The Alpha I Resent, The Bond I Cannot Break

"Drop the bags."

I tightened my grip on the plastic handle of my suitcase. Scotty Montgomery stood by the massive marble kitchen island. He held a glass of amber liquid, his dark eyes tracking my every move from across the vast living room.

"I can carry my own things," I said.

He set the glass down. The ice clinked sharply against the crystal. "Suit yourself."

He walked around the island.

I watched his heavy boots cross the hardwood floor. He was closing the distance. Five meters. Four meters. Three.

As soon as he crossed the two-meter mark, the reaction hit me like a physical blow.

My heart slammed against my ribs in a frantic, erratic rhythm. A sudden wave of heat rushed straight to my cheeks, burning my skin as if I had stepped into an oven. A thin layer of sweat prickled between my shoulder blades, dampening the fabric of my sweater.

I took a quick step backward.

Scotty stopped. He frowned, his gaze dropping to my feet. "What are you doing?"

"Just finding my footing," I lied.

He took another step forward.

I shuffled back again.

This was the pattern. I had noticed it at the dinner table on Friday when his knee brushed mine. I noticed it during the car ride, whenever he leaned over to speak to my father. Whenever Scotty breached that invisible two-meter boundary, my body went into full rebellion.

For days, I blamed my fury. I hated him. It made perfect sense that my blood boiled when he was near. But anger was supposed to make me want to fight. Anger made my fists clench and my jaw tight.

Anger didn't turn my knees to jelly. Anger didn't make my limbs feel heavy and utterly useless. This was something else entirely.

"Are we playing a game, Camille?" he asked.

"No."

"Then stand still."

"I'm fine right here."

He crossed his arms. The black fabric of his shirt stretched taut across his chest. "You look ridiculous standing by the elevator. Come here."

"Tell me where my room is, and I'll go."

"We need to discuss tomorrow's press conference first."

He advanced again. Two long strides.

I retreated instantly. My sneakers squeaked loudly against the polished wood.

"Stop walking away from me," he snapped.

"Then stop walking toward me!"

"This is my apartment."

"And this is my personal space."

He scoffed, dropping his arms. "We're getting married tomorrow. Personal space is dead."

"It's a business arrangement. My space remains mine."

"Not in this pack."

"I don't care about this pack's archaic rules," I fired back. "My father sold me for a corporate merger. Don't pretend this is some romantic union."

"I never said it was romantic." He tilted his head. "But you will act like a proper Luna in public."

"I will act like a board member."

He didn't pause this time. He kept coming.

I backed up faster, dragging the heavy suitcase behind me. The wheels rattled over a thick Persian rug. I abandoned the luggage and kept moving backwards.

"Scotty, stay right there," I warned, raising a hand.

He ignored me.

I took another step back and hit solid plaster. A framed painting dug sharply into my shoulder blade. I had run out of hallway. It was a dead end.

He closed the final gap.

Scotty planted both hands on the wall, caging me in. He leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from mine. The scent of cedar wood and sharp peppermint invaded my senses, completely suffocating my logic.

My entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked up.

"Got you," he murmured.

"Move," I demanded. My voice lacked its usual bite. It sounded entirely too fragile.

"Why are you shaking, Millie?"

"I am not shaking."

"Your hands are trembling." He glanced down at my clenched fists. "And your face is completely red."

"The heating in this building is set too high," I shot back, keeping my eyes fixed on his collarbone.

He ducked his head, forcing his face into my line of sight. "Look at me."

I glared up at him. "Back off."

"Not until you tell me what your problem is."

"My problem?" I shoved hard against his chest. It felt like pushing a solid oak door. He didn't budge an inch. "You posted about a second mate on the pack forum!"

"I didn't post anything," he replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. "A reporter leaked a rumor."

"A rumor you haven't denied."

"Because the pack's gossip isn't my concern."

"It is my concern!" I shouted, the proximity making my head spin wildly. "My foundations rely on public image. If the pack thinks I'm some discarded, wolfless failure before I even move in, my donors will pull their funding."

"Your charities are fine."

"You don't know that!"

"I do know that, Camille. I manage the accounts."

"You manage your father's money. Not mine."

He leaned even closer. The tip of his nose almost brushed mine.

My legs felt like water. I gripped the hem of my sweater, digging my nails into my palms to stay upright. The physical weakness terrified me.

"You don't care about the humiliation," he whispered, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "You care about the control. And right now, you have absolutely zero."

"Get away from me."

"Make me."

I shoved him again. He caught my wrists with one hand, pinning them effortlessly against the wall above my head.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips. The heat rolling off his body was unbearable.

"You feel it, don't you?" he asked softly.

"Feel what?" I choked out, twisting my wrists against his grip.

"The bond."

"I don't have a wolf," I spat. "There is no bond."

He pulled back just enough to study my face. "Then explain why your pulse is beating out of your neck."

"I despise you. It's a natural stress response."

"Right." He freed his other hand from the wall and dragged his thumb across my lower lip.

I flinched, but I didn't push him away. My muscles refused to obey my brain. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine.

"You're terrified," he said, a cruel smile forming.

"Of you? Never."

"Of yourself. Because no matter how much you hate me, your body knows exactly who I am."

"You're an arrogant jerk."

"And I'm your Alpha."

"Not mine."

He released my wrists and took a single step back. The sudden absence of his heat left me shivering.

"Go unpack," he ordered, his voice suddenly cold and detached. "The guest room is the last door on the left."

I rubbed my wrists, staring at him in confusion. The whiplash of his mood change left me dizzy. "That's it?"

"That's it. Get dressed nicely."

"Why?"

He turned and walked back toward the kitchen island, picking up his glass. "Because we have company coming over in an hour."

"Who?"

He took a sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement over the rim of the crystal.

"The second mate."