My Alpha: CEO's Human Fated Mate

11. Blood Et Legacy

The scent hit him before the elevator doors even opened — cedar and rain and something colder underneath it, the particular weight of an Alpha’s presence that made even Alaric’s own wolf go still and wary. His father had always announced himself this way, long before he said a single word.

Alaric straightened his cuffs, rolled his shoulders back, and reminded himself, as he always had to, that he was the CEO of this building and merely the son in that room.

It didn’t help much. It never did.

The private lounge sat one floor below the executive suite, tucked behind a door that looked like nothing more than a supply closet to anyone without a wolf’s senses. No windows. No cameras. A place built for pack business, not client meetings — the kind of room where things were said that could never be repeated anywhere else in the building.

His father was already inside when Alaric arrived, standing by the far wall with his hands clasped behind his back, studying an old photograph that had hung there longer than Alaric had been alive. Silas Blackwood didn’t turn around right away. He never did. Making people wait was as natural to him as breathing.

“You sent for me, father.”

“Sit!” Silas finally turned, and even after twenty-nine years, the weight of his gaze still made something in Alaric’s chest want to lower itself to the floor. He fought the instinct, the way he always did.

“I’d rather not,” Alaric’ replied. “This should be quick, I have a company to run.”

“You have a legacy to protect. The company is a footnote to that, whether you choose to remember it or not.”

Alaric said nothing. He crossed to the small bar cart near the window — the one indulgence the room allowed — and poured two glasses out of habit rather than hospitality. Silas didn’t move to take his.

“I heard an interesting rumor today,” Silas said, finally settling into the leather chair at the head of the small table, the way he settled into every chair, like it had been built specifically to hold him. “That the topic of your future was raised in this morning’s board meeting.”

“It was raised. I ended it.”

“You ended the conversation. That’s not the same as answering the question.” Silas’s eyes tracked him with the patience of a man who had never once needed to raise his voice to be obeyed. “The elders asked, Alaric. Quietly, for now. That won’t last.”

“Let them ask.”

“They’re not asking me to indulge their curiosity. They’re asking because the pack needs to know its future is secure. A mate. An heir. Something solid to plant a flag on.” Silas leaned back, unhurried. “You’ve had twenty-nine years to figure out what’s expected of you. I’d hoped you wouldn’t need a reminder.”

“Bianca isn’t a decision I make over coffee, Father.”

“Bianca isn’t a woman you ‘get around to.’ She’s a decision you keep failing to make, and every day you fail to make it, someone else starts making assumptions on your behalf.” Silas’s tone didn’t rise, didn’t sharpen — it simply pressed, steady and immovable, the way water wore down stone. “Do you know what your grandfather did, the year before the war? He waited. He weighed his options. He told himself there would be time to decide properly.”

Alaric didn’t answer.

“There is never as much time as you think there is,” Silas said quietly. “I would have thought that lesson had been carved into this family clearly enough by now.”

He remembered being twelve years old, standing in this same room — smaller then, the table looming over him — while Silas explained, without raising his voice once, exactly what it meant to be born first. Not a gift. A debt, owed before he’d had any say in the matter. He remembered nodding, because nodding was the only acceptable response, and being sent back upstairs to finish his homework like nothing had happened at all.

“I’m aware of what’s expected of me,” Alaric said finally, the words coming out sharper than he intended.

“Are you.” It wasn’t a question. Silas rose from the chair, unhurried, and crossed the room toward him — close enough that Alaric had to consciously stop himself from stepping back, an old, buried reflex from childhood that never fully went away.

Silas inhaled, slow and deliberate, and something shifted behind his eyes.

“You smell different.”

Alaric kept his expression carefully neutral. “I smell like someone who’s been busy in his office all day.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Silas circled him once, the way an Alpha circled anything he didn’t yet understand. “I’ve known your scent since the day you were born, son. I would know it anywhere, in any state. This isn’t that. There’s something underneath it now. Something new. Something different.”

“It’s an office building. Hundreds of people pass through it.”

“I’m not asking you to explain hundreds of people.” Silas stopped directly in front of him. “I’m asking you to consider what happens when someone less patient than me notices it first.”

The room went quiet enough that Alaric could hear the faint hum of the building’s systems through the walls.

“There’s nothing to notice,” he said, and hated how much it cost him to say it.

