I Faked My Death to Escape My Alpha

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and pine, the scents of the Moon Festival mingling with the sharp tang of my anxiety. I'm Aspyn Spencer, and tonight I'm not preparing for the celebration as the Alpha's mate. I'm here as a servant.

My hands ache from scrubbing pots all afternoon while the pack house buzzes with excitement above me. Seven years. Seven years of being Desmond's fated mate, and still no mark on my neck. The other she-wolves whisper when they think I can't hear. Unmarked. Unwanted.

I hoist the crate of wine bottles, the wood digging into my palms. It's heavy, but I've learned not to ask for help. The stairs creak under my weight as I climb toward Desmond's office. My wolf stirs uneasily inside me, a constant ache of longing for a mate who refuses to claim us.

I pause outside his door, catching my breath. That's when I hear it.

"Seven years, Marcus." Desmond's laugh cuts through the wood like a blade. "Seven years without marking her, and I'm still standing. Told you I'd win that wager."

The crate slips. I try to catch it, but my fingers have gone numb.

Glass explodes across the hallway floor. Red wine spreads like blood across the hardwood, and I can't move. Can't breathe.

A wager.

The door flies open. Desmond fills the frame, his dark eyes narrowing when he sees me standing in the wreckage. He's beautiful in that cruel way of his—sharp jaw, broad shoulders, every inch the Alpha. But right now, all I see is a stranger.

"Do you have any idea how much that wine cost?" His voice is ice.

Marcus appears behind him, his face pale. "Alpha, maybe—"

"Get out," Desmond snaps, and Marcus vanishes.

Desmond's hand closes around my upper arm, dragging me into his office. The door slams. I stumble, catching myself on the edge of his desk, and something inside me breaks open.

"A wager?" My voice cracks. "I was a bet?"

"Aspyn—"

"Seven years." The words tear out of me. "Seven years I've waited for you to mark me, to claim me, and it was all just some sick game to prove you're stronger than the Moon Goddess?"

His jaw tightens. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." My hands are shaking, but I force the words out. The rejection ritual. It's the only way to break a mate bond. "I, Aspyn Spencer—"

His eyes flash red.

The Alpha Command hits me like a physical blow. My throat seizes. My body locks in place, every muscle frozen under the crushing weight of his dominance. I can't move. Can't speak. Can't even breathe properly.

Desmond steps closer, and I hate that even now, even after everything, my traitorous wolf whimpers at his nearness.

"Listen very carefully," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow feels more threatening than a shout. "If you ever try to reject me, if you ever try to leave this pack, I will personally escort your father