The Alpha Chose Me

Nora's POV

I slumped into my desk chair, staring at the mountain of case files scattered across the worn surface like casualties of war. Just back from some remote town, three days dealing with an elderly Lycan abuse case with only eight hours of sleep total, and my head felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to my skull.

The fluorescent lights in the DSW Blackwood Branch office buzzed overhead, that constant electrical hum that had become the soundtrack to my life. Phones rang in desperate harmony while my colleagues shuffled between cubicles clutching coffee mugs. The whole place smelled like burnt coffee and institutional despair—eau de government budget cuts.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus on the form in front of me. Another unfortunate woman, 37, suspected spousal abuse. I'd need to schedule a home visit. My fingers were just reaching for my keyboard when the director knocked on my cubicle wall.

"Nora, got a minute?"

I looked up at my supervisor, taking in his rumpled shirt and the stress lines etched deep around his eyes. Marcus Brennan had been running the Blackwood Branch for fifteen years, and every single one of them showed. "Sure. What's up?"

"My office. Now."

Great. I followed him through the maze of cubicles, nodding at Claire as she mouthed good luck from her desk. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be fun. Marcus only used his office for two things: budget discussions and shit assignments nobody else wanted.

He closed the door behind me and gestured to the chair across from his desk. I sat, noting the formal invitation card sitting on top of his usual chaos of paperwork.

"I need you at an event tonight," he said without preamble. "Six-thirty."

I blinked. "Tonight? Marcus, I just got back from—"

"I know. But this is important." He picked up the invitation, cream-colored card stock with gold embossing that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "The Taylor family is hosting their annual charity gala at the Blackwood Hotel. They've donated substantial funds to the Department of Species Welfare. Their Alpha specifically requested we send representatives."

I felt my exhaustion deepen. A donor schmooze fest.

"You're the best we've got for this kind of thing." He slid the invitation across the desk.

Translation: I'm the one who cleans up best. I picked up the invitation, scanning the details. Taylor Family Annual Charity Gala. Black tie optional. Silent auction and live bidding to benefit multiple causes including DSW.

"Charity auction?" I asked.

Marcus nodded. "Big one. They raise millions every year. Our funding from them depends on maintaining good relations, so we need to show up and look grateful."

Two hours of smiling at rich Lycans who threw money at us so they could feel good about themselves while continuing to create the exact problems we spent our lives trying to fix. I wanted to say no. I wanted to go home, take a shower, and sleep for approximately fifteen hours.

But Marcus was right. We needed their money. The Blackwood Branch was hanging on by its fingernails.

"Fine," I said, my voice flat.

"Take Benjamin and Claire with you. Strength in numbers." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "I know it's asking a lot, especially after the week you've had. But we can't refuse."

I stood, tucking the invitation into my bag. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Marcus actually smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Try not to tell any of them what you really think of their tax-deductible charity."

The Blackwood Branch locker room smelled like industrial cleaner and desperation, much like everything else in this building. I stood in front of the mirror, pulling off my worn DSW field jacket and examining the woman staring back at me.

Three days of minimal sleep had left shadows under my gray-blue eyes that no amount of concealer was going to hide. My blonde hair was a disaster, still carrying the smell of the motel I'd crashed in between interviews. I looked exactly like what I was: a twenty-four-year-old government contractor running on fumes and spite.

I splashed cold water on my face and reached for my emergency outfit—a dark gray blazer, black slacks, and a white blouse that was only slightly wrinkled. As I changed, I caught my reflection again and felt that familiar bitter laugh rising in my throat.

A human caseworker going to a Lycan charity gala. In the past, this would've been absurd.

Thirty years. That's how long it had been since the Species Integration Act supposedly made everything equal. Lycans and humans, living side by side, same rights, same opportunities. A beautiful story of unity and progress that looked great in history textbooks and fell apart the second you stepped into reality.

I pulled my hair into a neat bun, securing it with pins. In the mirror, I could see the truth that the law tried to pretend didn't exist. Lycans had the strength, the senses, the longevity, and most importantly, the aggression to dominate every industry that mattered. Mining, energy, security—anywhere you needed physical power and the ability to intimidate, Lycans were in charge.

And humans? We got to be the professional class. The lawyers, the accountants, the social workers. The ones who cleaned up after the Lycans made their messes while pretending we had equal footing.

I smoothed down my blazer, thinking about the state of the Department of Species Welfare—the agency everyone had forgotten existed. The one with a budget that wouldn't cover a wealthy family's vacation. The one where the heating broke three months ago and still hadn't been fixed because there was no money to repair it.

We were supposed to be the bridge between species, the safety net for the vulnerable. Instead, we were the forgotten stepchild of the federal government, surviving on scraps and the occasional guilt donation from the same families who created most of our caseload.

"Why do you work so hard at this?" Kyle Vaughn's voice echoed in my mind, that mixture of affection and frustration I'd heard so many times over the past year. "DSW is a sinking ship, baby."

I'd always laughed it off, told him I believed in the work. That even if the system was broken, I could still help the people who fell through the cracks. But standing here in this dingy locker room, wearing my one good outfit to go beg for money from people who saw us as a tax write-off, I had to wonder if he was right.

My phone buzzed. A message from Kyle.

Can't wait to see you tomorrow night. One year with the most amazing woman alive. I've got something special planned. ❤️

I smiled despite my exhaustion. Tomorrow was our anniversary. We'd been together for a year, and despite his family's obvious disapproval of his human girlfriend, Kyle had stuck by me. That had to count for something.

Me too.

I slipped my phone back into my purse and took one last look in the mirror. Good enough. I didn't need to impress these people, just needed to not embarrass the branch.

"Nora!" Benjamin's voice carried through the door. "Car's ready! We gotta go or we'll miss the damn event!"

Benjamin was a recent college grad, my temporary partner. He'd joined the department with enthusiasm and optimism, and now he was starting to complain about the work constantly.

"Coming," I called back.

A few minutes later, I grabbed my coat and headed out, meeting Claire in the hallway. She'd actually managed to find a dress that looked presentable, her dark hair styled in waves.

"You clean up nice," I told her.

"So do you. Well, as nice as anyone can look on DSW wages." She fell into step beside me. "Think they'll have good food?"

"It's the Taylor family. The appetizers probably cost more than our monthly salary."

Benjamin was waiting by the car. He'd combed his brown hair and was wearing a tie, looking more serious than usual.

"Ready to watch rich people throw money around?" he asked, grinning.

I slid into the passenger seat. "Ready as I'll ever be. Just remember—smile, be polite, and for the love of god, don't do anything outrageous."

Benjamin navigated the department vehicle through Blackwood's potholed streets toward the highway.