Stepbrothers Are Alpha Bikers And My Mate

Rory's POV

“Some people leave quietly. Others tear your world down on the way out.” That’s what my dad always says.

But now, I bury him in silence. No loud wails, no damp knees at the edge of the grave. Just the quiet, shaking breath of someone who’s run out of tears before the dirt even touches the coffin. The sky hangs low, a heavy shade of grey, swollen with clouds that threaten rain but offer nothing.

I stand still, my black shoes half-sunk into the wet grass, and I stare as they lower the casket into the earth like it weighs nothing. As if it hadn’t once held the only man who ever gave a damn about me.

The priest mutters his final words, but they sound muffled in my ears like I’m underwater. The few people who come begin to trickle away, offering murmured condolences and stiff handshakes that mean nothing. None of them knew Harold Vale, my Dad.

He was more than a respected judge. He was quite strong with midnight coffee. Books stacked in every corner of our little home. The man who used to press kisses to my hair and tell me the world was dangerous, but I’d never have to face it alone. And now, I am alone.

I don’t cry. Not when the lawyer confirms there’s no will. Not when I find out the house is mortgaged to the bone from medical bills. Not even when I realize there’s nowhere left to go. My heart feels like glass, full of cracks but refusing to shatter.

Then my mother comes. The woman who disappeared ten years ago and never once looked back. Celeste Vale or Celeste Blackfang now married to a man I’ve never met, standing at the edge of the cemetery in black leather and red lipstick like she’s arriving at a cocktail party instead of her ex-husband’s funeral.

When I heard she married an Alpha Biker, I was shocked. They're werewolves and are believed to be dangerous and involved in the highest criminal Mafia activities, looking less than humans. But now that I’ve seen him for the first time, he surpasses every expectation. He’s handsome.

“You’re coming with me,” she says, sunglasses still on even though the sun has long disappeared behind thick clouds. The man beside her is enormous, tall, broad-shouldered and covered in tattoos, and silent as a tombstone. I stare at him, searching for any trace of comfort or familiarity. There’s none.

“Your father left you nothing,” she continues, like she’s ticking off errands. “No house, no savings. I’ve already packed your things. You’ll finish college in Crescent Hills. Let's not miss the flight.”

I laugh dry, bitter. “You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now I’m just... yours again to control Mom?”

“You’re not mine,” she replies simply. “You were his. And he’s gone.”

So I get into the black SUV waiting just beyond the gates and we drive off to the airport. What choice do