the mansion, offering a view that stretched across Silvermoon Pack’s territory. It was breathtaking if you cared about that sort of thing.

Me? I saw control.

The mountains in the distance, the sprawling forest, the village nestled at the base of it all: it was mine. Every inch of it. Every life lived within those borders. And that kind of power didn’t come without a price.

I leaned against the glass, letting the sunlight warm my bare chest. The estate below was already stirring, the sound of distant voices and the hum of morning routines drifting upward. Staff preparing breakfast, patrols changing shifts, warriors starting their day. Everything ran like clockwork. It had to.

I turned away from the window and grabbed a pair of black joggers from the armchair in the corner, pulling them on as I headed toward the bathroom.

The shower was scalding, the way I liked it. By the time I stepped out, the room was filled with steam, and my thoughts were clear.

By midmorning, the mansion was alive with movement. The staff bustled through the halls, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. Breakfast was already laid out in the dining room: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and enough coffee to fuel a small army.

But I wasn’t in the mood to eat.

Instead, I made my way to the gym, a massive space on the lower level of the mansion outfitted with state-of-the-art equipment. Silvermoon didn’t tolerate weakness, and neither did I.

The gym was already buzzing when I walked in.

The sound of fists hitting the heavy bag echoed off the walls, mixed with the faint hum of music playing from the overhead speakers. It smelled like sweat and determination, the kind of atmosphere that made you want to push yourself harder.

Simon was at the center of it, shirtless and already glistening with sweat as he worked the bag with brutal precision. His dark hair was damp, slicked back from his face, and his sharp features were set in concentration.

Nice of you to join me,” Simon said, not looking up as he delivered a brutal hook that sent the bag swinging.

“I had company,” I replied, smirking as I grabbed a pair of wraps from the bench.

He snorted, finally pausing to glance at me. “Of course you did. Let me guess: blonde, legs for days, and completely obsessed with you?”

“Something like that,” I replied, smirking back as I wrapped my hands.

He laughed. “One of these days, you’re going to run out of women willing to deal with your shit.”

“Doubt it,” I said, stepping into the ring.

Luca followed, tossing his towel onto the ropes as he slipped on his gloves. “You know, not everyone is as easily impressed by brooding bad-boy energy as you think.”

“Works well enough for me,” I said, raising my hands. “Now stop talking and show me what you’ve got.”

“You ready?” he asked, slipping on his gloves.

I nodded, raising my hands as he stepped into the ring.

The first punch came fast, a sharp jab aimed at my ribs, but I dodged it easily, countering with a right hook that Simon just barely managed to block.

“You’re getting slower,” he taunted, his grin sharp as he moved in closer.

“Keep talking, Ashford,” I said, smirking as I landed a solid hit to his shoulder. “We’ll see who’s slower when you’re flat on your ass.”

The sparring match escalated quickly, each of us pushing harder, faster, neither willing to give an inch. Simon was good: better than most,but he wasn’t me. I landed a brutal uppercut that sent him stumbling back against the ropes, and he grinned, spitting blood onto the mat.

“Lucky shot,” he said, wiping his mouth.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I replied, smirking as I stepped back.

The match ended with both of us drenched in sweat and breathing hard, leaning against the ropes to catch our breath.

“Good session,” Simon said, grabbing his towel.

“You mean another loss for you,” I said, smirking as I grabbed a bottle of water.

“Careful, Stromrider,” he said, chuckling. “One of these days, I’ll knock that smirk off your face.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I replied.

By the time I stepped into my office, the adrenaline from the sparring session had faded, replaced by the sharp focus that came with dealing with pack business.

The room was all dark wood and leather, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air. The large windows behind my desk offered a view of the territory, but my attention was on the stack of papers waiting for me.

The first meeting of the day was with Cyrus Hale, a neighboring Alpha. He was older, with graying hair and a face that looked like it had seen more battles than he cared to admit.

“Stromrider,” Hale said as he stepped inside, his tone curt.

“Cyrus,” I replied, motioning for him to sit. “Let’s get to it.”

The meeting was about territory access: Hale wanted to move his pack’s trade routes through Silvermoon land, and I wasn’t about to let that happen without compensation.

“This isn’t charity, Cyrus,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “You want access, you pay for it.”

“Pay for it?” he repeated, frowning. “We’ve been allies for years.”

“Allies or not, my pack comes first,” I said, my tone cold. “You know that.”

Hale’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. Name your price.”

I smirked, knowing I’d already won.

By midday, the work was done, and the estate had settled into its usual rhythm. Patrols rotated out, training sessions continued, and the pack village bustled with life.

I found myself on the balcony outside my office, a cigar in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. The sun was warm on my skin, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

“You know,” Simon said, stepping outside to join me, “you’re starting to live up to the playboy Alpha stereotype a little too well.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning against the railing, “is that it’s all a distraction. You act like you don’t care about anything, but I know better.”

“You don’t know s**t,” I replied, taking a drag from the cigar.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Stromrider. But one of these days, all this bravado? It’s not going to be enough to hide whatever it is you’re running from.”

I didn’t respond, staring out at the territory instead. Simon didn’t push. He knew better.

That night, the mansion was quiet again, the air heavy with the kind of stillness that made you restless.

I found myself outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I stood on the balcony. The moon was high, casting its pale glow over the territory. It was beautiful in a way, but it also felt distant. Cold.

I lit another cigar, the smoke curling around me as I stared up at the sky.

Simon’s words from earlier echoed in my mind, but I shoved them aside. I didn’t have time for introspection, for doubts, for whatever the hell he thought I was running from.

I’d built this life to survive. To thrive. And I wasn’t about to let anything,or anyone,tear it down.

The moon didn’t care about my past, my scars, or the weight I carried. And that was fine. Because I didn’t care either.