Fated to the Wrong Alpha

Chapter 3 – Enemy House

The Lyall compound looks like a magazine spread dedicated to power.

Steel and glass rise out of the trees at the city’s edge, all sharp lines and dark stone, every window reflecting the forest behind it. Wolves in human skin move through the grounds with effortless purpose—patrols disguised as joggers, sentries that look like gardeners.

“Friendly,” Jarek mutters under his breath as we pull up to the gate. “Very welcoming.”

The guard scans our IDs with a device that definitely wasn’t designed for humans. His gaze lingers an extra fraction of a second on my name.

“Aeryn Voss,” he says. “You’re cleared. Your escort stays in the guest wing until further notice.”

I feel Jarek stiffen beside me. “I’m her beta,” he says, all polite steel. “I stay where she stays.”

The guard barely glances at him. “You stay where my alpha says.”

The gates slide open.

Inside the main house, the air is cooler, scented with cedar and something darker—oil and gunmetal, city and forest woven together. It’s…beautiful, I’ll give them that. Also a reminder: this isn’t a neutral hotel. This is his den.

Corren Lyall is waiting at the foot of a wide staircase, hands in his pockets as if this is all an inconvenience.

Up close, he looks more tired than he did in the boardroom. The suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened. There’s a faint bruise along his throat, like someone’s fingers pressed too hard there recently.

My wolf wants to put its teeth exactly over that mark.

I shut her up.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. “Try not to start any wars in the hallways.”

“Depends on how friendly your hallways are,” Jarek says before I can answer.

Corren’s gaze flicks to him, then back to me. “Your beta can stay in the guest wing with the rest of your people. You—”

“Stay where I’m told,” I finish, because we both know the script. “Alone.”

His jaw tics. The half-broken line between us hums like a live wire. Being this close makes it worse—like standing next to an electrical fence that recognizes your heartbeat.

“Is there a problem with that, Voss?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jarek says.

“No,” I say at the same time.

Corren’s mouth curves, humorless. “Reassuring to see you two on the same page.”

A door slams somewhere above us, and a female voice rings out. “Are they here? Did the sacrificial lambs arrive?”

A young woman barrels down the last few steps, nearly slipping in her socks. Dark hair in a messy braid, eyes bright with mischief and something sharp. She looks me over in one long sweep, from my blazer to my boots.

“Well,” she announces. “You’re prettier than the last diplomatic disaster he let through the door. That’s progress.”

“Lyssa,” Corren warns.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, big brother, I know. Be nice, behave, don’t stab the guests before dinner.” She offers me a hand. “Lyssa Lyall. Professional disappointment, occasional menace. You must be the future fake fiancée.”

My wolf rears up at the word fiancée, even with the fake in front. Mine, mine, mine. I grit my teeth.

“Aeryn Voss,” I say, shaking her hand. “Professional liar, according to some. Diplomat, according to my alpha.”

She grins. “Oh, we’re going to have fun.”

Behind her, another man has appeared silently, leaning against the banister. Older than Lyssa, a little older than Corren. Broad like him, but rougher around the edges, his gaze weighing everything. Boredom and razor wit sit easily on his face.

“Dael Renwick,” he says. “Beta. Contingency plan if our alpha gets himself killed playing politics.”

“Charmed,” I say.

He snorts. “We’ll see.”

The introductions scrape over my nerves, too normal for the storm inside my chest. Corren finally gestures toward the right hallway.

“Your room’s upstairs,” he says. “Third floor, east corner. You’ll meet with me in the study at sixteen hundred to go over the terms of this…performance.”

My mouth moves before my diplomacy can catch up. “Is that what we’re calling it? A performance?”

He steps closer. Not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough that my wolf can feel his heat, his scent, that wrong, raw bond between us screaming louder.

“What would you call it?” he asks quietly.

I hold his gaze, even though it hurts. “A very expensive lie.”

Something flashes in his eyes—agreement, pain, something dangerously like longing.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice low, “I don’t like it either.”

The bond between us twists, like it recognizes honesty when it hears it.

“Four o’clock, Voss.” He straightens, voice going cold again. “Try not to get lost. This house eats the unwary.”

Lyssa loops her arm through mine before I can answer. “Come on, almost-luna. Let me show you where we keep the good coffee and the family skeletons.”

As she pulls me up the stairs, my wolf looks back over my shoulder, toward the alpha at the bottom.

The line between us thrums in protest.

Fake, I remind myself.

My wolf doesn’t believe me.