Marked By The Wrong Alpha

He pinned me against the headboard from behind, my palms braced on the cool wood as he thrust into me in one deep, breath-stealing stroke. His chest pressed flush to my back, the heat of his body surrounding me while his hips drove forward with steady, powerful force.

My nails scraped down the wood as a molten ache bloomed low in my belly. The raw desire in my eyes when I glanced back at him drew a dark, hungry flash across his face.

"Fuck, Vera..." he groaned, but the words sounded far away, like his mind was somewhere else.

His hands gripped my hips hard, guiding me as I pushed back to meet every thrust. I could feel every thick inch of him sliding in and out of my slick pussy, stretching me perfectly, yet his rhythm felt just a little too controlled.

"Look at me," I breathed, twisting my head to catch his gaze.

He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a rough kiss before pulling back. "You're so fucking beautiful like this," he murmured against my ear.

The compliment should have sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through me, but it landed hollow. I pushed the unease aside and rocked back harder against him, chasing the pleasure anyway.

He shifted us then, pulling out just long enough to flip me onto my back and settle between my thighs again, but this time he hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me wider. The new angle made everything deeper, more intense. I gasped as he drove back in, slow and deliberate, each stroke forcing me to feel every inch of him.

"Ethan... harder, please," I moaned, my hands sliding up to clutch his shoulders.

He gave me what I asked for, hips snapping forward with more force, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. My other leg wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as I urged him deeper.

"I'm close..." My voice broke into ragged pants.

"Yeah... me too," he rasped. His thrusts grew faster, a little erratic, though something in the way he moved still felt distant, almost mechanical.

The pressure inside me coiled tighter and finally snapped, my walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I shook beneath him, clinging to his shoulders while he groaned low against my neck.

"Mark me... please, mark me now," I whispered, the same plea I'd made so many times before.

He stilled inside me, buried to the hilt.

"Vera, we talked about this... I want to do it right, with a proper ceremony."

Disappointment flooded my chest. "But I want to be yours completely."

"You are mine," he said softly, brushing damp hair from my face. "Just let me make it special, okay?"

I forced a small smile and traced lazy circles on his back. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing... just work stuff."

"You work too hard. Maybe we should get away soon?"

"Yeah... maybe."

The conversation faded into silence.

I wanted to press, to ask why he seemed so distracted lately, but exhaustion was pulling me under.

Instead of pressing him, I let the exhaustion sweep me away and slipped into memory, letting the past play out behind my eyelids.

Three years ago, I was still Vera Ashwood, daughter of Ashwood Pack Alpha Rodrigo, who ruled over one of the most powerful packs. My father wanted me to accept an arranged marriage with Lycan King Caelan Blackwood, the feared monarch of our people.

I refused to become a political pawn and fled after a massive fight with Dad.

Hiding my true identity, I arrived in Silverfall and told everyone I was an orphan.

That's where I met Ethan — Alpha of the Ironveil Pack.

We recognized each other as fated mates almost immediately.

For three years, I thought I'd found my happily ever after.

Sure, he always said he wanted to wait for the perfect moment to mark me, but I believed he was just being romantic.

Later, after Ethan got up for a shower, I decided to surprise him with a late-night snack. I slipped on his oversized button-down and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Making him a sandwich and warming some milk felt domestic and right.

I carried the tray back upstairs and leaned over to place it on the desk.

My elbow accidentally bumped the laptop's trackpad.

The screen lit up, and a chat window popped open in the corner. Messages from someone named Lena filled the screen.

My heart seized, time stalling out in the sharp jolt of betrayal.

The tray slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, landing with a soft thud on the desk.

[Ethan, I'm back. My flight lands at Silverfall Airport at 2:30 AM tomorrow. Will you come pick me up?]

[I've been thinking about you every day since I left. I was such a fool to choose my career over you.]

[I tried dating other men, but none of them could make me feel the way you do... in every way.]

[I know I hurt you, but my body has never forgotten yours. I need you to forgive me... and I need you to fuck me like you used to.]

[I'm not wearing anything under this dress right now. Take me the moment we're alone.]

Each message struck like a blow to my ribs, the pain radiating out until it was all I could feel.

What destroyed me completely was seeing Ethan's response appear in real-time.

He was texting while showering.

[Lena, I just want to know – do you still love me?]

The contrast hit me like a glacial wave, numbing and paralyzing, leaving nothing but icy desolation in its wake.

He often ignored my texts for hours, claiming he was busy or had forgotten.

But here he was, instantly responding to her while water ran over his naked body.

So I'm just not important enough for an immediate response.

Her answer came within seconds: [Yes, I only love you.]

Then his final message: [Good. I'll come pick you up.]

My world tilted, vertigo and dread mingling as the earth seemed to slip beneath my feet.

I quickly minimized the chat window and stepped back from the laptop, my hands shaking.

I stumbled back downstairs to the kitchen, still clutching the tray with the sandwich and milk I'd prepared for him.

Setting it down on the counter, I stared at the food I'd made with such care.

It looked innocent and pathetic now.

I picked it up and took a bite.

Then another.

Tears leaked hot and relentless, streaking down my cheeks and flooding my tongue with salt.

The question screamed in my mind:

How could I have been so fucking stupid?!

God, the way she wrote to him — as if she owned him, like I was just keeping his bed warm until she decided to come back.