The Secret Mate Of The Lycan Alpha King

Daphne’s POV:

When my friend Jenna caught up with my car, I had already driven two kilometers. She caught a ride on the back of a motorcycle—driven by a man she had just met at the banquet—and pulled up ahead of me. She was waving frantically from the roadside; I braked, pulled over, and rolled down the window.

"Daphne! Have you lost your mind? You just rejected an Alpha!" Her face had gone pale with worry.

"I haven't lost my mind," I said. "Get in."

She hesitated for a moment, casually thanked the man and sent the reluctant man away, then opened the car door.

"What were you thinking? That’s Bryton! Our Alpha! What are you going to do now?" She stared at me, her voice still laced with panic.

I started the engine. "I’ve had this planned for a long time. Ever since the day he flirted with his secretary right in front of me, I’ve been investigating his accounts, his schedule, and his off-the-books dealings. Walter Price was a contact I found myself."

Jenna’s mouth fell open. "Then why did you go to the banquet tonight? You knew he would—"

"Because I needed to trigger the Ancient Blood Pact in public," I cut her off. "A private rejection wouldn't hold any weight; he could just use his Alpha authority to override it. Only in front of the Elders and the entire pack would the rules force him to accept it. It was the only way for me to get out legally."

There was a long silence. The headlights cut through the darkness.

"...So where are you going now?"

"To see someone." I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "Or rather, to see someone who might be the one." I didn’t tell Jenna any more than that. I let her out at the intersection and drove on toward the outskirts of town.

Lakeside Park. The address Walter Price had given me.

I killed the engine and walked down to the water. The night wind was biting; I zipped my coat all the way up and stood on the gravelly shore. I didn’t look around nervously, nor did I clench my fists in anxiety. I simply stood there facing the lake, waiting like someone expecting a late ferry.

Then, he appeared.

When that sense of overwhelming presence washed over me from behind, I didn’t turn around. I waited for three breaths, letting that force fully envelop me—identifying it, gauging it, noting its texture.

"You came," I said calmly.

I heard the faintest sound of footsteps behind me, the crunch of gravel shifting underfoot. He stopped about three meters away.

"You knew I’d come?" His voice was low, sounding as if it were rising from deep underwater.

"Walter Price told me about your habit—observing any potential marriage candidate in private first." I finally turned to look him straight in the eye; his gaze glinted gold in the darkness. "You planted someone at the banquet earlier, didn't you? He reported back to you exactly how I turned down Brighton."

The man didn't deny it. Moonlight fell across his face, revealing features so sharply defined they bordered on cold. He was tall—half a head taller than Brighton—with shoulders that looked as if they’d been carved by a blade.

"You’re well-informed," he said.

"My life is in my own hands, so naturally, I have to be." I took half a step forward. "I’m Daphne Lindsay. I know you’re the Werewolf King, Aiden Vasquez. I also know you need a local alliance to stabilize your power. But I didn't come here to be 'chosen'."

Aiden's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"I came to negotiate terms," I said. My voice sounded tight against the night wind, yet every word was crisp and clear. "You need local roots." "I need cross-pack protection. I want to hear what you have that’s of the greatest value."

He didn’t answer immediately. Those golden eyes studied me quietly, as if weighing something up.

Then he spoke: "Three conditions. First, once the marking is complete, your status will be Luna of Silver Creek—equal in rank to my second-in-command. You will attend all pack council meetings and review all external contracts; if you have objections, you can put them on hold."

I listened quietly.

"Second, all commercial partnerships held by the Iron Claw pack are to be handed over to Silver Creek for re-evaluation, starting the day you officially take office. The handover must be completed within three months."

"Third," he said.

He took two steps forward. The scent of cedar and gunpowder washed over me, but I didn't step back.

"Third, I need to see you hold your ground in public. Not just stand there—hold your ground. Be someone who commands the room."

I tilted my head back to look at him. "What can you offer the Lindsay family?"

"A joint defense treaty for the border. Five-year term, renewable. Silver Creek will deploy forces to establish an interception line along the northern edge of the Iron Claw territory—your father should know what that implies."

I knew. It meant the mines and woodlands my family had managed for generations would now have a military shield backed by an Alpha King. If Brighton wanted to annex them, he’d have to get past Silver Creek first.

"Deal." I held out my hand. "But there’s an additional clause."

He looked down at my palm.

"I need written updates on the execution progress of all these dealings. Once a week. If there are delays or changes, I need three days' notice."

He clasped my hand. His palm was scorching hot, and his grip was firm but gentle—he didn't hurt me.

"Agreed," he said. "Anything else?"

"Yes." I pulled my hand back. "I’ll be at your office tomorrow at ten in the morning. Have the draft contract ready."

I turned and walked toward my car without looking back.