Evicted Alpha

POV Dorian.

I sit in my car, gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks under the strain. My knuckles shine bright white in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windshield. The engine idles with a low rumble, but it does nothing to drown out the frantic rushing of blood in my ears. I vastly underestimated my stepsister. Cleo Fairchild. The name tastes like bitter ash on my tongue. I had genuinely thought she was just a sweet, pathetic little girl with the innocent eyes of an angel. I pictured her as someone fragile, someone who needed protection or at least pity from the rest of the world. I was a fool. Her time away with her grandmother has changed her. She has morphed into an evil little mastermind.

She just manipulated my own dad into throwing me out of my future mansion. My own father sided with her, tossing me onto the street like a stray dog. The sting of that betrayal burns deep in my gut, hot and relentless. I bet she is sitting in that house right now, wearing a smug little smile. She is probably plotting to take my old room and claim it as hers, treating my space like a shiny victory trophy. Furious, humiliated, and outplayed, I throw the car into park. The tires scrape roughly against the curb outside my best friend Corbin Mercer’s apartment building.

I cut the engine and step out into the cool night air. The city smells of damp asphalt and exhaust, but my Lycan senses are hyper-focused on my own raging pulse. As the newly crowned Alpha of the Ember pack, I am supposed to project strength. I am supposed to be an immovable mountain of authority. I cannot risk anyone finding out that I am homeless. I especially cannot risk Gideon Slater finding out. Gideon is my bitter, ambitious Beta. He has Alpha blood running through his veins, and he used to lead this pack until I beat him into submission. I only kept him around as my Beta because I wanted him to watch me rise to the top. I wanted to rub my victory in his face. Now, I regret keeping that arrogant bastard so close. Most of the pack is still secretly loyal to him. If Gideon discovers that I have been kicked out of my own home by a teenage girl, he will have a field day. He would use my humiliation to rally his loyalists and strip my power away.

I grab my heavy duffle bag from the passenger seat and slam the car door shut. I stomp up the concrete stairs to Corbin’s floor, my heavy boots thudding against the steps. I march down the narrow hallway and stop in front of his faded wooden door. I bang my fist against the wood like a lunatic. The heavy thuds echo loudly in the quiet corridor.

"Alright, alright, I’m coming! Chill. There’s no need to beat down the freaking door!" Corbin mutters from the other side.

I stomp my foot impatiently against the floor mat. The deadbolt clicks, and Corbin finally yanks the door open. He stands there in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, staring at me in shock. His eyes go wide as he takes in my rigid posture and the massive bag slung over my shoulder.

I do not wait for an invitation. I aggressively shove past him, hauling my heavy duffle bag inside the small apartment. The familiar scent of stale pizza and cheap beer fills my nose, but beneath that, I catch the strong, sweet stench of cheap perfume. I scan the small living room and immediately spot two scantily clad girls lounging comfortably on his worn-out couch. Their faces flush red the second they see me. Their tight dresses and heavy makeup give them away instantly. These two are cleat chasers. Groupies who hang around the university football players, hoping to land a rich athlete.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?!" Corbin demands, stepping aside as I claim the center of his living room.

"I need a place to stay." I drop my heavy duffle bag onto the floor with a loud, resounding thud.

Corbin runs a hand through his messy hair, glancing nervously between me and the two girls. "Okay? Well… I’m busy—"

"I’m sorry, ladies, but this party is over. I’m going to need that couch." I cut him off sharply, turning my cold glare onto the girls.

"What the fuck, man?" Corbin swears under his breath behind me.

"Sorry, Corbin. I really need this." I do not sound sorry at all. My patience is gone.

Corbin rolls his eyes heavenward, muttering a string of colorful curses. The girls, however, are not leaving. They clearly recognize me. I am the famous tight end for the university football team. Even though they are normal humans and cannot sense my Alpha aura, my status on campus is enough to draw their attention. Their eyes flash with dollar signs. They look at me like I am a walking bank account.

The blonde girl rises from the couch, smoothing down her impossibly short skirt. She flashes me a brilliant, calculated smile. She is a bloodsucker, searching for a wealthy man to set her up for life. "Dorian Vance. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

"Wish I could say the same. But I’ve got bigger problems than figuring out who you people are." I plaster on a fake, tight smile and step toward the couch.

