Traded to the Ruthless Alpha

The parchment slid across the greasy breakfast table, stopping inches from my untouched oatmeal.

"Sign it," my father said, not bothering to look up from his ledger. "The contract is finalized. You belong to the Blackthorn Pack now."

I stared at the heavy wax seal bearing the mark of an Alpha known across three territories for tearing rivals apart with his bare hands. "You promised I had until the spring equinox."

"Plans change," Dorian sneered from across the table.

Before I could pull away, my brother reached over and yanked the silver wolf-tooth necklace straight off my collarbone. The thin chain snapped, biting into the back of my neck.

"Hey! That was grandmother's—"

"It's mine now," Dorian said, slipping it into his jacket pocket with a smug grin. "You won't need silver where you're going. You won't even need shoes."

Seraphine laughed into her teacup, her polished nails catching the morning light. "Ronan will use you as a scullery slave, Maris. If you're lucky, he might let you sleep on the kennel floor. Don't expect your own room."

"Enough," my father snapped, though his glare was aimed solely at me. "The Blackthorn Alpha demanded a tribute bride to cement our border treaty. You are a token of our pack's loyalty. You will go quietly, and you will not embarrass this family."

No one asked if I wanted to go. No one asked how I felt about being handed over to a monster.

An hour later, my mother tossed a battered leather suitcase onto the floor of my cramped attic bedroom. The zipper was broken, and one of the buckles hung by a thread.

"Pack your clothes," she said coldly. "The transport arrives at noon."

I packed what little I owned into the ruined bag. Three worn sweaters, two pairs of faded jeans, and a pair of boots with worn-out soles.

For nineteen years, I had been the invisible labor of this house. While Seraphine bought silk gowns in town and Dorian wrecked expensive trucks, I scrubbed grease from the kitchen tiles, washed blood out of the pack warriors' hunting gear, and ate cold leftovers off the cutting board after everyone else went to sleep.

High school had been no different. Dorian and Seraphine made sure the entire student body treated me like a parasite. If someone sat near me in the cafeteria, Dorian shoved them against the lockers. If a teacher praised my essays, Seraphine spread rumors that I stole the work.

The only person who ever showed me kindness was Silas. He was an outsider who lived near the edge of our territory. Whenever the cruelty got unbearable, I would slip away to the boundary line, where Silas would already be waiting. He never pushed me to talk. He just sat on a fallen log and left a thermos of hot tea steaming by the tree roots, giving me the only peace I ever knew.

Now, even that was gone.

The transport dropped me off at the iron gates of Blackthorn Keep just as the sun dipped behind the jagged pine ridges. Cold mountain fog rolled over the gravel path.

I hauled my broken suitcase with both hands, my shoulders tense, braced for the guards to drag me inside by my hair.

Then the heavy wooden doors swung open.

A man stepped out onto the wide stone porch. He was tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking the light from the lanterns behind him. A heavy black coat hung over his frame, and dark hair fell across a sharp, cut-glass jawline.

Then the wind shifted.

The scent hit me instantly—crisp balsam fir, cold mountain rain, and the deep, clean edge of obsidian.

Inside my chest, my wolf, Wren, slammed violently against my ribs. Her claws dug into my consciousness, whining and howling in sheer, desperate recognition.

*Mate.*

My knees nearly buckled. The blood rushed to my ears so loudly that I could barely hear the wind in the trees.

The terrifying Alpha of Blackthorn—the beast my family used as a threat to keep me obedient—was my fated mate.

Ronan stood at the top of the steps, his amber eyes locking directly onto mine. I saw the sudden flare in his pupils, the slight flinching of his fingers at his sides. He felt it too. Every single cord of the bond snapped into place between us like struck iron.

I froze, waiting for the demand. I waited for him to grab my wrist, to drag me across the threshold and claim what the treaty had bought him.

Instead, Ronan stayed where he was. He lowered his gaze slightly, softening the harsh set of his brow.

"Mrs. Gable," he said, his voice deep and smooth, without an ounce of cruelty in it.

An older woman with silver hair stepped out from the foyer, wrapping a woolen shawl around her shoulders.

"Take her upstairs," Ronan instructed quietly. "Show her to the east suite. Make sure the hearth is lit."

He didn't touch me. He didn't order me to bow. He simply stepped back, leaving an open path between us, giving me plenty of space as I hurried through the front doors with my head down.

Mrs. Gable led me up a wide oak staircase and down a quiet, carpeted corridor. When she pushed open the door to the east suite, I stopped dead in my tracks.

The room was larger than the entire ground floor of my father's house. A stone fireplace crackled with birch logs, throwing golden warmth across a massive king-sized bed piled high with plush down comforters. A wardrobe stood open against the far wall, revealing clean, soft woolen sweaters and tailored trousers in my exact size. Through an adjoining doorway, I could see a private bathroom with polished copper faucets and a clawfoot tub.

"There are fresh towels by the tub, dear," Mrs. Gable said gently. "Rest now. Dinner will be brought up shortly."

She closed the door behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet warmth.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I dropped the battered suitcase onto the floor and backed away from the bed.

It was too much. Families didn't give gifts without strings. Alphas didn't provide soft blankets to tribute brides unless they planned to take something far worse in return. I kept waiting for the trap to spring, waiting for the guards to tell me it was a joke before throwing me into the basement.

A floorboard creaked in the hall outside.

My spine went rigid. I spun toward the door, my knuckles whitening as I clamped my hands over my chest.

A shadow fell across the threshold. The door was slightly ajar, but Ronan didn't push it open. He stood in the hallway, three feet back from the entrance, his hands resting loosely in the pockets of his dark trousers.

Through the narrow gap, the scent of balsam and rain drifted into the room.

My skin heated under my sweater. A feverish, electric warmth hummed through my veins, and Wren whined in the back of my mind, begging me to close the distance between us.

I looked at Ronan's jaw. The muscle there ticked tightly, his throat working as he swallowed down his wolf's possessive instinct. He wanted to step inside. Every Alpha instinct he possessed was screaming at him to claim his mate, yet his feet remained glued to the hallway carpet.

He refused to crowd me.

"You don't have to hide behind the dresser, Maris," he said. His voice was steady, holding a quiet authority that didn't demand submission. "I won't cross this threshold unless you invite me."

I swallowed the dryness in my throat. "My father said... Seraphine said I was traded to work."

Ronan looked at the beat-up leather bag lying by my feet, then back up to my face. A dark shadow passed over his golden eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was entirely calm.

"Your father can write whatever lies he wants on his paper," Ronan said softly. "Here, no one will treat you like a tribute. It's only a real marriage if you choose to stay."

He turned and walked down the hall, his footsteps fading into the quiet house.

I stood by the crackling fire, the warmth sinking into my cold skin, wondering if the nightmare I had prepared for was already over.