Page 9 of His Brazen Mate

She nodded. “It can be at times. I’ve been told I can come in from the cold anytime I want, but I’m not ready. I’m not sure I ever will be.”

“Sometimes you have to make a change even when you’re not ready. The fact is I need your help, Megan. Even with Jasmine’s help, I’m out of my league. I was a SEAL for a long time. I can look at all of this,” he said gesturing to the mess strewn across the desk, “and see there’s something wrong going on here, but I have trouble believing my father had a hand in it, and yet, he was alpha and some of the notations in the ledgers I recognize as his."

Megan felt a surge of excitement and fear. This was her chance to delve deeper, to get closer to the truth. But she couldn't afford to show him her hand. "What have you found?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Drake hesitated, then handed her a folder. "Coded ledgers, suspicious transactions. And then I’ve had two notes—one from my father and an anonymous one—that indicate his death was no accident."

Megan took the folder, flipping through the pages. The codes were complex, but she recognized the patterns. This was big—bigger than she had anticipated. She looked up at Drake, feeling a strange mix of attraction and suspicion. There was an intensity in his eyes that drew her in, but she couldn't ignore the possibility that he might be involved in the very crimes she was investigating or perhaps covering up his father’s involvement.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice steady.

"Because I trust you," Drake said, his gaze unwavering. "You can deny it, but we’re fated mates—that means something. And because I think you can help me get to the bottom of this."

Megan felt a pang of guilt. He might know she was ATF, but her own investigation was at odds with his trust. She couldn't turn back now. "Alright," she said. "I'll help you. But we need to be careful. Whoever's behind this won't hesitate to protect their interests. If they killed your father, they could be turning their sights on you."

Drake nodded; his expression serious. "Or you. I don’t have time to go over what I’ve found with you today, but I can have Jasmine share what we’ve found so far. I need to make my presence known at the event. Can we meet somewhere quiet tomorrow? We can go over the details without prying eyes."

“We can do that, but there’s no place where we can meet without being seen. First rule of undercover is don’t do anything to raise suspicion.”

Drake nodded. “Then why don’t you act as my date for the rest of the festivities? We can tell people we know each other from before. That will explain it if anyone saw us come in here.”

She didn’t like it, but it was a good plan. Megan agreed but wondered if Drake didn’t have some kind of hidden agenda. Alpha males, of whatever species, always pursued their own goals and often felt the ends always justified the means. She was drawn to Drake's intensity, but she couldn't afford to let her guard down—either as an ATF agent or as a woman he considered to be his fated mate. The stakes were too high, and the lines between her professional duties and personal feelings were becoming dangerously blurred.

Megan stood amidst the soft hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the warm glow of chandeliers at the distillery's grand event. It seemed a bit incongruous that most of those who had attended the event were in comfortable, casual clothing while those who lived and worked at the distillery were far more dressed up. She felt slightly out of place despite her composed demeanor. Her eyes followed Drake as he moved through the crowd, his presence magnetic and confident. Suddenly, he took the stage, microphone in hand, and the room quieted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Drake's voice was smooth, commanding attention. "I'd like to introduce you all to someone very special to me." Megan's heart skipped a beat. Surely, he wasn't going to—he smiled at her—oh, but he was. "Some of you know I have just recently returned to Alaska and this gorgeous creature…” he was indicating her, stretching out his hand to her and gesturing to her to join him. “This is Megan, my fiancée." Fiancée? They had talked girlfriend, not fiancée. His eyes found hers, and a warm smile played on his lips.

Bastard. She knew better than to trust an alpha of any ilk.

Megan felt her cheeks flush. Her mind raced, but she managed a gracious smile and a small wave as polite applause rippled through the crowd and she joined him. Internally, she was a whirlwind of confusion and shock. She barely knew him; their fledgling relationship was professional at best, undercover work demanding a certain distance. Yet, here she was, labeled as something much more personal.

Later, when the event allowed them a moment of privacy, Megan seized the opportunity. She pulled Drake into a secluded hallway, her grip firm on his arm.

"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but intense. "Fiancée? What were you thinking?"

Drake’s expression remained calm, infuriatingly so. "Megan, think about it. What better way to keep up appearances and figure out what's going on here than blending in seamlessly? This is a distillery, not a crime scene."

She glared at him, her frustration bubbling over. "This was not part of the plan, Drake. You can't just spring things on me like that."

"We're improvising," he replied coolly. "This is how undercover work goes sometimes, right?"

They argued, the tension thick between them. But in the end, Megan saw the logic in his approach and begrudgingly agreed to stay. "Fine," she muttered. "But we're going to have a serious talk about boundaries later."

Dinner was a lavish affair, the distillery's charm enhanced by the delicious aromas and lively conversation. Megan did her best to mingle, playing her role perfectly. It was during dessert that she met Drake’s aunt, Victoria, a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

"And you are?" Victoria asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.

"Megan," she replied, forcing a polite smile. "Drake's fiancée."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed. "I see.” She sniffed the air. “Well, I hope you know what you're getting into."

Megan bit back a retort, sensing the woman's instant dislike. The feeling was mutual. But what surprised her most was when Drake smoothly interjected with a fabricated backstory, painting Megan as someone far from her true identity as an ATF agent.

After dinner, as the evening celebration continued, Drake guided Megan toward the room she would be staying in, explaining some historical tidbits about the distillery. Midway, he was pulled away by an urgent call. "Head up without me. I'll join you shortly. Top of the stairs and it’s to the right at the end of the hall."

Megan found the room easily, her breath catching at its beauty. Dark wood, rich fabrics, and tasteful decor created an inviting sanctuary. But it was the French doors that caught her attention—the same French doors that were down in his office—the same French doors his father had brought back from New Orleans and installed in the office and the primary suite of the alpha—this was Drake's room.

When Drake returned, she was waiting for him, arms crossed. "This is your room, isn't it?"

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