Alpha Mate at the Gas Station

3. Mate

Dominic POV

It’s her.

My fated mate.

It only took the fall of my pack… the loss of everything I once knew… for the moon to finally place her in front of me. And even though she’s human, there is nothing fragile about her. She stands in the middle of the storm life keeps throwing at her — and still manages to hold onto the last threads of dignity she has left.

Watching her do that… it moved something inside me I didn’t even know existed.

I smelled her the second I stepped out of the back office earlier — soft, warm, and painfully pure. My wolf went silent. Reverent. Certain. I took this part-time job for one reason: to keep my people safe from hunters and the vampires who resented us for moving into human territory.

We’d taken up quiet residence in the apartment complex beside this gas station. Nothing special. Just cars passing through, people filling up their tanks, a small corner market. But here — in the most unlikely place —

The moon had placed my future Luna.

And suddenly the devastation of losing my pack’s land didn’t feel so final anymore. I still had warriors. I still had loyal brothers and sisters. And now — I had a mate.

They would help her with anything she needed once she was ours.

Once she was mine.

I had just finished linking my pack members who work in law enforcement — already preparing to gather information and protect her — when I heard it. A shriek. Sharp. Ugly. Like a banshee dragging its nails across my spine.

The sound came from the front of the store.

I moved before my mind even caught up — instincts leading — my boots echoing against the tile as I stepped out of the coolers and followed the noise.

And then I saw her.

My mate stood there frozen behind the counter, tears streaking down her face, her shirt soaked and clinging to her flat chest. The sharp scent of burned coffee hit my nose, and rage slammed into me so violently my wolf lunged forward.

The blonde woman stood there — still sneering — still speaking poison.

It took every shred of control I had not to tear the world apart around her.

I stepped up behind my mate, close enough to shield her without startling her, and let my voice drop — calm, cold, deadly.

“You are harassing my coworker. If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police and having you removed from this store by force.”

The man beside the blonde stiffened. I watched him grab her and drag her toward the door while she yelled — but I barely heard it.

Because my mate was crying.

And my heart — the one I thought had hardened beyond repair — broke clean in half.

Her shoulders shook, silent and fragile. She kept trying to hold herself together, but she was unraveling right there in front of everyone. And all I wanted — with every fiber of my being — was to wrap myself around her and promise that no one would ever touch her again.

Not while I breathed.

Not while I existed.

Not while I was hers.

Thinking my mate would run to the bathroom again was my mistake.

Instead, she let out a slow, shaky breath… stepped forward… and quietly grabbed a napkin from beside the register. She dabbed at her tears. Straightened her shoulders. And went right back to ringing up customers like she hadn’t just been humiliated in front of an entire store.

Strength.

Grace.

Dignity — even when the world tried to bury her.

Each customer treated her gently — kindness replacing the earlier tension. One young woman didn’t hesitate, leaning forward with concern.

“Was that man with the blonde hoe your ex-husband, love? I’m filing a report and would like to know.”

My mate sniffed, but her voice remained steady — proud.

“He served me divorce papers this morning. We’re in the process now, but… I don’t know under what grounds yet.”

The woman nodded and still called the authorities to file a complaint against the blonde. Watching that softened something in my chest — not everyone in this human world was cruel.

But my mate needed more than kindness.

She needed space to breathe.

A new shirt. Warmth. Safety.

So I headed to the back and grabbed a couple of spare uniform shirts — ones that would fit her small, short frame. When I returned and held them out to her, she lifted a hand, gently refusing.

“Why not? You’re soaked,” I asked, genuinely confused.

She finished ringing the customer through before answering — completely honest, completely defeated.

“Each shirt is fifty dollars out of my paycheck. I can’t afford one. I’ll just hand-wash this in the lake near my tent. Please don’t feel bad for me. It was my mistake trusting a man who claimed to love me.”

Her words hit me like a slap.

A tent.

My fated mate was living in the woods. Alone. Vulnerable.

And she was still apologizing.

Rage surged hot through my veins — toward her ex, toward the world, toward the fate that had let her suffer this long. But she wasn’t finished.

“Please don’t think of me as fragile. I just want this to end so I can work for what I really want. I’m sorry you were dragged into this. I didn’t mean to be an inconvenience.”

I let out a sharp breath, irritation threading my voice — not at her, but at the way she kept pushing me away like she didn’t deserve help.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. I choose to stay by your side through this. Think of me as a friend — for now. You need one. And I won’t accept anything but ‘yes, Dom,’ or something close.”

I called the manager — a pack member — to learn how to ring up my own purchase, and hung up before he could complain. He could take it up with his Alpha later — me.

I tossed the shirts gently toward her.

“Change. And when you come back, we’re talking about where you’re living — because I refuse to let you keep sleeping in the woods under a f*****g tent.”

Her expression cracked — shock, vulnerability, a silent plea she didn’t know how to voice. Then she walked toward the bathroom with the shirts.

And that’s when the man who’d dragged the blonde out earlier walked back in — this time with more people.

The sight that followed sent my rage straight through the roof.

There he was — the man who had divorced her. Locked her out. Left her homeless.

Laughing with friends. Filling his tank. Buying drinks. Touching that blonde like she was a prize he’d earned.

Living comfortably…

While my mate washed clothes in a lake and slept under canvas.

I didn’t need to hear the history.

I didn’t need details.

I could smell the arrogance.

The entitlement.

The cowardice.

And all I could think was:

How dare he.

How dare he throw her away.

How dare he humiliate her.

How dare he sleep soundly while she survived alone in the dark.

My wolf pressed hard against my skin, claws raking, teeth bared — ready to defend what was ours.

And for the first time since losing my pack land…

I wanted blood.

He finally wandered up to the counter — still laughing, still careless, still living like nothing in his world had ever cracked. Like he hadn’t shattered the woman fate had tied to my soul.

But his happy little moment —

That was about to end.

I reached out calmly and flipped the sign on the register so it read CLOSED.

The laughter died on his lips.

Annoyance tightened his face as he snapped,

“Closed? We were just here.”

I smiled. Not kindly. Not warmly. Just… calmly.

Because by then, my pack had already finished linking me back — feeding me every law, every right, every route we needed to defend my mate.

And for the first time since I’d laid eyes on him, I was actually looking forward to what came next.

I leaned forward just slightly — enough to let him feel the shift in authority.

“Yes,” I said evenly. “Closed.”

He didn’t like that. Humans like him rarely do — men who’ve lived their whole lives stepping on others expect the world to stay soft beneath their boots.

But I wasn’t soft.

And this wasn’t his world anymore.

He straightened, brows knitting, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

And I could already smell it —

The moment he was going to realize that the woman he’d thrown away…

Was no longer unprotected.

And that the man standing behind this counter?

Was her mate.