Alpha's Chosen Mate

3

“We could call it that, but you’re the real winner here, Georgia. What’s it feel like to steal your best friend’s mate and cling to him like a f*****g leech, despite knowing he’ll never be yours?”

Georgia chuckles, patting Chris’s arm softly, even though her eyes are absolutely livid. “Oh, Lei, don’t do that. We both know the reason I’m here instead of you is because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”

My blood begins to boil, and just as I start to contemplate murder once more, the bartender returns with my glass. I down it in one go, cringing and swallowing a cough as I push it back across the counter for a refill. “I know it was you who edited those pictures. You’re a f*****g psycho⁠—”

The words get stuck in my throat as the back of my neck prickles with awareness—someone’s watching me. The weight of their stare burns through my skin. I turn my head and scan the floor, searching for whoever’s looking at me.

My heart skips a beat when my eyes lock on to two electric blue sparks in the darkness. He’s so far hidden in the shadows that I can’t make out the rest of his face, but his eyes are like live wires, and his gaze feels like it’s electrocuting me.

Unable to resist the pull of his eyes, I abandon my glass and walk to him. The closer I get, the clearer his features become, and I know for certain that he isn’t from here. I’ve never seen him before. Eyes like his are unforgettable.

When I’m only a few feet away from the stranger, he steps out of the shadows. For an entire minute, I stare at him with wide eyes. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’ve never seen a man so beautiful that he terrifies me. His beauty is a storm—raw, untamed, brutal, and precise, like a knife straight to the heart. It drains me of all sense, all strength, and my knees shake.

Twin pools of blue slide from my red hair to my brows, my nose, my lips, my neck, my cleavage. He takes a few moments to observe me, and I feel something like disappointment at his clinical stare. I would consider myself, on a scale of one to ten, a ten. On my bad days, like today, I’m a solid nine. But his man stares at me like he would a piece of furniture.

He closes the rest of the distance between us, and my pulse jumps in a way that has to be unhealthy. He smells so f*****g good that I want to lick his skin, and Goddess, he’s huge! His arms are so large that he could crush my neck without trying. Muscles bulge through his black, tailored jacket as he extends a hand to me. “Leilani Stone.”

My name rolls off his tongue so easily, you’d think we were well-acquainted, or maybe even best friends. A walking contradiction, this one. I stare at his big hand and the dark, curly bits of hair dotting his tan skin, and even if I’d like to test how much larger his hand is compared to mine, and how hard or soft it is, I don’t take it. I put on my hardest look, which goes to s**t, because I am drooling over this man right now—hell, I’m so drunk. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

His lips, sinfully carved for the sole purpose of seduction, curve into a cruel smirk. The hair on my skin rises as he slips his hand back into his pocket. I smell danger when I inhale his dark, musky scent, but because I’m a fool, I don’t make a single move to walk away from him. “We have not.”

My stomach tightens. His voice is like a caress down my skin, straight to my most sensitive parts. Just how drunk am I? “Whose guest are you?” Maybe he’s a friend of Christian’s?

He raises a shoulder and lets it fall. “Yours.”

My head feels hot. “Mine?”

His eyes hold mine intensely. “Yours, Leilani.” Butterflies erupt in my belly and my cheeks burn. He chuckles at my too-obvious reaction, and the sound goes straight to my core. Brushing the feeling off, I grab a glass of vodka from a servant’s tray, but before I can bring it to my lips, warm hands brush against mine.

I gasp at the burn of his touch, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s seized the glass. “You’ve had too much to drink tonight. Any more and you’ll be hurling your guts up.”

Frowning, I stare up at him, my vision swimming. “How long have you been watching me?”

He leans in so close that his nose brushes against my cheek. My heart races and I hold my breath as his lips brush against my ear. “Six years.”

CHAPTER 2

ASHER

F

ights. Chaos. Violence. I live for those things, and this wedding reeks of all three.

I wasn’t invited, of course. I’m the enemy, but the pictures piqued my curiosity. Hatred fuels my desire to leave no stone unturned when it comes to researching my enemies. My plan had been to attack the wedding and destroy the chance for peace between the packs. It was in motion until I got wind of the change in plans—and change in bride.

One look at the woman in the pictures, and I knew it wasn’t Mardoc Stone’s frail little princess. I have, after all, seen her naked before. I wonder if she knows the young alpha, Christian, has a section in his gallery filled with nudes of her he’s collected over the years—after he f****d her, during, prior, and without her consent.

There are others in his gallery of nudes and conquests as well: Georgia Moore—now Anderson—her best friend; Madeline Stone, her stepmother; Camille Davis, her most trusted maid since birth. It’s clear that there’s something disturbing about Christian Anderson, but I’m hardly one to talk.

Standing in the shadows, I watch Leilani Stone. Her dress is hideous. I wonder if she’s aware of that as she struts around like a lost peacock. Still, she is undeniably the most beautiful one here, even with mascara running down her cheeks as she indulges in more alcohol.

As if feeling the weight of my stare, her head whips in my direction. I stiffen. The pictures do those eyes no justice. They’re a rare shade of amber, reminiscent of a raging wildfire. And that fire enraptures my soul, instantly setting it ablaze.

A growl resounds somewhere around me, and it takes a moment to realize the sound came from me—from my wolf. My nostrils flare with the need to sniff her neck, and I shut my eyes, trying to calm my nerves and my wolf. There’s no way the Blue Moons’ entitled brat has this effect on me.

Still, the burning in my chest intensifies, and for the first time since I lost everything I held dear, my heart starts to race. My blood pumps harder, faster, and it worsens when her dark brows furrow. She…sees me? f**k.

I watch every step she takes in my direction, ignoring the Goddess-forsaken pull I feel toward her. She represents everything I despise—her family, her father, her mate, her pack. Besides, I usually don’t f**k with redheads. They’re crazy, and I doubt she’s any different, but I can’t control the direction of my thoughts.