The Alpha's Forced Mate

Elara Vance pulled her rented Kia to the curb. Blackwood Hollow. The town sign was peeling. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. She checked the file on the passenger seat. Missing persons reports dated back five years. All disappearances coincided with lunar cycles. She gripped the steering wheel. Her mission was simple: gather proof the local legend was true. She needed to expose the monsters living here. She needed to survive the process.

She grabbed her notebook and her large, functional handbag. Her cover story was solid. She was a freelance travel writer researching small-town revitalization. No one would suspect the truth. Her true identity was a journalist specializing in supernatural phenomena. Her last assignment nearly ended her career. This assignment could save it. She had to focus.

The town's main street was one block long. It held a post office, a general store, and a coffee shop. The coffee shop was the target. It was called The Daily Grind. She needed caffeine. She needed a base of operations.

Elara pushed the glass door open. A bell above the door chimed loudly. The interior was dark wood and worn leather. Three tables were occupied. All occupants were male. All stopped talking. They looked at her. The silence was immediate and heavy. She ignored them.

She walked to the counter. The barista, a tired-looking woman, gave a small nod. "What can I get for you?"

"Black coffee. Large." Elara paid with cash. She did not want digital records.

As she waited, she scanned the room. The men were large. They wore heavy plaid shirts and sturdy boots. They looked like lumberjacks. Their eyes were too sharp. Their posture was too rigid. They felt coiled. They did not move like normal men.

Then the air changed.

It was not a smell. It was a sensory takeover. Pine needles, fresh snow, and rain-soaked rock. It was wild and potent. It hit her like a physical force. It drowned out the coffee aroma and the old wood scent. It flooded her lungs. It made her knees shake.

She heard the door open again. She did not need to turn around. She knew he was there. The temperature in the room dropped. The other men in the room shifted. Their deference was palpable. Their silence was absolute.

The barista placed the cup on the counter. "Here you go."

Elara took the coffee. Her hand shook. She turned slowly.

He stood six feet, four inches. He wore a dark, tailored coat over a simple black t-shirt. His hair was black. His jawline was sharp. His presence was overwhelming. He was not just big. He was dangerous. He was lethal. His eyes were the color of molten gold. They fixed on her. They dismissed everything else in the room.

Dax Thorne had never experienced this before. His senses had warned him. A disturbance. A disruption. He thought it was a pack issue. He was wrong. It was this woman.

She smelled like sunlight and forbidden