Desired by Mate's Alpha Brother

The week after my disastrous Coming-of-Age ball crawled by in a blur of whispers and pitying glances. I'd managed to avoid both Logan and Connor as much as possible, taking my meals early and volunteering for border patrols that kept me away from the pack house. But I couldn't hide forever. Pack training was mandatory, especially for wolves my age.

I arrived at the training field early, hoping to warm up alone before others appeared. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as I stretched my muscles and tried to center my thoughts. Focus on the training, not the drama. Not the mate bond I never wanted.

"You're dropping your left shoulder."

I froze at the sound of that deep, commanding voice. Connor stood several yards away, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me with that same inscrutable expression that haunted my dreams.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden racing of my heart.

Connor's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "As future Alpha, it's my responsibility to ensure every pack member can defend themselves properly." He stepped closer, and I fought the urge to back away. "Even stubborn ones who avoid me for days."

"I haven't been avoiding you," I lied. "I've been busy."

"Hmm." The sound was noncommittal, but his eyes—dark and knowing—said he didn't believe me for a second.

Other pack members began to arrive, saving me from further conversation. I quickly moved toward a group of females my age, ignoring the curious glances they exchanged. Everyone knew about Logan's rejection by now. I wondered how many also suspected the truth about Connor and me.

Damien Hayes, our current Alpha and Connor's father, called us to attention. "Today we're focusing on defensive techniques. Pair up—someone close to your size and strength level."

I turned to one of the other females, but before I could speak, a warm hand closed around my wrist.

"You're with me," Connor said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Heads turned. Whispers erupted. I felt my face flush with heat.

"That's hardly a fair match," I protested, very aware of how his touch sent unwelcome tingles up my arm. "You outweigh me by at least seventy pounds."

Connor's eyes darkened. "All the more reason for you to learn how to defend against larger opponents." His voice dropped so only I could hear. "Unless you're afraid?"

The challenge in his tone made my wolf bristle. "Fine," I snapped, yanking my arm free. "Don't expect me to go easy on you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it."

We moved to an open space, and Connor demonstrated the first defensive move—a simple evasion technique followed by a counterattack. When it was my turn to practice, he stood behind me, his chest nearly touching my back as he positioned my arms.

"Wider stance," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. His hands moved to my hips, adjusting my position with a gentle pressure that sent shivers racing along my spine. "You need a solid foundation or you'll be knocked off balance."

I swallowed hard, acutely aware of how his scent—pine, smoke, and that wild, untamed something—wrapped around me like a physical touch. My wolf stirred, pressing against my consciousness with a yearning that terrified me.

"I've got it," I said tersely, stepping away from his touch.

Connor let his hands fall, but not before his fingers trailed along my waist in what could have been an accidental caress. The contact, brief as it was, burned through the thin material of my training shirt.

"Again," he commanded, moving to stand before me. "Try to take me down."

For the next hour, we circled each other in a dance that felt far more intimate than combat training should. Every time his hands found my body—correcting my form, demonstrating a hold, breaking my guard—it left me more confused and frustrated. I hated how my body responded to him, how my wolf howled for closer contact.

When training finally ended, I was sweaty, bruised, and emotionally exhausted. Connor had pushed me harder than any training partner ever had, but he'd also been infuriatingly controlled, never once letting his mask slip to reveal what he was thinking.

"You did well," he said as we walked back toward the pack house, his voice neutral. "But you're still holding back. Don't be afraid to use your full strength."

I glanced at him, trying to read the subtext in his words. "Against you? That would be pointless."

"Against anyone who threatens what's yours," he replied, his eyes briefly flaring with an emotion too quick to identify.

Before I could respond, he quickened his pace and joined his father at the front of the group, leaving me staring after him in confusion.

---

The pack house kitchen was my sanctuary. Cooking had always calmed me, giving my hands something to do while my mind worked through problems. I was kneading dough for fresh bread when Harper Lewis sauntered in with two of her friends.

"Well, look who it is," she drawled, loud enough for the other pack members gathered in the adjoining common room to hear. "The Beta's daughter who thought she was worthy of an Alpha's son."

I kept my eyes on the dough, pressing it perhaps harder than necessary. "I'm not in the mood, Harper."

She leaned against the counter, her lips curved in a malicious smile. "Logan and Brianna make such a perfect couple, don't they? Alpha bloodlines on both sides. Strong. Powerful." She looked me up and down dismissively. "Not like you."

The kitchen had gone quiet, everyone listening. My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset.

"Did you really think he would choose you?" Harper continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That he would pass up someone like Brianna for the Beta's daughter? For someone so... ordinary?"

Something inside me snapped. I slammed the dough down, sending a cloud of flour into the air. "At least I'm not the Gamma's daughter desperately trying to climb the social ladder by tearing others down," I hissed. "How pathetic is that, Harper?"

Her face contorted with anger. "You little—"

"That's enough."

Connor's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stood in the doorway, his presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. His eyes, cold and hard, fixed on Harper.

"Alpha Connor," she stammered, her demeanor instantly changing to one of deference. "We were just talking."

"No, you were bullying a packmate," he corrected, his tone dangerously soft. "That stops now."

Harper's face flushed red. With a muttered apology, she and her friends scurried from the kitchen. The other pack members quickly found reasons to leave as well, until only Connor and I remained.

I turned back to my dough, kneading it with renewed vigor. "I didn't need your help," I said, hating how shaky my voice sounded.

"I know." He moved to stand beside me, close enough that our arms almost touched. "You were handling it well."

I glanced at him, surprised by the approval in his voice.

"But," he continued, his eyes darkening, "no one speaks to what's mine that way."

Before I could process his words, he was gone, leaving me staring after him with flour-covered hands and a heart that wouldn't stop racing.

What's mine. The possessive claim echoed in my head as I fled to the forest that afternoon, shifting into my wolf form the moment I cleared the tree line. I needed to run, to clear my head, to escape the confusion and unwanted attraction that seemed to grow stronger each time Connor was near.

The forest welcomed me, wrapping me in the comforting scents of earth and vegetation. My paws pounded against the ground as I pushed myself faster, following game trails deeper into the territory. Here, I could breathe. Here, I could think.

Until I felt it again—that prickling awareness that I wasn't alone.

I skidded to a halt, ears pricked forward as I scanned the trees. At first, I saw nothing. Then a shadow moved, and he emerged from the underbrush—a massive black wolf with eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire.

Connor.

He made no move to approach, simply watching me from a distance, his powerful form unnervingly still. A silent guardian. Or a predator biding his time.

I growled low in my throat, a warning to keep his distance. He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by my defiance, but remained where he was.

Why was he following me? What game was he playing?

I turned and bolted deeper into the forest, pushing my speed to its limit. Behind me, I sensed rather than heard him following—a dark presence keeping pace effortlessly, never closing the gap but never falling behind.

No matter how I zigzagged through the trees or doubled back on my trail, I couldn't shake him. He was always there, a shadow at the edge of my awareness, watching, waiting.

For what, I didn't know.

But as the sun began to set and I finally turned back toward the pack house, exhausted and frustrated, one terrifying thought kept circling in my mind: What would happen when he decided he was tired of waiting?