My Alpha Brother is my Mate

Alpha Duncan

I called Mindy as soon as her last class let out. She answered on the second ring.

"Hey, little wolf. You finished for the day?"

"Yeah," she said, sounding a little out of breath. "Just got to the parking lot. What's up?"

"I need you home early tonight. No hanging out, no coffee runs. Shower, get dressed nice-something pretty but not too revealing. I'm hosting a big party here. Very important people. Business deals on the table."

There was a pause. Then her voice came softer. "The kind of party I'm never allowed to come to?"

"Exactly that kind," I said, keeping my tone even. "You can stay upstairs, watch a movie, whatever. But you're not coming down."

She let out a small laugh that didn't reach her eyes-I could hear it. "You're so predictable, Duncan. Is it really because you think I'll say something stupid? Or because one of your rich friends might look at me the wrong way?"

I gripped the phone tighter. "It's because I said so. Be home by six. Ready by seven. That's all."

"Fine," she muttered. "But one of these days you're going to have to tell me the real reason you treat me like I'm still a kid who needs babysitting."

I didn't answer. Just ended the call before she could hear the way my breath caught.

She's never known. And I've spent more than half my life convincing myself I didn't know either.

Our parents died when she was twelve. Car accident. One phone call and suddenly I was twenty-one, fresh out of college, guardian to a heartbroken little girl, and suddenly in charge of companies I barely understood. I inherited the businesses, the money, the responsibilities. I dressed her every morning, helped her pick out clothes, sat with her while she cried herself to sleep. I braided her hair before school, checked her homework, taught her how to tie her shoes properly even though she already knew. I watched her grow-every awkward stage, every inch she gained, every curve that appeared. I told myself it was just brotherly love. Protective. Normal.

We weren't poor. Middle-class comfort turned into serious wealth fast because I worked like a machine. Expanded the companies. Took risks. Built an empire. Billions now sit in accounts I barely look at. People call me powerful. Ruthless. Successful.

But no boardroom win, no seven-figure deal, no admiring crowd ever loosened the hold she has on me.

Things changed when she turned fourteen... fifteen... sixteen. Her scent shifted first-sweet, addictive. Then her body followed. Soft hips, full chest, long legs. She started wearing my old hoodies around the house and nothing else sometimes, and I had to leave the room before I did something unforgivable. I told myself it was hormones. Puberty. Temporary.

It wasn't temporary.

By the time she was seventeen I was already drowning. Every smile she gave me felt like sunlight and poison at the same time. I started dating-random beautiful women, she-wolves who wanted my title, my money, my bed. None of them lasted more than a few weeks. I couldn't even get hard for them half the time because all I could think about was her laugh echoing from the kitchen.

Then came her eighteenth birthday.

The full moon.

Her first shift.

I stood outside the private clearing we'd set up behind the estate, heart hammering so hard I thought it would crack ribs. When she emerged-silver-gray fur, eyes the same deep hazel as mine but brighter, wilder-my wolf roared inside me.

*Mate.*

The word slammed into my skull like truth I'd always known but refused to name.

I shifted back fast, pulled on clothes, and walked away before she could see my face. That night I locked myself in my office and drank until the room spun. I told myself it was a mistake. A glitch. Biology playing a cruel joke.

But the bond only grew stronger.

Every day since then has been war.

I catch her scent on the stairs and my body reacts instantly-hard, aching, shameful. I've had to excuse myself from rooms because just watching her stretch in the morning sun made me want to pin her to the nearest wall. I hate myself for it. I lock it down. Every. Single. Day.

One evening a few months ago she came home smelling like another man. Cheap cologne and beer. I was waiting in the foyer.

"You're late," I said.

"Study group ran long." She kicked off her shoes. "Why do you care?"

"You reek of him."

She froze, then turned slowly. "It's called having friends, Duncan. You remember what those are?"

"Don't play games with me."

"I'm not the one playing games." She stepped closer. Too close. "You growl every time a guy even looks at me. Your bodyguards follow me like I'm in witness protection. You won't let me go to your parties. You won't let me date. You won't let me breathe. Just admit it-you're jealous."

My jaw clenched so hard I tasted blood. "Go upstairs."

"No." Her chin lifted. "Say it. Say you don't want anyone else touching me."

The air between us crackled. I could feel the bond pulling, hot and insistent.

"I said go upstairs, Mindy."

Her eyes glistened. "You're such a coward."

She turned and ran up the stairs. I stood there shaking, fists clenched, fighting every instinct screaming at me to chase her, catch her, claim her.

I started looking for a way out.

I needed to break the bond. Or at least bury it so deep it couldn't hurt her anymore.

That's when I chose Emma.

I told Mindy over breakfast three weeks ago. She was eating cereal, hair messy from sleep, wearing one of my old college shirts that barely covered her thighs.

"I'm getting mated," I said, like I was discussing the weather.

Her spoon stopped mid-air. Milk dripped onto the table.

"To who?"

"Emma Sinclair."

She blinked. "The one from the steel company? Royal bloodline?"

"Yeah."

Silence stretched so long I thought she'd stopped breathing.

Then, quietly: "You're really doing this?"

"I have responsibilities, Mindy. To the pack. To the businesses. To the future."

Her voice cracked. "And what about us?"

I forced myself to look at her. "There is no 'us' like that. You're my sister."

Tears welled but didn't fall. "You feel it. I know you do. The pull. The dreams. The way your wolf goes crazy when I'm near. I'm not imagining it."

My throat burned. "You're wrong."

"I'm not." She stood up slowly. "But if you want to lie to yourself and mate someone else... go ahead. Just don't expect me to smile and clap for you."

She walked out of the kitchen.

I didn't stop her.

That night I stood outside her bedroom door for almost an hour. I heard every sob, every shaky breath. Each one carved something out of me.

I thought I was strong enough to win this. To choose duty over desire. To protect her from me.

I was wrong.

The mate bond isn't a feeling you can outrun. It's gravity. It's the tide. It's the moon calling the wolf.

You can fight the wave for a while.

But eventually...

It crashes.

And either you ride it-or it pulls you under forever.