The Ruthless Alpha’s Unwanted Curvy Mate

Tessa’s POV

The first warning that our pack was under attack came while I was arguing over potatoes.

“You’ve counted them wrong,” Lena said, leaning against the storeroom doorway with the comfortable confidence of someone who had never counted anything she couldn’t spend. “There can’t be that few left.”

I looked from her to the half-empty bin. “You’re welcome to look underneath. Perhaps they’ve started breeding.”

Her eyes narrowed. Behind her, two of the kitchen girls exchanged smiles, although neither would admit it if she asked. Being the Beta’s daughter gave Lena certain privileges. Apparently, one of them was expecting vegetables to multiply through intimidation.

“The warriors need a proper breakfast.”

“So do the children. Unfortunately, the potatoes haven’t expressed a preference.”

She stepped inside, her gaze dropping to my hips before returning to my face. I knew that look well enough to brace for what followed.

“Perhaps we’d have more if you showed some restraint.”

I held the inventory book against my stomach. It was a ridiculous reflex, considering the book couldn’t conceal me unless I acquired several more volumes, but humiliation rarely waited for logic.

“I had toast.”

“Of course you did.”

At twenty-two, I should have been better at letting those comments slide. Instead, every one found the same tender place, worn raw by years of hearing that my human mother had left me with an unfortunate body. Most she-wolves in Briar Glen were lean and muscular. I had breasts that made buying shirts an ordeal, hips that argued with narrow chairs, and a stomach that remained soft regardless of how many miserable laps I ran.

My wolf, Poppy, considered all of this perfectly acceptable.

I was working on agreeing with her.

“If you want more potatoes,” I said, “ask your father why he sent two wagons of provisions beyond the northern border yesterday.”

Lena straightened. “You shouldn’t be looking into warrior business.”

“I wasn’t. I was looking into missing potatoes.”

A howl rose outside, sharp enough to stop her reply.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then another howl answered, followed by a crash that shook dust from the ceiling.

Lena ran first.

I dropped the book and followed her into the kitchen, where Mrs. Bell stood holding a tray of bread. Through the open back door, I saw a guard sprint across the yard with blood down his shirt.

“Inside!” he shouted. “Get everyone inside!”

An unfamiliar wolf hit him before he reached the steps.

Mrs. Bell screamed. I caught her arm and pulled her away from the doorway, my mind refusing to make sense of the flash of teeth and the awful sound outside.

For months, Alpha Garrick had told us the border disputes were under control. He said the Blackthorn wolves were cowards who raided supplies and fled when challenged.

The wolf in our yard didn’t appear to have received that information.

“The cellar,” I told Mrs. Bell.

“There are children in the breakfast room.”

I was already moving.

Six children sat around a table meant for twelve, their bowls untouched. Little Millie was crying silently, her spoon still clutched in her fist. I crouched beside her and gathered her into my arms.

“We’re taking breakfast downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because Mrs. Bell’s decided to redecorate, and she’s being very dramatic about it.”

My voice sounded almost normal. I hoped they couldn’t feel how hard my hands were shaking.

The older children followed as I carried Millie through the kitchen. Mrs. Bell opened the cellar door, and we hurried down the steps into the cool smell of apples and earth. Above us, something heavy struck the wall.

I counted heads twice before closing the door.

For the next hour, I sat on an overturned crate with Millie against my chest and listened to my home being torn apart.

There were howls, shouted orders, and once a scream I recognized. I pressed my cheek to Millie’s hair and kept talking about anything I could think of, including the time Mrs. Bell had accidentally salted a birthday cake.

Nobody laughed, but the children listened.

Then the pack bond lurched.

Pain burst behind my eyes, sudden and sickening. Poppy cried out inside me, and Mrs. Bell gripped the shelf so hard that a jar fell and shattered at her feet.

Our alpha was dead.

I had never liked Garrick. I’d been afraid of him often enough. None of that prepared me for the empty place he left inside my head.

A fist struck the cellar door.

Mrs. Bell pulled the children behind her while I stood, my knees unsteady.

“Open it,” a man called. “The fighting is over.”

I stared at the bolt. There was no other exit, and anyone strong enough to break through the kitchen wall wouldn’t struggle with this door.

“There are children down here,” I said.

A pause followed.

“Then bring them out carefully.”

I opened the door.

The man waiting above wore a black jacket torn at one shoulder. Blood streaked his jaw, and his eyes swept over us before settling on Millie.

He stepped aside.

Outside, Briar Glen smelled of smoke and blood. Warriors I didn’t recognize stood near the gates. Our own knelt beneath the oak tree, weapons piled beyond their reach.

I searched the faces for people I knew and wished, almost immediately, that I hadn’t.

We were directed toward the courtyard, where the surviving pack had gathered. Lena stood beside her mother. When she saw me carrying Millie, she looked away.

A tall man waited on the pack house steps.

Even before he spoke, I knew who he was.

Magnus Blackthorn.

The ruthless alpha Garrick had promised would never enter our territory.

His dark shirt was ripped at the collar, exposing a scrape beneath his throat. There was blood on his hands. He surveyed the courtyard with an unnerving stillness while one of his warriors quietly gave him a report.

“Garrick is dead,” he said when the man finished. “Briar Glen is now under Blackthorn authority. Your wounded will receive treatment. Your children will be fed. Anyone who takes up a weapon against my people will answer to me.”

Millie lifted her head. “Is he taking our house?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

His gaze shifted toward my voice.

The breeze changed.

A scent reached me beneath the smoke: cedar, cold night air, something warm that made me want to step closer before I understood why.

Poppy surged forward so abruptly that I caught the edge of a bench.

Mate.

Magnus went still.

His eyes locked on mine, and for one bewildering moment, the courtyard seemed far away. He came down one step, then another. My heart hammered as he stopped in front of me.

He knew. I could see it.

I waited for him to say something, frightened by how badly I wanted to hear it.

His gaze flicked to Millie, then returned to me. His jaw tightened.

“Continue the count,” he told the warrior behind him.

Then he turned and walked away.

I stood holding someone else’s child while my mate disappeared into the house he had just taken from us.

Poppy whimpered.

I swallowed until I could trust myself to breathe.

Apparently, conquering my pack had been the easy part.

Standing beside me was asking too much.