Page 3

Chapter

Three

M ia stalked through the forest toward the Moonrise Inn, her wolf practically vibrating with anticipation. Or maybe that was rage. Hard to tell the difference when it came to Jim Miracles.

"Left at the big oak," her wolf directed. "Then straight through the clearing where we first?—"

"We're not taking memory lane," Mia snapped, veering right instead. "We're taking the 'get this over with' route."

"That's the long way."

"Good. I need time to practice my speech." She ducked under a low branch, the rough bark scraping her shoulder. "'Jim, you colossal jackass' seems like a strong opener."

"Very diplomatic. Really showcases those psychology degrees."

The collision came out of nowhere—a wall of white fur slamming into her side with the force of a supernatural freight train.

Mia went down hard, pine needles and dirt filling her mouth as she rolled.

Her clothes shredded instantly under the impact of her emergency shift, designer jeans becoming very expensive confetti.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL?—"

The white wolf towering over her was massive—shoulders broad as a small car, muscles rippling beneath fur that seemed to absorb sunlight like some kind of lupine black hole.

His scent hit her like a slap: expensive cologne trying to mask something else, fresh snow, and an underlying metallic note that made her wolf's hackles rise.

"Is that... Armani?" her wolf asked, bewildered. "On a wolf?"

Most wolves would have submitted immediately. Hell, most wolves would have wet themselves. But Mia had spent the last year being told what she couldn't do, and she was fresh out of fucks to give.

She squared her stance, dirt cool beneath her paws, meeting his ice-blue stare with golden fury. His growl shook leaves from nearby trees. Her answering snarl had once made a vampire drop his coffee and apologize to a lamp post.

"Intimidating," her wolf noted. "But we made Jim fall off his motorcycle that one time we growled during?—"

"NOT NOW."

The white wolf's ears twitched—probably surprise that she wasn't already showing her belly like some common omega.

They circled each other, a violent waltz between furry tanks.

The scent of his power pressed against her like a physical weight, testing her resolve.

He flashed perfect white teeth. She snapped back, the click of her canines sharp as a gunshot.

He feinted left with professional precision. She dodged right like someone who'd learned to fight dirty.

"This is ridiculous," her wolf commented as they continued their standoff. "We look like those inflatable sumo wrestlers at the fair."

After what felt like hours but was probably five minutes of the world's most aggressive dance-off, Mia decided she had better things to do—like confront her disaster of an ex-boyfriend.

She tossed her head in the universal wolf gesture for "whatever, dude" and trotted toward her clearing with deliberate nonchalance.

Back at her spot, she shifted quickly, bones cracking and reshaping. The cool air hit her bare skin like a reminder that she'd just shredded another outfit. At this rate, she'd be naked and broke by the end of the challenge.

"Third outfit this week," her wolf mourned. "Those were the jeans that made our butt look amazing."

Mia grabbed her emergency clothes from the hollow tree—thank god for paranoia and backup outfits—only to freeze at the sound of shifting bones behind her. Oh, hell no. Did Mr. Perfect Wolf seriously follow her?

She turned, ready to deliver a blistering lecture on boundaries and stalking, and?—

Oh.

OH.

Sweet mother of all that was holy and several things that weren't.

There he stood in all his glory.

And she meant ALL of it.

Every sculpted muscle, every perfect proportion, lit by dappled sunlight like some kind of Norse god who'd wandered off a movie set and forgotten his costume.

Apparently, Mr. White Wolf hadn't gotten the memo about stashing clothes before shifting. Either that, or this was the world's boldest power move.

"Alpha Matthews," he introduced himself, as casually as if they were at a board meeting instead of a forest clearing where he was cosplaying as a nudist Viking. "I believe we have a challenge to discuss."

"EYES UP HERE," her wolf shrieked. "THERE'S A TREE. LOOK AT THE TREE. THAT'S A VERY INTERESTING TREE."

Mia kept her gaze locked on his face with the determination of someone diffusing a bomb. "You know, most people start with a handshake. Or clothes. Clothes are traditional. I'm very pro-tradition suddenly."

His laugh was rich and warm, completely at odds with the terrifying wolf from moments ago. "Where's the fun in that?"

"The fun is in not getting arrested for public indecency." Mia grabbed her jacket and threw it at him without looking, her aim guided by peripheral vision and desperation. "There's a perfectly good bush right there. I'd hate for any passing hikers to need therapy. Or worse, take photos."

He caught the jacket with unnecessary grace, wrapping it around his waist. It barely covered the essentials, straining against muscles that had no business being that defined.

How was this her life? An hour ago her biggest problem was an ex-boyfriend with a death wish.

Now she was having a forest conference with Magic Mike: Werewolf Edition.

"My apologies," he said, not sounding remotely sorry. That metallic scent flickered stronger for a moment—sharp, wrong, like pennies in her mouth. "I was merely scouting the territory. Didn't expect to run into the alpha herself."

