Alpha Mate at the Gas Station

32. wolf mutt

Dominic still wasn’t telling me.

And that silence terrified me more than any answer could have.

With my thoughts spiraling, I turned back to the kitchen, forcing my hands to keep moving even though I knew I wouldn’t eat a single bite of what I was cooking. The smell of chicken turned my stomach. My appetite had vanished the moment I realized something had been done to me—without my consent, without my understanding.

As I chopped mechanically, Dominic placed a thick stack of papers on the kitchen island.

“I need you to come with me,” he said quietly. “I’m going to change. While I do, I want you to read these. I’ll answer every question you have when I come back down—but please… don’t close your mind.”

I didn’t look at him.

“I’m Dominic,” he added softly. “Your Dom. Bunny, please don’t shut me out. If you do, things will get worse—not better.”

That felt like a warning disguised as concern.

Before I could respond, he left. The sound of his footsteps faded upstairs while I turned the stove down to low, my hands shaking.

I walked back to the island and stared at the documents.

Three titles.

Relationship Agreement

Prenuptial Agreement

Alternative Agreement

My chest tightened.

What the hell was this?

We slept together. More than once. But that didn’t mean we were together. That didn’t mean contracts. That didn’t mean ownership or futures decided without me.

My head throbbed. The pressure behind my eyes pulsed harder than the voices ever had.

The scent of overcooked chicken snapped me back, and I rushed to turn off the stove just as footsteps descended the stairs again.

I turned.

Dominic stood there in nothing but a bathrobe, loosely tied, his presence filling the room instantly. Not threatening—commanding. The memories of last night hit me without mercy, my body betraying me as heat curled low in my stomach.

My hand went instinctively to the mark on my neck.

Dominic noticed immediately.

“Can you come with me to the back of the house?” he asked gently. “I need to show you something.”

My voice trembled. “No. Not yet.”

I looked at him fully now, fear and confusion tangling in my chest.

“Why did you mark me?” I demanded. “How did you do this? Why can I hear people in my head?”

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he walked closer—slowly, carefully—and took my hand like he was afraid I might pull away.

“Because you were in danger,” he said quietly. “And because I didn’t act fast enough before.”

That answer didn’t comfort me.

It terrified me.

“You said if I had questions, you would answer them,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady. “I’m asking now, Dominic—and you’re dodging every single one. What are you hiding from me?”

My words didn’t make him angry.

They made him serious.

“I need to show you,” he repeated, slower this time. “You won’t believe me unless you see it for yourself. But I need you to keep an open mind about what you’re about to witness.”

He held his hand out, unwavering. Solid. Waiting.

My fingers trembled as I placed mine in his. He didn’t pull—he guided, slow and careful, until I was closer. His eyes dropped to my hand, and the moment he noticed the bruise, something dark flickered across his expression.

A low sound escaped his chest. Not anger. Not violence.

Possession.

“You need to tell me how you got hurt,” he said quietly. “You need to tell me how you ended up with a bruise on your hand,” he said. “I never hit your hand. The only thing I did was spread your p***y last night and this morning, and I swear that’s the only pain I’ll ever willingly give you.”

“Because I didn’t do that to you.”

The certainty in his voice made my breath hitch. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, warmth rushing through me in a way that confused and frightened me all at once. I hated how much I felt drawn to him even now—especially now—when he was still keeping things from me.

I didn’t want to leave the house.

Mario’s words echoed in my head—his demand that I leave Dominic, that I belong somewhere else. I hadn’t told Dominic any of that yet. I didn’t know how.

Swallowing hard, I stepped toward the sliding doors that led to the backyard and pushed them open.

“You tell me the truth first,” I said firmly. “Then I’ll tell you about the bruise. Deal?”

He walked past me into the open air. When he turned back, his expression was calm—but resolved.

“Deal,” he said. “And remember—keep an open mind, Bunny.”

The air shifted.

I felt it before I understood it—pressure, power, something ancient and heavy settling into the space around us. Dominic’s body began to change, bones and muscle reshaping in a way my mind couldn’t immediately comprehend.

And then he wasn’t Dominic anymore.

A massive wolf stood before me, fur the color of burnished gold, eyes the same impossible blue I had been looking into moments ago. Intelligent. Aware.

‘I’m a werewolf, Thumper, his voice echoed inside my head.

And I have claimed you as my Luna.’

The words from Mario, ‘wolf mutt’ crashed back into my thoughts.

And then I closed my eyes, only to see everything had went black.

Opening my eyes felt like surfacing from deep water. My head throbbed, heavy and distant, and no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts refused to line up. There was a sense that something had happened—something important, something frightening—but it slipped through my fingers every time I reached for it.

I tried to move and immediately winced.

Before panic could settle in, a man spoke.

“My love… you finally woke up.”

His voice was gentle, calm, perfectly measured. Too calm.

“You hit your head pretty strongly,” he continued, stepping closer. “But the plate incident is healing much faster than expected.”

The way he said it—the plate incident—made my stomach twist, though I couldn’t explain why. His hands were warm as he helped ease my head back against the pillows, his touch practiced, familiar, as if he had done this many times before.

I found myself smiling despite the ache. It felt… natural. Safe.

He kissed the back of my hand with reverence, like it meant something sacred, and without thinking I spoke softly.

“You’re very kind to me, sir. What is your name?”

For a split second—so brief I almost missed it—something flickered behind his eyes.

Then he smiled.

A bright, charming smile that chased the moment away.

“It seems you don’t remember your fiancée,” he said gently, as if this were nothing more than a small inconvenience. “But don’t worry. I won’t hurt you, my love.”

Fiancée.

The word settled into me like a stone dropped into still water.

“I’m Mario,” he continued smoothly. “Your fiancé… for the past month.”

A month.

“I’m sorry about your injury,” he added, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “That man hurt you before I could get to you.”

My chest tightened, though I didn’t know why.

“Please,” he said softly, leaning closer, his voice lowering into something intimate, almost tender. “When something I do frightens you, tell me. We can work through it together.”

His eyes held mine, unwavering.

“If you don’t,” he went on, just as calmly, “I can’t promise your safety again, my love.”

The words should have scared me.

Instead, they wrapped around me like a warning disguised as care.

Exhaustion pulled at my limbs, heavy and unavoidable. Before sleep claimed me again, I nodded faintly and whispered,

“Alright… I’ll do as you say.”

His smile widened.

And as darkness took me, a small, quiet unease lingered—unnoticed, unnamed—like something inside me was screaming behind locked doors I didn’t yet remember how to open.