Don't Call Me Your Mate, Alpha

KAELEN'S POV

The slap still burned.

Not the pain—I'd taken harder hits in training before puberty. The audacity. The sheer, staggering, where-the-fuck-did-you-come-from audacity of it.

I'd been at the window, mentally dismantling the oil conglomerate my advisors wanted me to acquire, when the door exploded. Before I could turn, her voice filled the room—sharp as broken glass, vibrating with champagne and fury. Geriatric fossil. Little blue pill. Debt-collecting dinosaur. And then her palm.

My cheek stung. My ears rang. And deep in my chest, my Inner Wolf—the beast that had thrown grown Alphas into walls for far less—did something I'd never felt before.

It wagged its fucking tail. Genuine, puppyish excitement, like I'd thrown a ball and it wanted me to throw it again.

What the hell is wrong with you? I snarled internally. The wolf didn't answer. It was too busy rolling in the scent of her—warm and honeyed beneath the champagne.

And then the fir scent rose off my own skin like a winter storm answering her.

Mate bond. The word landed like a curse. I didn't believe in Mate bonds. I'd spent thirty-two years watching pack elders use the concept to dress cold transactions in the language of destiny. My own parents had been "fated"—and my mother had spent her marriage looking like a woman slowly drowning.

I wanted nothing to do with it. But my wolf was still wagging.

And this tiny, furious hurricane was staring at me like she was watching her own execution.

"You kicked my door." I stepped toward her. "You called me a fossil. And then you slapped me."

"It's been a weird night."

I almost laughed. The corner of my mouth betrayed me.

"So I'm gathering." Her flush, her blown pupils, the flutter of her pulse. "The scent, little hurricane. You feel it too." Not a question. I could see the answer.

"Which means my Mate bond just walked in, called me decrepit, and committed assault. In that order. What happens next, do you think?"

Her lips parted, closed, parted again. I could hear her scrambling for an exit.

Then the door creaked open wider.

"Alpha Kaelen! I came as soon as I—"

The voice died.

Silas Hargrove stood in the doorway, his face sliding from obsequious to horrified in half a second. Exactly what Elara had described: old, paunchy, with desperate wealth that bought designer suits but no dignity. His scent was sour—cheap cologne over the musk of an Alpha long past his prime.

"Sir," one of my guards started, "he said he had an appointment—"

"Because I do!" Hargrove's eyes darted between us. "The debt restructuring—Alpha Kaelen, your face—"

His gaze tracked from my cheek to Elara, and something clicked. "You. You're Vance's girl. The one I was supposed to meet tonight."

"The one you bought," Elara snapped. "Let's use accurate language."

Hargrove's knees buckled. He dropped to the marble like someone had cut his strings. "Alpha Kaelen, I didn't know her—the contract was with her father—I swear on my pack's name—"

I just looked at him. The way I'd looked at the rival pack leader who'd later excused himself to the bathroom and never returned.

Hargrove went the color of old cheese. "Alpha Kaelen," he whispered, "please."

I didn't answer. I'd noticed something else—the honey scent was moving. Elara was sliding toward the door with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years escaping rooms she didn't want to be in.

My wolf surged, howling, but I leashed it. One crisis at a time.

"Sir?" A guard had noticed her. "Should we—"

She was fast. The moment his attention shifted, she was through the door, heels clicking down the corridor.

"Let her go."

The words left before I'd decided to speak them.

"Sir, she assaulted you—"

"I'm not drunk." I touched my cheek; the sting had faded to a warm throb. "Let her go."

I walked toward Hargrove, slow, letting my footsteps echo. "Silas Hargrove. You came to discuss debt restructuring."

"Yes—the oil fields in the eastern territory—"

"You thought you'd leverage my father's old ties to climb out of your hole." I stopped over him. "But that's not the only debt you hold. Vance. Elara's father. He owes you money. Enough that you'd take his daughter as collateral."

"The contract was—"

"Void. Effective immediately. The engagement is canceled. You will not contact her, approach her, or purchase her like livestock. Clear?"

"Yes—of course—I'll tear up the contract tonight—"

"You'll do nothing tonight." I crouched to his level. "You'll go home. You'll wait. And tomorrow my legal team will contact you about acquiring all your outstanding debts."

"All of them?"

"Every single one. Including Vance's. You'll no longer have any claim to her or her family. Understood?"

"But—the oil fields—"

"No longer your concern." I straightened. "Be grateful. I'm offering you a way out that doesn't involve public humiliation, or a sudden relocation to a territory with no indoor plumbing."

"Thank you, Alpha Kaelen—"

"Get out."

He scrambled up and was gone. The door clicked shut.

Silence. My cheek still warm, my wolf still pacing. Something pale glinted against the dark marble.

A hair ribbon. Pale blue silk, embroidered with a crescent moon tangled in ivy. The Vance family crest.

I picked it up. The silk was still warm. I lifted it to my nose—honey, champagne, and beneath it something that made my fingers tighten.

"Sir? Orders?"

I didn't look up. "Two things. First: find out everything about the Vance family—pack affiliation, debts, history. And specifically where their daughter Elara lives, works, and breathes."

"And second, sir?"

I smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Buy every one of Silas Hargrove's outstanding debts. Especially the Vance contract."

The ribbon curled in my palm like a promise.

"Let's see how far my little hurricane can run when I own the ground beneath her feet."