"Scouting?" Mia arched an eyebrow, finally risking eye contact now that the danger zone was technically covered. "Is that what we're calling tackle football in the forest now?"

"Your reputation precedes you." He leaned against a tree, somehow making her rainbow unicorn jacket look like haute couture. "I wanted to see if the stories were true."

"Which stories? The one where I couldn't shift until last year, or the one where I run my pack like a democracy instead of a dictatorship?

" She crossed her arms, hyperaware of how normal her clothes looked compared to his creative fashion choices.

"Or my personal favorite—the one where I'm corrupting pack traditions with modern psychology? "

"The one where you made an elder cry during territory negotiations."

"He started it," Mia said defensively. "I just suggested his toxic masculinity was compensating for other... shortcomings."

Matthews smiled—the kind of smile that belonged in toothpaste commercials. "Fascinating. And here I thought you'd be another pretty face looking for a strong mate to handle the heavy lifting."

"The only heavy thing I need help lifting is the massive chip on the Council's shoulder about female alphas.

" The bark of the tree pressed into her spine as she leaned back, trying to look casual while internally screaming.

"So why don't we skip the charm offensive? You're not here to admire the trees."

"No," he agreed, his gaze steady and unnerving. "I'm here to win."

The breeze shifted, carrying his scent toward her again. For just a moment, that metallic undertone intensified—not cologne, not wolf, but something else. Something that made her wolf pace restlessly.

"Blood," her wolf whispered. "That's dried blood. But not... normal blood."

"Your pack holds impressive lands," Matthews continued, gesturing at the surrounding forest. "But I assure you, my interest isn't in real estate."

"No? Because I have a lovely timeshare in Florida I've been trying to unload. Very reasonable. Only slightly haunted."

He laughed again, the sound almost too perfect. "I prefer my challenges breathing. Speaking of which—" His eyes traveled over her with professional assessment. "You're smaller than I expected."

"I get that a lot. Usually right before I flip someone twice my size." Mia pushed off from the tree, closing the distance between them just enough to make a point. "Size isn't everything, Matthews. Just ask any of the alphas who thought a deadline wolf would be easy prey."

"Mm." He tilted his head, studying her like a particularly interesting specimen. "Jim Miracles taught you well."

The name hit her like ice water. Her spine stiffened, claws threatening to emerge. "What do you know about?—"

"Every alpha knows about the tattoo artist who helped the deadline wolf become the Iron Peak Alpha." His smile sharpened slightly. "Some even wonder what happened to him. Why he vanished right after your triumph."

"People leave," Mia said flatly, her voice arctic. "It happens."

"Does it?" Matthews stepped closer, and that wrong scent intensified. "Because I heard he just entered the challenge. Seems like an odd choice for someone who... left."

Her wolf snarled internally. This bastard had done his homework.

"Almost like he's trying to prove something," Matthews continued thoughtfully. "Or make amends. Must be difficult, having a non-pure blood competing against real alphas. Dangerous, even."

"Are you threatening him?"

"Me? Never." His innocent expression wouldn't fool a newborn. "I'm simply observing. These challenges can be... unpredictable. Accidents happen. Especially to those who don't belong."

The urge to shift and go for his throat was overwhelming. Only the knowledge that he was baiting her kept Mia's human form intact.

"Well," she said with forced brightness, "this has been fun. Nothing like a nude forest ambush to really set the tone for the next three weeks. Can't wait to see what you do for an encore. Interpretive dance? Mime?"

"I aim to surprise." He straightened, her jacket shifting precariously. "May the best wolf win, Alpha Lee."

"Planning on it." She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Matthews? That cologne doesn't quite cover what you're trying to hide. Might want to work on that."

His perfect smile flickered for just a second—a crack in the marble. Then it was back, bright and empty as a politician's promise.

As she walked away, Mia's wolf whispered urgently, "That's not normal blood under his scent. It's something else. Something wrong."

"I know," Mia muttered, quickening her pace toward the inn. "Question is, what kind of wrong are we dealing with?"

"The kind that wants to hurt Jim," her wolf said softly. "He practically advertised it."

Mia's hands clenched into fists. First, she'd deal with Jim and his death wish. Then she'd figure out what Alpha Matthews was hiding under all that perfection and cologne.

But one thing was certain—the white wolf might look like a fairy tale prince, but something dark lurked beneath that flawless surface. And it had its sights set on more than just winning her hand.

"Still want to throw things at Jim?" her wolf asked.

"Yes," Mia said. "But now I also want to keep him breathing while I do it."

The Moonrise Inn loomed ahead through the trees, and with it, a conversation she was nowhere near ready for. But ready or not, Jim Miracles had some explaining to do.

Right after she figured out how to explain showing up smelling like another alpha.

"This is going to go well," her wolf predicted.

"Shut up."