A Breeder For The Alpha King

Chapter6

A month had passed since Freya had been brought into the Northridge Pack, and slowly, painfully, she had accepted the truth of her existence. She was nobody—just a wolfless omega bound by circumstances, thrown into a world where she had no real say in her future. The first few weeks she had clung to fragile hope, imagining that perhaps her old pack would send for her, that perhaps her father would beg the Alpha to reconsider, that maybe—just maybe—her fate could be undone. But each day that passed made it clearer. No one was coming.

Her room, though small, had become her safe haven. She spent hours there, sitting by the window and watching the pack grounds from a distance. The Northridge territory was different from the terrifying stories she had grown up hearing. She had been told the Northridge wolves were merciless savages, brutal even to their own, but that wasn’t entirely true. The people here lived with discipline, yes, but also with a sense of order. They smiled, they worked, they celebrated. The only ones who seemed to suffer were those who openly defied the Alpha’s laws. Freya, with her quiet nature and submissive demeanor, gave them no reason to look at her twice.

Alpha Logan barely spoke to her. When he did, his words were curt but not cruel, commanding but never laced with the venom she expected. He hadn’t forced himself on her, hadn’t demanded her body the way other Alphas were rumored to treat their claimed mates. Instead, he gave her time—though she wasn’t sure if it was an act of mercy or just disinterest. At Samantha’s quiet urging, he allowed Freya space to breathe, to learn the rhythms of life in Northridge.

Logan himself was a contradiction. Strict, unreadable, his presence filled any room he walked into, and yet there were moments when Freya glimpsed something softer, something human. Unlike most Alphas she’d heard of, he did not dine alone in some grand chamber but at the long table with his closest men—his Beta, Xavier, his Gamma, Theodore, and of course, Samantha. Freya had been surprised to find Samantha at the Alpha’s table so often, until she learned the truth: Samantha was Theodore’s fiancée.

That revelation had brought Freya a measure of comfort. On nights when the men’s talk grew too serious or the silence too thick, Samantha leaned over to whisper in her ear, keeping her company. One afternoon, over a quiet meal, Samantha had confessed that she too had once been brought to Northridge as a captive, barely sixteen, frightened and unsure of her fate. It was Theodore, she said, who had taken her under his wing, who treated her like family until, slowly, affection grew into something deeper. Now they were to be married, and Samantha’s face lit up whenever she spoke of it.

Freya had listened with a small, wistful smile, her chest aching. She was happy for Samantha, truly she was, but it was impossible not to compare her own situation. Where Samantha had found love and belonging, Freya had only loneliness. She wanted to believe that maybe, someday, she could find something similar—someone to see her, truly see her. But that dream was too fragile to hold.

It was during one such evening meal that tension found its way to the table.

Freya sat quietly, as she always did, pushing her food around her plate, trying not to draw attention to herself. Laughter and conversation flowed easily between Xavier and Theodore, while Samantha listened with an affectionate smile. The mood was warm—until the sound of sharp heels clicking against the floor cut through the air.

Freya’s eyes lifted, and she saw her. Eve.

The young lady carried herself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her hips swaying as she emerged from the hall leading to the Alpha’s chambers. Her dark eyes swept the table, lingering just a second too long on Freya before sliding dismissively to the others. Eve was beautiful in a sharp, unyielding way, but her beauty was soured by the sneer she so often wore.

“Don’t expect the Alpha to join just yet,” Eve announced, her voice dripping with disdain. “He’s… busy.”

The way she said it, the deliberate pause, the smug curl of her lips—it was meant to provoke.

Freya froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. She glanced at Samantha, whispering, “Who is that?”

Samantha’s expression shifted, part annoyance, part resignation. “That’s Eve. Alpha Logan’s adopted sister. He saved her years ago during a raid and took her in. She’s been here ever since.”

“His sister?” Freya asked softly, her brows knitting. “But… people talk. I’ve heard some of the women whisper that she and the Alpha…” She trailed off, heat crawling up her neck.

Samantha’s eyes widened, then she burst into a low chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Freya. Don’t believe everything you hear. Logan is many things, but he would never stoop so low. She’s family to him.”

Freya wanted to believe her. She truly did. But the way Eve sauntered about, the way she exited his chambers with that smug satisfaction—it planted doubts in her mind she couldn’t quite shake.

Eve’s gaze landed on Freya then, sharp and mocking. She gave a derisive little laugh, tilting her head. “So this is the precious omega we’re all supposed to bow to? How pitiful.”

Freya’s chest tightened, but she lowered her gaze, refusing to rise to the bait. She had learned early on that silence was safer than retaliation.

Moments later, the doors opened again, and Logan himself entered. His presence silenced the room instantly. Tall, broad-shouldered, his aura demanded obedience without him having to say a word.

Eve’s transformation was immediate. She straightened, her lips curling into a smile as she rose gracefully from her seat. “Alpha,” she purred, moving to his side with the ease of someone who thought she belonged there. She reached for the serving bowl, ready to dish food onto his plate before anyone else could move.

Freya caught the exchange out of the corner of her eye, amusement flickering briefly within her. Eve’s eagerness was almost comical, though no one dared laugh. Still, Freya kept her head down, pretending to focus on her meal.

In the weeks that followed her stay in Northridge, Logan had begun calling Freya to sit in on certain meetings. At first, she had been confused. What use was a wolfless omega in discussions about patrol schedules or border security? But Logan had explained, in his curt way, that she needed to understand the workings of the pack if she was to live here. He never elaborated further, and though his words gave her no clarity, she obeyed.

Curiously, though, he never mentioned anything again about the reason why she was in Northridge pack. Samantha said he was probably buying time and allowing her to get used to everything, because a breeder for the alpha is more like his Luna.. Not once did he demand her to share his bed or speak of pups. The uncertainty gnawed at her—was he simply waiting for the right time, or did he find her so unworthy that he couldn’t be bothered?

Now, sitting at the dinner table, Freya absently picked at her food, lost in her own thoughts. The laughter of the others faded into the background, the clatter of dishes dull against the storm inside her chest.

Then, his voice cut through.

“Freya.”

She stilled, her fork clinking softly against her plate.

Her heart thudded painfully. She told herself he must have been speaking to someone else, that she had misheard. She kept her head down, her hand tightening around her fork.

“Freya,” Logan said again, more firmly this time.

The air around the table seemed to shift. All eyes turned to her.

Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her gaze. His dark eyes were on her, steady and unreadable, as though he were trying to peer into the very depths of her soul.