I bluntly shut her down, ignoring the disappointed pout forming on the other girl’s face. The blonde’s fake smile drops, replaced by a scowl of wounded pride.

"Nice manners," the blonde mutters under her breath. She snatches her tiny purse from the coffee table and marches toward the front door.

The second girl grabs her jacket and follows her friend. She casts one final, longing glance over her shoulder at me, batting her eyelashes in a last-ditch effort. I give her a cold, unapologetic shrug. She huffs in annoyance and steps out into the hallway.

Corbin slams the door shut behind them and turns to glare at me. "They will get over it. But you owe me big time, man."

I crash onto the worn cushions of the couch. The springs groan under my massive weight. I run a heavy hand through my hair, feeling the sheer exhaustion settling into my bones. The adrenaline of the confrontation with my father is fading, leaving behind a hollow, throbbing ache in my head. Leading a pack of volatile werewolves is hard enough. Dealing with family drama and a manipulative stepsister is a burden I do not need.

Corbin sighs, walking across the small living room toward his open kitchen. "Did you bring any beer?"

"Haven’t been shopping. And I have bigger problems right now." I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall.

"That so?" Corbin asks, opening his fridge.

"Dad kicked me out." I bluntly confess the truth into the quiet room.

Corbin freezes. He slowly closes the fridge door and turns to face me. His jaw drops, and his eyes widen in pure disbelief. "But... you’re the Alpha? You can’t be homeless. That mansion is yours!"

I open my eyes and shoot him a bitter, caustic glare. My inner beast paces furiously against my ribs, angry at the reminder of my precarious situation. "The mansion won’t be mine before I claim a mate. Grandfather’s will specifically states I can't inherit anything until I’ve married a nice mate to keep my Lycan temper in check."

My voice is thick with resentment. The terms of that damn will have been hanging over my head for years, a ticking clock that I chose to ignore. My grandfather believed that the Alpha power would consume me without a Luna to anchor my soul. He put that clause in writing, ensuring I would remain a tenant in my own legacy until I paraded a wife through those grand double doors. Cleo and my father just accelerated the timeline, kicking me out into the cold before I could secure my throne.

Corbin sighs heavily. He walks over and leans against the back of his armchair, rubbing his face with both hands. "That sucks, man. So what now? What’s your plan?"

"Uh, staying on your couch?" I gesture around the small living room.

"No, I mean your future plans. You obviously need to marry a lycan or a werewolf from the pack." Corbin points out the solution like it is the easiest thing in the world.

The casual suggestion ignites my fury. The beast inside me rears its ugly head, thrashing against the cage of my ribs. The thought of tying myself to some random she-wolf just to get my house back makes my blood boil.

"I’m not marrying anyone!" I roar, surging forward on the couch.

The sheer volume and force of my voice rattle the glass in the apartment windows. The sound echoes off the thin walls, a dominant, terrifying boom of Alpha command. Corbin instantly flinches. He physically shrinks back, pressing his spine flat against the wall. He holds his hands up in a defensive posture, his eyes wide with raw, unfiltered terror.

"Okay, calm down—" Corbin stammers, his chest heaving.

"I am calm!" I snap back, my chest rising and falling with heavy pants.

Corbin lets out a nervous snort, though his hands are still trembling. "You’re definitely not calm. To be honest with you, you’ve had anger issues ever since you became the Alpha of the Ember pack."

"What? You think I have anger issues?!" I stare up at him in disbelief.

Corbin looks away, his eyes darting to the floor. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, swallowing hard before he speaks. "Look, this isn’t easy to tell you, but… You need to choose between the football and the pack, man. You can’t handle both."

"Fuck yeah, I can!" I growl, gripping the edge of the couch cushions.

"No, you’re barely sleeping and..." Corbin trails off, his voice tight.

"And what?" I demand, my eyes narrowing.

Corbin exhales a shaky breath, finally meeting my gaze. "And you’re angry all the time... it's scary..."

