Hiding My Alpha Boss's Baby

My boss and I had one night. A mistake—or so I told myself, right up until I found a file in his office with my photo labeled "Potential Breeder," tucked inside a folder marked Pack Hierarchy. Same night the pregnancy test came back positive.

He walked in before I could run, his eyes already glowing gold in the dark.

"I can smell your feelings, Nora." Caden Voss stood in the doorway in the same suit he'd left in that morning, but his eyes were amber and wrong in a way I couldn't explain away anymore. "And you've been reading things you shouldn't."

"I was organizing your files." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Like you asked me to."

He stepped into the room. I stepped back until the edge of his desk caught me behind the knees.

"Nora." His voice dropped lower. "I can smell it on you. You're carrying my pup."

Pup. Not baby. Not child.

"What are you?" I asked.

He smiled, and his canines were a little too sharp. "I think you already know."

I did. That was the part that made everything worse.

"You'll be moved to a safe house tomorrow," he said, like he was rescheduling a meeting. "The child will be raised in the pack. You're under pack protection now—that means no more disappearing into the human world and pretending this isn't what it is."

"I'm not your property."

"No." He didn't flinch. "You're the mother of my heir. That's not the same thing."

It felt exactly the same thing.

"You've felt the pull between us," he said. "Since before that night. Don't tell me you haven't."

"Don't." I held up a hand. "Not right now."

He studied me. I let him look—let him read whatever he was reading—because all I needed from the next five minutes was for him to believe I wasn't already calculating the fastest way out of this building.

"I need to go home tonight," I said. "Pack my things. If this is really happening, I want to do it on my own terms."

"Two hours." He said it like it wasn't a negotiation. "Someone from the pack drives you and waits outside. Don't do anything that forces my hand."

I nodded. Picked up my bag. Made it to the door before he spoke again.

"Nora."

I turned.

"I'm not trying to trap you." His eyes were still gold, still wrong, but his voice was almost careful. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

From what, I almost said. From you?

"I'll be ready by morning," I said instead.

I made it out of the building in four minutes. Stairs, side exit, the alley behind the parking structure. I'd had a cash card building for three months—not because I'd known about pack hierarchies and potential breeders, but because I'd noticed the way his men tracked my movements and decided I was the kind of person who needed an exit.

Turns out I was right.

Six blocks to the bus station. The Greyhound to Portland left in twenty minutes. I bought a ticket with cash, kept my head down, found a window seat near the back and sat with my hands in my lap, trying not to think too hard about the pregnancy test still in my bag.

Don't think. Just move.

My phone started ringing before we pulled out of the station. Caden's name on the screen. Then again. Then again.

I powered it off and dropped it in a trash can on the way back to my seat.

The bus pulled into the dark, and I pressed one hand flat against my stomach—this impossible, unasked-for thing I already knew I couldn't walk away from.

Whatever you are, I thought, you'll grow up free. I'll figure out the rest.