Silas studied him a moment longer, long enough that Alaric wondered if his father could hear the lie sitting underneath the words, the way wolves sometimes could. Then, without warning, he stepped back, the tension in the room easing by exactly as much as Silas allowed it to.

“The gala is in three weeks,” Silas said, straightening his jacket. “The pack will be there. The elders will be there. Bianca’s family will be there.” He fixed Alaric with a final look, the kind that had ended arguments for thirty years running. “Make your intentions clear by then, Alaric. I would rather you do it than have it done for you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll assume the silence means something, and I’ll act accordingly.” Silas moved toward the door, pausing only once he’d reached it, his back still to his son. “This isn’t about you. It never was. It’s about what comes after you.”

The door closed behind him with a soft, deliberate click that somehow landed louder than a slam.

Alaric stood alone in the room for a long moment, the two untouched glasses still sitting on the bar cart, before he finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Three blocks from Blackwood Corps sat a parking structure that smelled like old concrete and gasoline, which was exactly why Corwin liked meeting there.

Flynn’s grin dropped the second the elevator doors closed behind him. He’d gotten good at that over the years — flipping a switch nobody upstairs ever saw, the easy charm folding away like something put back in a drawer. By the time he stepped out into the second sublevel, there was nothing left of the man who joked with Selene and stole croissants off Alaric’s desk. Just someone quieter. Someone more tired.

He checked his phone one more time — no new messages — and shoved it back into his pocket, scanning the rows of parked cars out of habit before he found the pillar Corwin always chose. No cameras reached this level. That was the point.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re late,” Corwin said, stepping out from the shadow of a concrete support beam like he’d been standing there for an hour, arms crossed, expression as unreadable as ever.

“I’m careful. There’s a difference.” Flynn kept his voice light, though it took more effort than it used to.

“Talon doesn’t like waiting for updates that used to come on their own.” Corwin’s eyes tracked him, sharp and assessing, the way they always did — like he was constantly deciding whether Flynn was still worth the trouble. “You’ve gone quiet.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy. It’s never stopped you before.” Corwin took a step closer. “Anything new? Especially about the girl?”

“I didn’t say she was anything.”

“You didn’t say she wasn’t, either.” Corwin let the silence sit there, heavy, waiting to see if Flynn would fill it. He didn’t. “A human, appearing out of nowhere, planted right outside the future Alpha’s office, right as the pack starts pushing him toward the Ashford girl. You really want me to believe that’s a coincidence?”

“I want you to believe I’ll tell you when I know something worth telling.”

“That’s not how this works, Donovan, and you know it.” Corwin’s voice dropped, quieter now, which somehow made it worse. “Find out what she is. Soon. Talon’s patience isn’t a bottomless well, and neither is mine.”

Flynn held his gaze, jaw tight. “I’ll get you something when there’s something to get.”

“You used to be faster with information than this.”

“Well, I’ve never failed to report back to you. Why is it a problem now?” Flynn said, the doubt clear in Corwin’s voice making him insanely irritated.

“I’ll hold you to that. In the meantime, keep your distance from them. You’re getting too attached,” Corwin said simply.

“That’s not your problem.”

“Everything you do is my problem. That’s the arrangement.” Corwin studied him a beat longer, then stepped back, apparently satisfied, or at least done for now. “You’ve been in that building a long time, Donovan. Sometimes I wonder who you actually work for anymore.”

“I work for whoever’s smart enough to keep me useful.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting today.”

Corwin’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Careful. Men who forget which side they’re on tend to end up on neither.” He turned without another word, footsteps echoing off the concrete as he disappeared toward the exit ramp. “Don’t make me come find you next time.”

Flynn stood alone in the empty structure for a long moment, listening to the last of Corwin’s footsteps fade into silence, before he finally made his way back to his car. He sat behind the wheel without starting the engine, hands resting against it, staring at nothing in particular.

Somewhere upstairs, Alaric was probably still in that lounge with his father, being handed the same kind of ultimatum in a different shape. Neither of them noticed how much they had in common — two men standing in rooms they hadn’t chosen, being asked to become people they weren’t sure they wanted to be.

Flynn exhaled slowly, finally turned the key, and pulled out of the garage.

He had a report to write. He just hadn’t decided yet how much of it would be true.