My breath hitches in my throat. I stare at my best friend in utter disbelief. He is actually sweating. I can smell the sour tang of his fear filling the small room. His pulse is racing, a frantic rabbit heartbeat hammering in his neck. He is pressing himself against the wall in fear of me. He sees me as a monster, a threat, an unstable bomb ready to detonate in his living room.

"Y-yeah..." Corbin rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes again. "You’re already like a hundred feet tall and a lycan Alpha, and now you have a temper, too."

"I don’t have a temper!" I argue, though my voice lacks its previous heat.

"Wh-whatever you say, Alpha..." Corbin stammers out, entirely submissive.

My heart drops into my stomach. My chest physically clenches with a crushing wave of guilt and horror. Alpha. He called me Alpha. My best friend is using my formal title like a shield to protect himself from my wrath. This is wrong. All of this is wrong. I do not want Corbin to fear me. I want things to be just like before. I want us to be the regular, carefree goofballs we used to be, drinking cheap beer and playing video games until sunrise. But the brutal reality of werewolf politics, my grandfather's restrictive will, and my heavy Alpha duties have poisoned everything good in my life. I have lost control of my own life, and now I am losing my best friend.

"I’m sorry," I mutter, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing my tired eyes. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Don’t apologize," Corbin interrupts softly.

I look up to see him leaning heavily against the wall. He looks utterly exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes mirroring my own.

"Just...figure things out, you know? For our sake." Corbin pleads softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "And find a mate to claim. That might be the key to all of this. A man can’t run a pack alone, Dorian. Not if he also wishes to be a star football player. Then he needs a Luna by his side to handle the pack. Someone to run things when he is gone."

Unbidden, against my will, my thoughts violently snap back to the dream. The vivid, intoxicating dream I just woke up from in my car. The dream where Cleo Fairchild was my fated mate.

In my mind’s eye, I see her standing in the sunlit garden of the mansion. She turns to look at me, her sweet smile lighting up her face. She is carrying our children, her belly swollen and perfect. She exists as my wife, my Luna, my equal in every way. The vivid memory of her gentle touch flashes brilliantly across my brain. I can almost feel her soft, delicate hands tracing the hard planes of my chest. I can smell her unique scent, a mixture of vanilla and something wild that makes my Lycan blood sing.

To my absolute, humiliating horror, my body physically and instantly reacts to the thought of her. A heavy heat pools deep in my groin. My cock twitches and swells, straining hard against the restrictive fabric of my boxers. The arousal is sudden, sharp, and undeniable. My pulse pounds in my veins, driving a thick, heavy lust straight to my core. I shift uncomfortably on the couch, trying to hide the blatant evidence of my sudden desire. I mentally curse myself. I need a freaking doctor. She is my stepsister. She is the enemy. She is the reason I am sitting on this broken couch.

"No, no way," I protest out loud, violently clenching my massive fists to fight off the heavy arousal coursing through my veins. "I can handle this myself!"

Corbin stares at me for a long moment, reading the frantic denial on my face. He just throws his hands up in total surrender, clearly done trying to talk sense into me for one night.

"Okay. Just don’t tell me I didn’t warn you." Corbin shakes his head and walks off toward the kitchen. "I’m going to need a beer now that I have an angry hedgehog for a roommate," he mutters under his breath.

"Hedgehog? Really?" I scoff at his retort, but I do not have the energy to argue.

Corbin disappears around the corner, leaving me entirely alone in the dim living room. The silence of the apartment presses down on my shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Without Corbin’s voice to distract me, my mind immediately drifts right back to Cleo.

I picture her standing in the hallway of my father's house, her chin tilted up in defiance. I picture the fire in her eyes. Deep inside my chest, my Lycan wolf whines softly. It is a pathetic, longing sound, vibrating against my ribs. It is a sound of deep recognition, as if my beast is trying desperately to tell me something crucial. Or perhaps, he is trying to warn me about the dangerous path we are walking down. My wolf wants her. My body wants her. My mind is fighting a losing battle against the raw, primal instinct demanding I go back to that mansion and claim what belongs to me.

I lean back against the cushions and stare up at the cracked paint on the ceiling. I let out a long, heavy sigh into the empty room.

"She couldn’t possibly be my mate, right?"