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Alpha Matthew had agreed to let me take a few of his sacred books home, but we both knew
I’d return the next day to dive deeper into his collection. The thought of returning filled me with
an eager anticipation, one that kept my mind occupied throughout the day. Each class |
taught, every lesson I delivered, seemed to drag on longer than the last. I couldn’t help it. The
idea of getting lost in those ancient pages–those mysteries of the Moon Goddess and our
kind–had a magnetic pull on me.
As the day wound down, I could feel the pull intensify. By the time I reached the gates of Alpha
Matthew’s mansion, the guards barely glanced up as they gave me approving nods and let me
pass. It felt as though they already knew I was coming, like it had become a routine. No one
walked me to his office, either. They trusted me now, I suppose. I knew the way.
Inside, Alpha Matthew was surrounded by paperwork, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
He looked up briefly, as if to acknowledge my arrival, but his attention quickly returned to
whatever he was working on. I couldn’t help but notice that familiar feeling–being in his
space, surrounded by the quiet hum of his work–it made me feel oddly at home.
We exchanged some casual words before he unlocked the shelf and gestured for me to pick
the first book.
Now, here I am, sitting on his couch. The weight of the massive book in my hands is grounding, almost like a talisman. It’s about the powers of our Moon Goddess, a subject I
never thought I’d delve into. The book itself feels ancient, and not just in age–there’s an energy about it, an aura that seems to glow faintly, radiating power that I can almost feel
vibrating through my fingertips.
The sheer weight of the knowledge contained within those pages pulls me in. I find myself
enthralled by the chapter on Beta females, their inner strength and untold power. I sit up straighter, my mind racing with newfound respect for Sage. In a world dominated by Alpha males and testosterone, for a female to break through that barrier–it makes me smile to think
of it.
Every so often, I feel Matthew’s gaze drift in my direction. I’m sure he’s watching me, though each time I meet his eyes, he’s already looking down at his work again. It’s as if he doesn’t want me to catch him, but I can feel the weight of his stare. It makes me self–conscious, even
though I can’t understand why.
I turn the pages, deep in thought, until something makes me gasp quietly.
The sudden sound draws Matthew’s attention. He raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Alpha,
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you have to see this.” I stand up, carrying the weighty book in both hands, barely able to
contain my excitement. Without thinking much, I move around his desk and stand beside him, leaning against the edge of it, book in hand.
Matthew leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, the faintest smile tugging at his
lips. His casual demeanor doesn’t match the intensity in the air between us. I focus on the
book, almost forgetting to breathe.
“There’s something cryptic in this chapter about mates,” I tell him quickly. “You know, the
usual–soulmates, eyes glazing over, irresistible scents.” I roll my eyes at the cliché. “But then
…” I trail off, pointing to the page, even though I know he can’t see it from this angle.
“It says: It is not unheard of having a second chance. The forging of mates, although
improbable, is possible. But only with the touch of the moon.” I turn toward him now, eyes
wide with excitement. “Do you know what this means?”
His gaze darkens, settling on my lower half where I’m perched on his desk, and for a moment,
I forget about the words I just read. The heat of his stare is palpable. My heart skips a beat. I
try to focus, to hold onto the excitement of the discovery, but it’s hard to concentrate with him
this close.
I stammer, “Sorry,” as I scramble to move around the desk and sit in the chair across from him.
I glance at the open book, still sitting on the desk, the words etched in my mind. “Do you know
what this means?”
He looks back at me, his gaze softer now, though there’s something unreadable in his eyes.
After a moment, he glances at the book. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Mia. These books are
cryptic and ancient, and frankly, I’ve never known any of them to offer much practical wisdom.
”
My stomach sinks, and I try not to let his words affect me. The idea of a second chance mate
is a tantalizing thought, but my past experience with Bren–his rejection–lingers in the back of
my mind. Part of me is glad I didn’t end up with someone like him, but there’s a part of me, a quieter part, that still aches for the connection, for the bond that should have been.
“I guess you’re right,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I suppose it’s just wishful thinking.”
Matthew leans forward, picking up the book as if contemplating the same words. “It feels like
reading the ingredients of a potion,” he mutters. “How does one ‘forge‘ mates? The Moon
Goddess crafts mates, that much is clear. But touched by the moon? Does that mean the
nighttime? Or does it mean the moon has to actually touch you? I’m skeptical.”
I nod, agreeing with his reasoning. It all sounds improbable, even impossible, especially considering that the book itself calls it a rare occurrence. My wolf tries to reassure me,
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comforting me in a way that only she can. We’ll be okay, she tells me. We’ve been through this before.
“Sorry for getting so excited,” I murmur, standing up. I take the book from the desk and start to slide it back into its place on the shelf.
Matthew stands, following me. “In that case,” he says, his voice casual, “would you care to keep me company for dinner?”
My eyes widen. It’s been hours since breakfast, and my stomach betrays me with a loud growl. My wolf stirs at the idea of spending more time with him, her excitement almost palpable.
“Dinner?” I ask, my voice faltering as my stomach continues to protest. I’m not sure I can pull off any sort of calm demeanor with my body’s traitorous responses.
Matthew grins, his devilish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes. I’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but I can manage.”
My wolf purrs in my mind. Spend time with him. He’s hot. I can’t help but laugh at her suggestion, but my smile is genuine. “Dinner sounds lovely,” I say, my voice light despite the fluttering in my chest.
Matthew c***s his head slightly, an invitation to follow him. Without thinking, I do.
As we leave the office, I take in the surroundings more closely. This place… it’s different. The halls are lined with oil paintings, portraits of people I don’t know, and landscapes of places I can only imagine. The walls are dark stone, like something from a medieval castle, and they hold an elegance I never expected from the Alpha of a werewolf pack.
When we turn a corner, I’m stunned. The living room and kitchen are far grander than I
expected. The room is filled with dark leather couches and a roaring fireplace, and the walls are decorated with beautiful paintings and a massive plasma screen TV. In the corner, a set of guitars catches my eye.
Then, as I glance out the back, I freeze. The view of the lake is breathtaking. The water ripples gently in the fading light of the sunset, and the mountains in the distance are bathed in golden
hues. It’s a scene straight out of a dream.
Matthew has already moved to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and pulling out ingredients
like it’s second nature. There’s a calm, collected confidence in his every movement as he
starts chopping with precision, almost like he’s done this a thousand times.
The sound of his knife against the cutting board pulls me from my reverie, and I find myself
inching closer to the island counter.
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“Your house is stunning,” I tell him, genuinely impressed.
“Thank you,” he says, flashing me a smile. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
I lean against the counter, watching him with a mixture of fascination and admiration. Every
so often, he looks up at me from beneath his lashes, and I can’t help but blush under his gaze.
The quiet intensity between us is thick, and I swear I can feel it every time his eyes flicker over
- me.
“You always invite new female wolves to your house to read your books and cook for them?” I
ask, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge.
“Would you be jealous if I said I did?” he teases, his eyes meeting mine with a mischievous
glint. He winks at me, his grin widening as he moves across the kitchen.
“No,” I scoff, but my heart races, and butterflies flutter in my stomach at the sight of his wink.
He leans in, looking me directly in the eyes. “No. I don’t flirt with female wolves that often.”
Flirt? I think to myself. Who said anything about flirting?
