The Alpha's Regret: Chasing His Runaway Mate

Jayde POV:

Fifteen days.

Every morning, I slashed a red X through the calendar. It looked like a wound.

My room was a graveyard of cardboard boxes.

I picked up a grey hoodie. Brendan's old lacrosse gear. He gave it to me when I had the flu three years ago.

I buried my nose in it. Rainwater. Pine. And the deep, musky scent of a powerful male.

Keep it, my wolf begged. Smells like Home.

"No," I whispered. "It smells like a lie."

I shoved it into a heavy-duty hunter's bag-the kind meant to mask raw meat-and sealed it. Double-bagged. I had to quarantine his scent.

I turned to my journal.

Entry 45: Brendan showed me how to breathe today...

Entry 102: He gave me the last pancake.

Pathetic. A record of a girl haunting a man who didn't exist.

I tossed the journal into the metal trash can and struck a match. The paper curled, words turning to ash.

A knock made me jump.

"Jayde?"

I kicked the trash can into the closet.

Chloie Ellis stood in the doorway, wearing a smile that didn't reach her calculating blue eyes.

"Gift for you," she said, holding a velvet box. "Since I'm moving into the master suite, wanted to clear the air."

She pushed past me, wrinkling her nose at the boxes. "Going somewhere?"

"Donating old junk," I lied.

"Charitable." She popped the box open. A delicate bracelet.

Silver.

Pure, gleaming, wolf-burning silver.

"Designer piece," Chloie said, her voice dripping with fake sugar. "I know you have... trouble with your wolf side. Since you can't shift, maybe you won't be as sensitive. It would look cute on your pale wrist."

She knew exactly what she was doing. It was a power play.

"I can't wear that, Chloie."

"Nonsense."

Brendan appeared in the doorway, sweat glistening on his collarbone from a workout. His scent hit me like a physical blow.

"What is this?"

"Friendship bracelet," Chloie pouted. "But she's refusing it."

Brendan looked at the silver, then at me. His eyes were cold, devoid of the warmth he reserved for her.

"Put it on, Jayde."

My blood ran cold. "Brendan, it's silver."

"I know what it is," he said, his voice dropping into that command tone that made my knees water. "You need to toughen up. You act like a fragile human. Build a tolerance. Stop flinching at jewelry."

"It will burn me."

"Quit acting like it's kryptonite," he snapped. "Do not be ungrateful to your future Luna. Put. It. On."

The Alpha Command slammed into me. My hand moved against my will.

I clasped the cold metal around my wrist.

Ssssss.

Like bacon hitting a hot skillet.

White-hot agony seared a ring into my flesh. The smell of singed hair and cooking skin wafted up.

I bit my lip until I tasted copper.

"See?" Chloie clapped. "Beautiful."

Brendan watched. For a micro-second, his nostrils flared as he smelled my pain. A flicker of regret? Maybe. But then he looked at Chloie's beaming face, and the wall slammed back down.

"Thanks," I choked out.

"You're welcome." Chloie grabbed his arm. "Come on, Bren. Wedding colors."

The second they were gone, I ripped the bracelet off and hurled it across the room.

A red, blistered welt circled my wrist.

He hurt us, my wolf cried.

"He's a monster," I sobbed into the silence.