Page 26 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

MALCOLM

The house breathed.

It wasn’t the sterile, hollow air of an empty apartment or the stiff, curated scent of a place that had yet to be lived in. This house had settled into itself. Wood and stone, warmed by the sun streaming through wide windows, carried the faint scent of aged leather, old books, and something sweeter—something that wasn’t just home but mine.

Ellie’s scent curled through every inch of the library, blending with the spice of well-worn pages, ink, and the faintest trace of coffee. She was curled up in her oversized armchair, one leg hooked over the other, completely lost in whatever world had taken her hostage this time.

Her glasses sat low on her nose, a habit she hadn’t shaken, even after I replaced the ones she lost. I could still hear her unimpressed huff when I brought home twenty pairs instead of just one, promising to get more but running out of frames at the store. But she wore them. And that meant she had learned.

I should have been watching her.

Instead, my attention was locked on the envelope in my hand.

It wasn’t ordinary paper. This was heavy. Deliberate. Expensive.

No return address. No last name. Just three letters written in an elegant, unrushed scrawl:

Malcolm Cross.

A slow, deep breath filled my lungs as I ran my thumb over the black wax seal. An invitation.

I cracked the seal, unfolded the letter, and read.

Malcolm Cross,

We have been watching.

We have been listening. And we liked what we saw.

You rejected fate.

You defied instinct, and you made the world bleed for it.

Now, we invite you to take your place among us.

The Chosen are waiting.

A night of initiation.

A night of power.

A night to prove what we already know.

You were always meant to be one of us.

Welcome to The Chosen.

My jaw flexed, fingers curling around the edges of the paper.

The Chosen.

I had heard whispers of them before. A brotherhood. A network. A gathering of alphas, omegas, and betas who had turned their backs on the chains of fate.

Not rogues. Not exiles.

A fucking order.

Ellie shifted in her chair, stretching her legs, her foot brushing against the thick rug. The faint sound pulled my gaze to her—to the reason I had done all of it.

She had no idea what I had destroyed to get her here.

No idea that by rejecting my scent match, by carving my own path in blood and bone, I had unknowingly followed their creed to the letter.

And they had noticed.

A slow, dark chuckle rumbled in my chest as I folded the letter, tapping the edge against my palm.

They thought I needed their validation. Their fucking approval.

I didn’t.

But I’d go.

Not because I wanted to be one of them.

Because they already knew my name.

And now?

They were going to learn what the fuck that meant.