Page 2 of Bound By My Alpha Mate

We had vacated Hexen Manor, but that didn’t mean I could leave the territory unmonitored. Patrolling my home—performing the duties I’d done since I was a child—was the only thing left that kept me sane.

Ever since my sister Catrina’s death, I felt like a soulless machine. Or was it Billie leaving that had done it to me? It was hard to pinpoint the exact event that changed everything because it all had happened in such rapid succession that it didn’t feel real once it was just my father and me left in our house. Of course, it hadn’t been just the two of us for very long. The dragons had moved in as Hexen Manor became their base of operations, and the only moments I’d had alone were those in the safety of my bedroom, during long nights when I’d wondered if anything would have changed had I been stronger, smarter, brave enough to do the right thing. I used to like my solitude, but even that was becoming intolerable.

Loneliness had turned my head into an echo chamber of guilty thoughts, all screaming at me that I shouldn’t be following my father. David Hexen was a liar. A murderer. He had killed my mother, killed Billie’s parents, and sexually assaulted Billie. David Hexen was a villain, and I, Colt Hexen, was his only remaining child, his de facto heir. I had no choice but to obey him. I couldn’t bring myself to become one of my father’s targets. My heart couldn’t handle it.

I supposed that meant I would never be strong enough to do the right thing.

Could I even be the Alpha he wanted me to be?

I forced all those thoughts out of my mind while I patrolled Dalesbloom territory. My wolf pack had become the biggest threat in the Gunnison area. Even though we had suffered some losses during the recent attacks, we were still close to thirty strong—and with at least twelve dragons, we remained the most dominant force, asserting ourselves over our enemies without remorse. That didn’t mean we were invincible, though; there were still threats I had to protect myself and my pack from. Mythguard had sent operatives into our territory in search of me, my father, and others who had made their extermination list. If they found me, they would kill me. After what we’d done at the Mundy home—killing Niko and Oslo, stealing Muriel—and after I’d shot at everyone, I’d known that I’d obliterated any chance of redemption in the eyes of the Grandbay and Eastpeak Alphas. Gavin Steele and Everett March would kill me the next time they saw me. Aislin would, too.

I’d fucked up. I supposed that was another reason I had to side with my father. Forgiveness was an impossible dream.

I had to defend myself against them and protect my pack from their vengeance. That was why I found myself on the northeastern border of Dalesbloom that night, searching for signs of Mythguard. My pack had fled the Manor, knowing it would be too easy for Mythguard to find us there, and we’d sequestered ourselves somewhere we didn’t suspect they or the other two packs would find us. We would hide there until my father had completed the Lycan ritual using Muriel’s unicorn horn. It would be a couple of weeks yet until the full moon—but after that, my father would embrace his chaotic new form, unleash havoc on our enemies, and leave me to pick up the pieces. Everyone else would be dead. But if we were lucky, those surviving in Dalesbloom would be able to come out of hiding. Our lives would be drastically different, but at least everything would be over. We just had to wait until then.

I hadn’t expected to find anything interesting that night. Crossing the scents of an Inkscale hunting party, I had almost swerved to avoid them until a peculiar, unfamiliar scent rose up out of the grass. In my wolf form, I paused and sniffed the ground, licking my nose to freshen the scent. I didn’t recognize whose it was. The dragons must have thought it was worth investigating because their scents mingled with the stranger’s, and it was clear they had taken off after it.

My duty was to make sure my territory was safe. If the Inkscales were hunting another wolf shifter, I had to know about it, at least to bring that information back to my father. So, I ventured off after the scents, jogging swiftly through the trees, wondering what I would find.

Lothair had mentioned eating wolves before. Cannibalizing other shifters. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dragons tore apart and ate some poor hapless stranger that found themselves at our borders, even if the thought made me feel sick.

In the distance, I heard the scuffle unfold. They had found the wolf they were following. Snarls ripped loudly through the forest, and I considered hanging back until there was only silence again, but curiosity got the better of me. My pace quickened as the air grew thick. The stench of blood and the signature of hot tar felt like sludge in my throat. Squinting, I tried to see what they were attacking but could only make out a blur of shapes churning over one another, the vicious predators rallying together to take down their prey. Glimpses of silver were all I could make out. I was so distracted trying to see what was up ahead of me that I didn’t notice the body until it was too late. Stumbling over the massive obstacle, I crashed and rolled, then quickly got back to my feet and glanced at what I had tripped over.

The dragon was barely still alive, wheezing loudly from a gaping hole in its throat.

Had the wolf done that? How…?

