The Alpha's Forbidden Coyote Mate

Chapter Three

The club pulses like a living beast, bass pounding against the speakers, rattling the floor beneath my boots. Neon lights flicker in dizzy bursts, painting the crowd in shards of color.

Al shouts her order over the noise, and the bartender slides two shots across the counter. She pushes one toward me—only for a hand to intercept. A tall figure shoves the glass away.

“She’s not allowed to drink that,” he says, voice cutting through the chaos.

I snatch the glass before the bartender can reclaim it and turn to face the audacity. Recognition hits instantly. Phantom. The fighter from earlier. And under the strobe lights, he looks even more glorious. Square jaw, high cheekbones, sapphire eyes that pin me in a heated gaze. His full lips are pressed into a tight line, and the gray shirt clings to a torso sculpted like stone. My breath betrays me, catching before I force it steady.

“What's in this?” I ask Al, though my gaze refuses to leave him.

“Edge,” she says quickly. “It’s an herbal potion. He’s right—you shouldn’t.” Her voice wavers, silver eyes wide.

Phantom leans in, lips brushing my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Be a good girl and hand it over. That’s an order.”

The command sends a shiver down my spine. My pulse stutters, traitorous. I smile sweetly. He relaxes, certain I’ll obey.

Then I tip the shot back in one gulp. The taste is rancid, like rot and rust, but I force a smirk. I lick the rim, wave the shot glass in his face, and hand it back to him, holding his gaze. “Oops. Maybe you should’ve specified you wanted the drink still inside. And in case there’s a translation issue—I don’t take orders.”

For a heartbeat, his eyes flare—confusion, amusement, something hotter. The air between us tightens, charged, like a wire sparking. My skin hums with it. Before I let it pull me in further, I drag Al toward the dance floor, pulse racing.

“Are you insane?” she hisses. “Do you know who that is?”

“Yeah. Trouble wrapped in a hot body looking to boss me around. Stop worrying. And didn't we come here to dance?”

She hesitates, then lets the beat carry her. Within minutes she’s twirling into another dancer’s arms, stealing him from his partner with a grin.

A guy a few inches taller than me approaches, smile easy. “You’re bold. No one talks to Phantom that way.”

“Are you asking me to dance, or are we holding a press conference on the dance floor?”

He laughs, takes my hand—only to freeze when a voice cuts through the music.

Phantom’s tone is low, lethal, and possessive: “I’d really hate to break your fingers for touching her. So disappear—before I deconstruct your hand.”

The words coil around me like smoke, sharp enough to make the guy drop my hand as if it’s burning. He vanishes into the crowd without a second glance.

But Phantom doesn’t leave. He’s still there, close enough that the heat of his body brushes mine. My pulse spikes, traitorous, thudding against my ribs. His sapphire eyes lock onto me, daring me to defy him again.

I tilt my chin, refusing to look away. “Do you walk around all day making demands, or am I just special?”

His smirk deepens, slow and dangerous. “Special, princess. Very special.”

The bass thunders, lights strobe, but all I feel is the charged air between us—like the dance floor itself has narrowed until it’s just him and me, locked in a battle neither of us intends to lose.

I turn to leave, but his next words freeze me. “Your pushback is excessive—have we hooked up? Did I ghost you after?” His grin is playful, mocking, but his gaze lingers too long, too intent.

I step closer, lips brushing his ear. “Trust me, if we had hooked up, you’d remember. Besides, I don’t get ghosted. And you are not my type.”

His chuckle vibrates through me, low and dangerous. “Lies. Princess, I’m every girl’s type.” His smirk is pure arrogance, but the heat in his eyes betrays him. “Besides my charm and good looks, I’m royalty. Next in line for succession.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?” He looks almost offended.

“If that’s your pickup line, I’m sorry to tell you—it didn’t move me.”

His grin widens, heart‑stopping in its confidence. For the second time tonight, I notice how unreal he is—too perfect, too magnetic. My pulse stutters, betraying me for the umpteenth time.

“Are you always this feisty, or is this just for me?” His voice dips lower, intimate, brushing against my skin like a touch.

Before I can answer, dizziness slams into me. My stomach lurches, vision scattering into red dots. The drink claws at my throat, stealing my breath. Panic surges. I stumble, gasping, clawing at the air.

What the actual hell was in that drink.

The scent of sage and cedar, mixed with something purely masculine, envelops me as muscled arms catch me. Phantom. His grip is firm, protective, pulling me against him. My body betrays me again—heat floods my veins, breath tangles in my chest. I fight, desperate to keep my eyes open, but the weight of my body vanishes. The red dots fade to black, and the last thing I feel is the burn of his gaze, searing through the darkness.