The Savior of the Cursed Alpha

Freya's POV

I sat cross-legged in the middle of Ethan's massive bed, drowning in his scent. The sharp notes of pine and rain, undercut with something wild and distinctly Alpha, filled my lungs with each breath. My fingers traced the edge of his silk sheets—sheets I'd never been invited to sleep in despite being his mate for three years.

His room was immaculate, everything in its precise place. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the dense forest that bordered our property, the territory that belonged to the Moonshade Pack—to Ethan. The fading afternoon light filtered through the glass, painting golden streaks across the dark wooden floor.

I shouldn't be here. I knew that. Yet I couldn't stop myself from this small ritual whenever he left the house. Three years of marriage, and this was as close as I got to intimacy—stealing moments in his empty bedroom, surrounding myself with his scent.

My hand reached out, hovering over his pillow before giving in to temptation. I picked it up and pressed it to my face, inhaling deeply. My wolf stirred within me, recognizing her mate's scent. "Our mate", who didn't want us. Ember, my wolf, whined softly in our shared consciousness, always more honest about our pain than I allowed myself to be.

"What am I doing?" I whispered to the empty room, but I already knew. I was torturing myself with something I couldn't have.

I carefully replaced the pillow, smoothing out any evidence of my presence. Ethan would be gone for hours still—a meeting with the neighboring Redclaw Pack about territory boundaries. I had time to indulge in my pathetic little habit before returning to my own room at the opposite end of the hallway.

My ears perked at the sound of a car approaching. Not just any car—the distinctive purr of Ethan's Aston Martin. Panic shot through me. He wasn't supposed to be back for hours.

I leapt from the bed, frantically smoothing the covers. My heart hammered against my ribs as I heard the front door open, then close. Heavy footsteps in the foyer. Uneven footsteps.

I froze, listening. Something was off. Ethan's usual graceful, silent movements were replaced by clumsy, stumbling steps. I heard a crash—something knocked over in the hallway—followed by a muttered curse.

There was no time to escape. I stood in the center of his room, caught like a deer in headlights as the bedroom door swung open.

Ethan filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders nearly touching both sides. His normally perfectly styled dark hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch—the silver flecks that normally dusted his green irises had overtaken them completely, glowing with an unnatural light.

"Freya?" His voice was rough, deeper than usual.

"I—I was just..." My mind raced for a plausible excuse, but came up empty.

He stepped into the room, moving with a predatory grace that contradicted his earlier clumsiness. Something was definitely wrong. I could smell it now—beneath his natural scent was something herbal and foreign. My nose wrinkled.

"You've been drinking," I said, taking a cautious step back. "The wolfsbane brew."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Just a little. Meeting ended early." He advanced toward me, and I retreated until the backs of my knees hit his bed. "You're in my room."

"I was just leaving." I tried to sidestep him, but he moved faster, catching my wrist in his hand.

"Why are you always running from me, little wolf?" The question caught me off guard. In three years, we'd barely spoken beyond what was necessary to maintain our facade.

The heat of his skin against mine sent electricity up my arm. This close, his scent overwhelmed me, made my head swim. My wolf clawed at my insides, desperate to be closer to her mate.

"I'm not running," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

Ethan's eyes raked over me, and for the first time in our three years together, there was hunger in them. "You smell like wildflowers," he murmured, leaning closer. "Have you always smelled this good?"

My heart thundered in my chest. This wasn't real. This was the wolfsbane talking—a rare herb that, when brewed properly, could intoxicate even the strongest werewolf. It lowered inhibitions, heightened senses.

"You should rest," I said, trying to pull away. "Sleep it off."

His grip tightened, not painfully, but enough to keep me in place. "Stay with me," he said, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrated through my entire body.

I should have said no. I should have pulled away, reminded him of our arrangement. But when his free hand came up to cup my cheek, when his thumb brushed across my lower lip, all my resolve crumbled.

"Ethan," I whispered, half warning, half begging.

He didn’t reply. Instead, his lips slammed into mine, kissing me hard, like a fire burning me up inside. Three years of wanting him, of staring at my mate from far away, burst into a crazy, hungry need. My hands grabbed his shirt, pulling him tight against me, while his arms wrapped around me so hard it almost hurt.

We fell onto his bed, legs and arms all mixed up. His body pressed me down into the mattress, heavy and hot. A small part of me screamed this was wrong—he was drunk on wolfsbane, and tomorrow he’d hate this. But my wolf didn’t care. She’d waited too long to feel her mate.

His hands were wild, ripping at my clothes. My shirt tore, buttons flying off, and I yanked at his shirt too, tearing it open to feel his hard chest. I should stop. I should stop. But when his bare skin touched mine, hot and rough, I couldn’t think anymore.

"Mine," he growled against my neck, his voice thick and messed up from the wolfsbane. I knew it wasn’t really him talking, but tonight, I wanted to believe it. Just for tonight.

His hands grabbed my hips hard, fingers digging into my skin. There was no softness, no slow build—we didn’t know what we were doing. It was our first time, messy and wild, and he was too out of it to be careful. His breath was fast, his eyes foggy, lost in the drug. My heart raced, scared but wanting this, as he moved over me, not waiting or asking.

When he pushed inside me, it hurt like hell. A sharp, burning pain made me gasp, and tears ran down my face. I bit my lip, trying not to cry out, my nails clawing into his shoulders as the pain ripped through me. He didn’t notice, too gone in his head, thrusting hard and uneven, like he couldn’t stop himself.

But then, after a few moments, the pain started to fade. A weird, hot feeling took over, growing with each rough push. It started to feel good—really good. My body relaxed, my hands loosening on his shoulders, letting him move. My wolf felt happy, loving this connection, even if it was messy. A small, warm happiness grew inside me, even through the chaos. For the first time, I felt like I was really his, even if it was just for now.

His hot breath hit my neck, his growls deep and possessive, and I let myself sink into him. My hands slid down his back, feeling his tight muscles. Our bodies moved together, clumsy but needy, the pain now just a memory as pleasure took over.

After it was over, he collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. I turned my face to look at his handsome features, feeling a sweetness, and then his lips moved, murmuring a name.

"Riley."