The Alpha's Wild Mate

What in the fresh hell was that smell? It wasn’t a bad smell. In fact, it was kind of…delicious. Hazel Foster’s sleep-fogged brain, still lounging somewhere between being awake and being asleep, managed to piece together three things about it: One, it was definitely a person’s scent; rich and masculine and wholly illegal in fifty states. Like pine needles after a storm. Like fresh cedarwood. Like spring rain dripped over s*x. Two, it belonged to a guy. A very male guy. And three, he was a werewolf, Just like her. Which was super interesting, considering Hazel didn’t make a habit of inviting mysterious, delicious-smelling strangers into her bed, especially not in the pack house. Her father was going to kill her if he knew she had a man in her bed, in her room, especially when he was trying to pawn her off to the alpha of the neighboring pack. Forcing one eye open; barely, she glanced to her left. And she realized that the mystery man with the sweet scent was gone. She tilted her head, which felt like it was filled with wet cement, and squinted in the direction of her alarm clock. But it wasn't there, it was gone, right along with her bedside table. Also, the comforter that was draped around her wasn't hers. Her sheets were a generic cotton blend with a questionable stain in the bottom corner from an incident involving chocolate ice cream and a true crime documentary. But these sheets, they were soft, silky and it smelled like money and testosterone. With a jolt of panic that had her stomach lurching, Hazel sat up and immediately regretted it. Oh no. No no no. This wasn’t her room, this wasn’t even her house. Hell, this place didn't even look like an ordinary house, it looked like a chamber in a palace. The room was so large; a luxurious, masculine sanctuary that combined warm, earthy tones with rich textures and sleek modern touches. It felt curated, confident, and quietly powerful; like the kind of room a successful man would retreat to after a long day. The bed was king-sized with a tall, tufted upholstered headboard in dark gray color. It was thick, luxurious bedding with layers of Egyptian silky sheets, a plush duvet, and neatly folded throws in wool. The bedside table was a dark walnut wood with clean lines, possibly with a soft-close drawer and subtle metal handles. Hazel blinked at it all, unimpressed. Her inner wolf stirred; on high alert, but not anxious. Of course she wasn’t anxious. Her dumb wolf was probably curled up with a dream version of that yummy scent, drooling on her metaphorical paws. She wished she could say this kind of thing was new, given her stellar history of memory lapses and her unofficial diagnosis of “RAN” Remembering Absolutely Nothing, waking up in weird places wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, still. This was different, there was a gaping hole in her memory, and no amount of caffeine was going to fix that. The last thing she remembered was going to her best friend Marcie, but still, it didn't sound right. For one, she was still fully clothed in jeans and a plain black tee, not exactly club attire, where she had last remembered they were going. Two, there was no scent of s*x on her or the sheets, which was great, because that wasn't how she envisioned losing her innocence. Three, she didn’t drink on-call. As the pack healer, she was always on-call. So…what the hell had happened? She inhaled deeply, letting the scents in the air unravel the truth. There were three other shifters detectable, one female, one male, plus the sexy mystery guy who smelled like temptation in human form. All unfamiliar. One thing was clear: she wasn’t in her pack house. Thank God, because the last thing she wanted was to meet the alpha her father was planning to pawn her off to. He had been trying to get Cade Maddox to agree to marry her, like he was tired of her. Her father was a man who saw his daughter’s latent status as an embarrassment. Hazel clenched her jaw. She knew her father wouldn’t even put her face on the news if she went missing. Pulling herself out of the dream bed, she stumbled a bit; head swimming, legs made of jello… and moved toward the curtains. They were beige and pretty, just like everything else in this luxury room. She tugged them open to find a locked bay window and a view that nearly made her drop her mouth open. They were on a cliff like ground, with the beach beyond it. From where she was standing, dozens of arched balconies, stairways winding from level to level, and warm yellow lights built into the walls. They looked like an ancient cave dwelling had a baby with a luxury ski resort and then got a makeover. Below the cliff, there were lots of grass, and then an endless sea of trees. A forest so thick and vast she half expected Bigfoot to come strolling out, sipping a latte. She had seen rock like walls, a small beach, and a vast land of trees, so that was good. She was still in West Virginia. It had to be. She wondered how far she could go if she was to escape from here, before she was caught. Scowling, Hazel ran a hand through her hair, which; as usual, couldn’t decide if it wanted to be sun-kissed blonde or sad dishwater. Then she made her way to the heavy wooden door and gripped the handle. It didn’t budge, it was locked. “Hey!” she called out, banging a fist against the door. Silence. “Hellooooooooooo?” she tried again, louder this time. Nada. Hazel growled low in her throat. “I swear, if this is some weird kidnapping-mating-ritual-bullshit thing, I’m gonna neuter someone.” And she meant it. Then, the door handle rattled and she took a step back, and soon, the owner of one of the scents in the room stepped inside, and Hazel froze. Her heart lurched forward to her throat, and she wanted to scream.