Page 1 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
Chapter 1
Willa
The house looked exactly like the online photos, which meant it looked like it had given up trying to impress anyone about a decade ago. Gray siding that might have been blue once, white trim that needed paint, and a front porch that sagged with the weight of small-town indifference. Perfect. I didn't need impressive. I needed invisible.
I sat in my beat-up Honda Civic with the engine off, staring at what would be home for the next few months. One suitcase, a camera bag shoved under a blanket, and a cardboard box of kitchen basics represented everything I owned now. Everything that mattered enough to keep, anyway. The rest of my life, the designer clothes Sterling had insisted on, the art books that matched his minimalist aesthetic, the expensive camera equipment he'd bought to show how supportive he was of my "little hobby." All of it had stayed behind in his glass cage.
I'd left them there on purpose. Those things belonged to the omega he'd wanted me to be, not the one I actually was.
My fingers drummed against the steering wheel as I scanned the neighborhood. Magnolia Crescent looked exactly like its name suggested, a gentle curve of houses that had seen better decades but wore their age with dignity. Nothing like Sterling's gated community where every mailbox was regulation black and every lawn was measured for compliance. Here, someone had painted their front door bright yellow. Another house had wind chimes that actually made sound instead of looking expensive and silent.
My suppressants were working at least. I could barely smell my own signature, let alone pick up anything from the neighborhood. Dr. Walsh had warned me they'd make everything feel muted, like living life through frosted glass. Small price to pay for invisibility.
I grabbed my suitcase from the passenger seat and forced myself out of the car. The late October air bit through my oversized cable-knit sweater, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. Someone was burning something that smelled like home, if home was a place I'd ever actually had.
The front door key stuck in the lock like everything else in my life lately, requiring more force than seemed reasonable for such a simple task. When it finally gave way, I stumbled into a space that managed to be furnished yet completely impersonal. Clean beige walls, furniture that came from whatever catalog offered the most generic options, windows dressed in blinds that had probably been white once upon a time.
I set my suitcase down and immediately went to check the locks on every window and door. Old habit from the last few months with Sterling, when his business associates had started showing up at odd hours and his definition of "security" had shifted toward something that felt more like surveillance than protection. At least here, the locks were mine to control.
The kitchen was small but functional, with a view of the backyard that extended toward what looked like thick forest. I'd chosen this place specifically for that detail. I wanted something between me and whatever came next. Barriers were good. Barriers kept people from getting close enough to see the cracks.
Sterling used to say I had no sense of place, that I treated everywhere like a temporary stop instead of building something permanent. "Real omegas nest," he'd remind me whenever I left books on his glass coffee table or forgot to fluff his perfectly arranged pillows. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was broken in all the ways that mattered for someone like me.
But Sterling wasn't here anymore. And the omega he'd wanted me to be, compliant, decorative, grateful for his vision of what our life should look like, she wasn't here either.
I’d returned to the car and was carrying my box of kitchen supplies inside when the sound of a vehicle pulling up broke through my fog and made me pause in the driveway. Not the purr of luxury sedans I'd grown accustomed to, but something practical and purposeful.
A truck rumbled to a stop across the street. Not the sleek sedans or SUVs Sterling's neighborhood had been full of, but something practical with "Wildlife Conservation" painted on the side. The engine cut, and I found myself frozen halfway between my car and front door like prey that had just spotted a predator.
The man who climbed out was exactly the kind of alpha I'd been hoping to avoid. Big enough to fill a doorway, wearing the kind of practical clothes that suggested he actually used his hands for work. When the wind shifted and brought his scent with it, my suppressants might as well have been sugar pills.
Cedar smoke and something clean and mineral, like river stones after rain. My body responded before my brain could stop it, a flutter of awareness low in my belly that I hadn't felt inmonths. I gripped the box tighter and willed my scent to stay locked down.
He moved with the kind of competence that came from years of knowing exactly what he was doing. Professional, efficient, but there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested he noticed everything around him. Including me, apparently, because his ice-blue eyes found mine before I could duck away.
I straightened my back and headed toward the house, determined to finish the task that had brought me outside in the first place. He was working at the house next door, setting up what looked like a humane trap while an elderly woman watched from her porch with obvious relief. Nothing to do with me. Nothing that required interaction.
He looked up from securing the trap and caught me staring. "New neighbor?" His voice was gravelly, like he didn't waste words on small talk.
"Just moved in," I managed, proud that my voice came out steady. "Today."
"Wildlife call next door," he explained, nodding toward the house where the elderly woman stood. "Raccoon family setting up shop. Nothing dangerous."
Something in his tone suggested he was explaining for my benefit, letting me know I was safe. The thought irritated me more than it should have.
"I'm not worried about raccoons," I said, then immediately regretted the defensive edge in my voice.
He studied me for a long moment, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see straight through the walls I'd spent months building. His nostrils flared slightly as he took in my scent despite the suppressants, and something shifted in his expression. Not predatory, exactly, but alert. Protective in a way that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I knew what he was reading. An omega in distress, someone running from something, clearly not wanting help. The kind of wounded vulnerability that probably triggered every alpha instinct he possessed. The thought made me want to retreat into the house and lock the door behind me.
"Wes Thatcher," he said after finishing with the trap, offering the information like he wasn't sure I wanted it. "Wildlife Conservation. You'll probably see me around. Lot of animal activity this time of year."
"Willa." I didn't offer my last name. Didn't mention that I'd specifically chosen this rental because it was supposed to keep me away from interactions like this. That would sound too much like I'd been planning to stay.
"Welcome to Hollow Haven," he said, and something in his tone made it sound less like a pleasantry and more like a promise.
I mumbled something about needing to finish unpacking and escaped back to my front door, hyperaware of his presence until his truck finally pulled away. Even then, traces of cedar smoke seemed to linger in the air, cutting through the suppressants like they were nothing more than a polite suggestion.
