His Defiant Wolfless Mate's Secret Awakening

Alexa Gibson POV:

The silk of the dress is against my skin.

The crimson dress was a symbol of the pack's status. It's a beautiful dress for tonight's annual banquet.But when I stood before the full-length mirror in the bedroom, the dress looked more like a costume.

My eyes drifted upward, past the delicate neckline, to the bare skin of my neck and shoulder. It was smooth, unblemished. Empty.

The place where his mark should be.

Kaleb said they were waiting. That my body was too weak, too fragile.Actually, I am not completely devoid of wolf-like qualities; it's just that my wolfishness is too weak, so I am dismissed as having none at all.

He said it with such concern in his eyes. I'd believed him.

Being mated to the Alpha Kaleb Slater, was a miracle the Moon Goddess had bestowed upon a wolfless girl like me. I should be grateful.

I turned away from the mirror, a sigh escaping my lips. On the king-sized bed, Kaleb's custom-tailored suit jacket was tossed carelessly over a pile of pillows.

I picked up the jacket.

I carried the jacket to the ironing board I'd set up earlier. The heavy steam iron hissed to life in my hand. As I laid the jacket out, something on the nightstand caught my eye.

Kaleb's phone.

It lit up, a notification glowing in the dimming evening light.

But the name was impossible to miss.

Cynthia Ryan.

My heart gave a strange, sharp pang. I didn't mean to look.

The preview of the message was stark against the dark screen: "Kaleb, are you really bringing her tonight?"

My fingers tightened on the handle of the iron. Cynthia. The brilliant, powerful she-wolf Kaleb had grown up with. The one everyone, including his mother, thought he would choose as his Luna.

I picked up the phone, my only thought to place it back on the charger where it belonged.

Just as my fingers brushed the cool glass screen, a searing pain shot through my temples.

A gasp tore from my throat. My head swam. Our broken, pathetic excuse for a mate bond was activated.

And then, through the pain, came the whisper.

Not a whisper of love. Not a sweet nothing meant for his mate.

It was Kaleb's voice, clear as if he were standing right beside me, but it wasn't speaking to me. It was in my head, a shard of a conversation. He was speaking to his Beta, Mark.

The first fragment of his thoughts sliced through me: "...Mark, I told you, accepting the bond was the only way to make Cynthia see what she lost."

My body went rigid. The iron in my hand stilled.

No.

The second thought was a death blow, delivered with a casual cruelty that stole the air from my lungs: "No, she's just a replacement. Alexa knows her place."

A placeholder.

The third thought is about Cynthia Ryan. "Cynthia is brilliant, she's the future of this pack. I'm funding her new research project at the institute."

A sickening, acrid smell filled the air. Smoke.

I looked down. The iron, forgotten in my hand, had been pressed against the chest of the suit. A dark, scorched brand now marred the perfect fabric. An ugly, irreparable burn.

I snatched the iron away with a cry, stumbling backward. My heel caught on the leg of the vanity. I flailed, my hand swept across the polished surface.

A crystal bottle of perfume, tumbled to the floor.

The bedroom door swung open.

Kaleb stood there, magnificent in his tailored trousers and crisp white shirt. His eyes, the color of warm amber, took in the scene. The shattered glass. Me.

His brow furrowed, the signature crease of annoyance appearing between his eyes. He didn't ask if I was okay.

His gaze fixed on the ruined suit in my hand.

"Alexa, what is wrong with you?" His voice was sharp, impatient.

I lifted my head. I looked at him—this man I thought was my destiny, my world, my love.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. The pain from the bond, it was all a thick, suffocating sludge in my throat.

He saw my shattered expression, and the impatience in his eyes deepened into disdain. With a disgusted sigh, he strode to the walk-in closet and pulled out another, identical suit.

As he shrugged into the suit, he spoke without looking at me, his voice as cold as a winter night. "Clean this up."

I watched his back, the broad, powerful shoulders that I had once thought were my sanctuary. Now, they just looked cold.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror, giving me a cursory glance.

His eyes, however, lingered on my reflection, cold and calculating. "And you," he said, his voice dropping to a low, cutting tone, "you're not coming tonight."

My breath hitched. "What?" The word was a fragile whisper, barely audible.

"Look at yourself, Alexa," he gestured vaguely at the ruined suit in my hand, then at the shattered glass on the floor. "You're a mess. Unstable. This isn't the image I need by my side tonight. Not when the pack leaders are gathering, not when Cynthia will be there." He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Besides, you've already ruined one suit. I can't trust you not to cause another scene." He turned fully, his gaze sweeping over my crimson dress, now feeling like a mockery. "Stay here. Clean up your mess. Perhaps you can learn to control yourself." He didn't wait for a response, simply turned back to the mirror, adjusting his tie with meticulous care.

"I'm leaving. The banquet's waiting." The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the wreckage of our room.

I slowly sank to the floor, my knees giving way. My hand reached out, and my fingers closed around a shard of the broken perfume bottle.

The sharp edge bit into my skin, welled up and dripped onto the pristine white carpet. I looked at my reflection in a larger piece of shattered glass on the floor.