Swallowing hard, I left the dying dragon to continue the chase. There wasn’t anything I could do for the Inkscale, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do anything, anyway. Scanning the trees, I spotted the dragons clustered up ahead before they all plunged out of sight. Shortly after, I realized what had brought the chase to an end. The ground suddenly dropped off, while the eastern mountains rose up around me. From the ledge, I watched the dragons soar, flying through the night as they searched for their quarry. My tail rose over my back, swaying as I waited for them to spot their target, but they didn’t seem to know where it had gone.

With a few sharp barks, I caught their attention. They wheeled around in the air, their guttural vocalizations expressing their frustration. It wasn’t my place to command them, and I almost stepped back and allowed them to continue their hunt, but a twinge of pity in my heart prompted me to stand taller. I growled, wordlessly urging the dragons to retreat for now. I could search the mountainside better than them while it was still dark out; my sense of smell was stronger, and unlike the dragons, I wasn’t too big to maneuver through the bushes without getting tangled up. They screeched in protest, and some of them continued to scour the mountainside until they all fell back, flying over my head and disappearing into the trees they had come from. Most likely to collect their fallen comrade.

I carefully made my way down the mountainside. The stench of blood burned stronger in my nose, and with it, I identified features that told me more about the wolf I was following. It was female, close to my age if not a little younger. And it was a wolf, yes, but there was also something else about it—something sweet, airy, unusual. It felt like half of her scent was wolf, and the other half was absent but still somehow discernable. I didn’t know how else to describe it other than it smelled the same way a gentle breeze might feel. It slowed down the crushing pace of my heart and brought clarity to my thoughts, as if the scent I was following belonged to something that could give me comfort.

That can’t be right. Nothing gave me comfort these days.

The scent led me to a narrow crevice in the ridge. I hesitated outside the hole; then, slowly inching my way toward it, I realized it was empty. Whoever had been inside must have left just moments ago. The ground was still warm where she lay, the air buzzing with a sense of magic. I continued following the trail, steeling myself against the thorns scraping through my fur. Once I made it out, the smell only got stronger, and I realized that she was heading for the creek that was cradled by the mountain cliffs. If I wasn’t careful, the wind might pick up my scent and alert her to my approach, so I walked in a wide berth around the creek, taking my time. Through the darkness, I couldn’t see anything, but I knew she was there. Always on the fringe of my awareness. Those minutes felt like an eternity, obsessing over her and what I would find. I had to know.

Finally, I made it to the other side of the creek. My black fur disguised me well within the shadows. I slunk through the trees and stopped at their edge, finally catching sight of the creature I had been stalking.

Pearl-white fur hung silkily off her lithe body, clinging to her muscles and the curvature of her ribs. Her long, elegant legs were submerged in the creek, her tail adorned in wisps of a moonlit hue. She looked unreal, the way she carried her body, how she bathed in the water and swept crimson out of her fur. But the most magnificent detail—what made her truly sublime—was the glistening horn rising from her brow, catching the starlight with a glimmer. Beads of bloodied water rolled down her temples, and I finally understood what she had done to that dragon.

Before me stood an impossible creature. The image of divinity: a wolf with a unicorn horn. I knew immediately that she wasn’t just some stranger. This had to be Muriel’s daughter.

I hated to admit that my second thought, after the awe had subsided, was how pleased my father would be with me if I brought this creature back to him.

She saw me the moment I stepped out of the shadows and toward the water. Her body tensed, her tail rising. My body reacted the same way, obsidian fur bristling as I pinned my eyes on her. My impulses were torn: I wanted to whine deferentially and plead for her not to run, tell her that I was safe, but so too did I want to lunge at her, wrap my teeth around her neck, and drag her back home. The ugly storm of emotions I had shoved down all this time won out.

My anger was irresistible.

Letting her go would just make me more of a failure, and I couldn’t accept that.

I charged through the creek, splashing carelessly in my pursuit. The hybrid retaliated with a startling snarl, and when I thrust my teeth at her nape, she swung her horn, fending me off. My paws slipped on the cold river stones beneath the water. She was too fast for me, despite the obvious wounds ripped across her haunch. I scrambled after her, hungering for any sense of victory. Every battle I had fought so far, I’d lost. Nothing ever went right for me. I wanted this, and it should have been easy—but despite my efforts, the wolf-unicorn made it back onto shore while I slogged through the water, and by the time I hit the grass again, she had vanished back into the trees, leaving me with the ghost of her smell. I was haunted by her tantalizing scent, the memory of her ethereal beauty, and the shame that I had tried to harm her.

Panting and dripping, I stood before the trees and stared into the darkness, wondering if that moment had been a dream. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again or if I should even tell anybody what had happened.

All I knew was that I wanted her. In some way that might heal all the pain I’d endured, I wanted her.

Chapter 3

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