The Alpha Mate

Chapter 53

More than a week had passed. Seven damn days since he began avoiding me. And I kept telling myself it didn't matter.

That it was better this way—safer. That his distance gave me back control. But with every step he took in the opposite direction, every glance that flicked past me without landing, something inside me coiled tighter. So now it has transformed into a knot of pure irritation.

Because the more I tried to ignore what was growing between us, the more I began to realize that I didn't want to ignore it anymore.

Tonight, I arrived at the training grounds late on purpose. I knew he'd be there—he'd been coming just after dusk, when the field was mostly empty, slipping in under the pale light of the moon like a shadow no one noticed. Except I did. I always did.

As I stepped onto the edge of the field, his form came into view—fluid, focused. He was practicing alone, striking at invisible enemies with precise, fast blows. His body moved with quiet power, his feet light against the ground, his breath measured.

He looked… incredible. And the moment he noticed me, his shoulders tensed, his face hardened, and he turned—ready to leave. Again.

"Stop," I said, voice sharp enough to freeze him mid-step. He halted, back stiff, but didn't turn around. "I said stop," I repeated, more firmly, letting the Alpha command bleed into my tone.

He slowly turned, eyes guarded, his expression carefully neutral. "Alpha."

"What is this?" I narrowed my gaze, crossing the field toward him with deliberate steps. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "I'm not avoiding you, Alpha."

"You leave the moment I show up," I said flatly, stopping a few feet away from him. "You don't speak to me. You won't even look at me. That seems like avoidance."

He lifted his chin slightly, voice calm but clearly forced, every word measured. "It's nothing personal. You said not to come near you until I fixed my… scent. I'm simply following the order you gave me, Alpha."

The words hit me harder than I expected. I'd forgotten how cold I'd been. How harsh those words had sounded when they left my mouth, fueled by frustration and heat. A pang of guilt settled deep in my chest.

"Quit addressing me 'Alpha'," I muttered. "And that's not what I meant."

He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh and crossed his arms. "Sounded pretty like it to me."

"I meant it as a warning." I ran a hand through my hair, stepping closer. "You don't realize how dangerous your scent is—especially if a group of wolves in heat catches it. You might not be able to fight them off."

His expression darkened. "Excuse me?"

"I'm trying to protect you."

"Oh, is that what you're doing?" he snapped, suddenly bristling. "Because it sounded more like you were telling me I smelled horrendous. Or that I was some kind of walking hazard. Or even some kind of illness that should be avoided."

I raised a brow, both surprised and—if I was being honest—a little impressed. His fire always came out when I least expected it. "You still don't understand what pheromones are, do you?" I asked.

"No, I don't," he shot back. "I didn't grow up with someone who explained any of that to me. But what I do know is that I can handle myself. I've trained. I've fought. I won the tournament, remember? So yeah, I think I can take care of a few wolves."

That spark in his eyes—it did something to me. He wasn't the trembling boy I once met. He wasn't begging for validation or cowering beneath anyone's expectations.

He stood his ground. Challenged me. And Goddess help me, I loved it. "Then show me," I said smoothly, a challenge of my own.

He blinked. "What?"

"Show me what you've learned. Since our last spar."

He hesitated, visibly biting back his uncertainty. "You're really picking a fight with me right now?"

"I'm offering you a challenge," I said, stepping back and raising my hands in a mock invitation. "Or are you too tired?"

His eyes narrowed, jaw setting with determination. "I'm never too tired."

"Then come at me." He did. And he was fast. The first strike came low, aimed for my side. I deflected it, barely. His next kick snapped toward my shoulder, and I stepped out of range just in time. He spun and twisted around me like shadow and flame, his movements faster, tighter, more precise than I remembered.

And I remembered everything. He wasn't the skinny, anxious boy from weeks ago. He'd filled out, muscle and grace molded into every limb, his lean frame now strong and defined. He was beautiful—not in the fragile way, but in the way that could ruin a man's self-control. Dangerous and captivating in equal measure.

Distracted by the flex of his legs, the way his shirt clung to his torso with each movement, the sharp line of his jaw, I didn't react fast enough.

His boot connected with my jaw. I stumbled back, surprised more than hurt, tasting copper on my tongue.

"Not bad," I muttered, rubbing the spot where he'd struck, feeling the beginning of a bruise forming.

"You're distracted," he said, eyes gleaming with challenge, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. He was right.

The next time he came at me, I moved fast. I dodged his next blow, caught his wrist mid-strike, twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him gently—but firmly—face-down to the ground. I pressed my weight over him, holding him still, his chest heaving beneath me, his body warm and solid.

His skin was warm beneath my grip. His scent—goddess—intoxicating. Pine and snowdrops wrapping around me, drowning out every rational thought.

I leaned in, close to his ear, my lips almost brushing the shell of it. "Your speed has improved. Your balance too. But your left side is still exposed when you pivot."

He growled under his breath and struggled against my hold, muscles flexing. "Get off me."

His scent hit me again, stronger this time. Richer. Overwhelming. My jaw clenched, fangs aching.

"Fuck, you really don't smell that?" I asked, voice lower, rougher than I intended, barely controlled.

He twisted beneath me, furious now, his whole body taut with anger. "I don't know what the hell you are talking about!" I didn't answer. Because I couldn't think. I could only feel.

My face was inches from his neck. His scent wrapped around me, invading my every breath, clouding my mind. I wanted to bite him. Mark him. Claim him as mine for everyone to see.

My fangs tingled with the need to sink into his skin. My fingers twitched against his back, fighting the urge to grip tighter, to hold him and never let go.

And then I forced myself to move. I let him go, pushing off and standing fast, covering my nose with my elbow like a man escaping smoke, trying to clear my head.

"Figure it out on your own," I snapped, turning away, refusing to look at him. "I'm not your teacher. And I don't have time to explain what any halfway-trained wolf should already know."

I didn't look back. Because if I did, I might not leave. And if I stayed… I wouldn't stop at words.