THE ALPHA’S SECRET MATE
Part 1
Being told at age seven that the man I marry will die by dawn narrows my dating options to absolute zero.
I made my peace with this terrible curse many years ago.
I accepted the fact that I would never experience true romance.
I accepted the fact that I would never have a family of my own.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I built a formidable career.
I became the royal secretary to Alpha King Craig.
I clawed my way into this position through sheer competence.
I manage his impossibly complex daily schedule.
I handle his unexpected political crises.
I arrange his endless diplomatic meetings.
I ignore my desperate, hopeless crush on him.
My professional motto is to be useful enough that no one looks too closely at my personal life.
To keep my prestigious job, I invented a fake husband.
I told the royal court he was stationed at the dangerous northern border.
Shifter law strictly requires adult women serving the crown to be mated.
The royal council simply accepts this as the natural order of things.
My carefully constructed lie keeps me safely employed.
The lie also keeps Craig safely out of my reach.
I maintain this delicate balance perfectly for months.
Until the night of the autumn equinox masquerade ball.
I ordered enchanted masks for every single guest at the ball.
The potent magic perfectly concealed faces, voices, and scents.
Craig showed up completely unexpected and devastatingly handsome.
He was also, for the first time in his life, visibly drunk.
He stumbled slightly near the crowded refreshment table.
I rushed over to help him before anyone else noticed his state.
He did not recognize me behind my silver filigree mask.
The magic obscured my familiar scent and disguised my voice.
He looked at me with absolute delight.
He pulled me gently toward the moonlit royal gardens.
For one night, I stopped being his highly efficient, invisible secretary.
I let myself be the mysterious woman he wanted.
I let myself be the woman he pulled against the cold stone wall.
I let myself be the woman he kissed with desperate hunger.
His lips were incredibly soft and surprisingly gentle.
Seeking permission, he paused briefly before deepening the kiss.
Fingers tangling in his thick dark hair, my restraint shattered completely.
The raw intensity of the moment drew us impossibly close.
Months of hidden longing poured into that single, desperate connection.
A startled, pleased sound rumbled against my mouth.
Strong arms wrapped tightly around my trembling waist.
The quiet invitation to his private chambers hung in the cool air.
Hesitation never even crossed my mind.
I knew it was foolish, dangerous, and completely reckless.
But I wanted one perfect memory to hold onto forever.
We stumbled through the dark corridors together.
We laughed softly as we pushed through his bedroom doors.
He was worshipful, attentive, and completely consumed by me.
Every touch felt like a burning brand on my skin.
Every kiss sent lightning shooting straight down my spine.
He traced the curve of my jaw with devastating gentleness.
He memorized the shape of my body in the dark.
He groaned my false name against my collarbone.
I felt his overwhelming power and his hidden vulnerability.
I let myself believe, for a few hours, that I was truly his mate.
I slipped away long before the first rays of dawn.
I left him sleeping peacefully tangled in the silk sheets.
I pressed one final, agonizing kiss to his bare shoulder.
I crept back to my small quarters and dressed for the day.
I thought it was a perfect, safely contained, stolen memory.
I arrived at my mahogany desk the next morning.
I mentally prepared to pretend absolutely nothing had happened.
I sorted the northern census reports with trembling hands.
I reviewed the coastal trade agreements without absorbing a single word.
Then a heavy shadow fell across my paperwork.
The familiar, intoxicating scent of pine and rain washed over me.
Craig stepped into my small office.
He very deliberately pushed the heavy oak door closed behind him.
The metallic click of the latch sounded like a gunshot.
We were completely alone in the enclosed space.
He did not look like the man from the garden.
His face was carved from rigid, unyielding ice.
His broad shoulders were stiff with tension.
He touched a faint red mark on his strong neck.
It was my lipstick.
I recognized the exact shade immediately.
He had enjoyed being kissed in that exact spot.
My heart slammed violently against my ribcage.
My palms began to sweat against the polished wood of my desk.
Did he know the truth?
Did the enchanted mask fail to conceal my identity?
Was he here to fire me, or worse, execute me for deception?
He stared down at me with piercing, unreadable gray eyes.
“I met someone last night,” he stated in a voice that lacked all warmth.
My blood ran entirely cold.
I stared back at him, utterly terrified of his next words.
What is he going to do to me?
