Page 8 of Brutal Alpha's Forced Mate

I force the thoughts away and extend my hand, trying to pull the faint hum of energy from my core. A spark flares to life in my palm—weak and flickering, like a match struggling against the wind. I try to feed it, to shape it into something more, but the harder I push, the more erratic it becomes. It wavers, snapping and popping unpredictably, until it shoots out, completely out of my control.

The spark leaps from my hand, slamming into a shelf on the far side of the room. Glass jars rattle and crash to the floor, shattering into a glittering mess of shards and spilled powders. One jar explodes outright, sending a burst of smoke spiraling into the air. The force of it almost topples another shelf—one dangerously close to where the guest is sitting.

The man moves with inhuman precision, jerking to the side just enough to avoid the falling debris. It misses him by inches, but his hat slides off in the commotion, tumbling to the floor.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Malcolm’s face darkens, and his smile vanishes like a shadow at dawn. “Is this a joke?” he growls at me, rising from his chair. “I told you to impress him, not fumble around like a child!”

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, taking a step back. “It’s—”

“Excuses,” Malcolm growls. He crosses the room in three quick strides, raising his hand before I can register the motion. My body locks up, bracing for the blow, and time seems to slow.

But it never comes.

Gray leaps to his feet, and his hand shoots out, catching Malcolm’s wrist mid-swing. The movement is fluid, almost casual, but the force behind it is undeniable. Malcolm freezes, and his face twists in shock and indignation as he glances from his restrained arm to the man holding it.

“That’s enough,” Gray declares. His voice is calm, though an unmistakable edge cuts through the words. “You’ve made your point.”

Malcolm sputters, yanking his arm free with a forceful jerk and taking a hasty step back. His face shifts from surprise to anger, and his lips curl into a sneer. “This is my house, wolf,” he snarls. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle my property.”

Gray doesn’t flinch. His posture remains relaxed, almost bored, but something in his stance shifts ever so slightly—a dangerous stillness settling over him. The tension in the room ratchets up to an unbearable level, and my magic stirs uneasilybeneath my skin, as though recognizing the dangerous situation we’re in.

Malcolm’s eyes narrow as he looks over Gray’s now exposed face. “Wait a second… you…”

It happens so fast, I almost miss it—the subtle stiffening of Malcolm’s shoulders, the widening of his eyes, and the sharp intake of breath. Recognition hits him, and his face flushes with a mixture of anger and alarm.

“You,” Malcolm hisses this time, pointing a trembling finger at Gray. “You’re that alpha. From the Red Arrow pack.”

I lift my line of sight ever so slightly, just enough to see Gray fully for the first time in a decade. There’s no mistaking him now. His golden hair is shorter than I remember, his features sharper, more weathered by time. But those piercing blue eyes? They’re exactly the same.

Gray.

The name crashes into me like a freight train, and suddenly, the room feels too small as the walls press in on me from every angle. My legs lock in place as everything I’ve tried to bury for the last ten years surges to the surface—memories, rage, and a bone-deep hurt I’ve carried since the day he banished me.

“I knew something was off,” Malcolm snarls, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and fear. “You lied your way in here, didn’t you? All this talk of money and deals—this was never about business, was it? You came for her.”

Gray doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t say a word as his eyes remain locked on Malcolm. The air around him feels electric, charged with barely restrained fury.

Malcolm’s lip curls as he recovers some of his bravado, his chest puffing out. “I should’ve known you’d try to pullsomething like this,” he spits. “But you’re wasting your time. She’s mine, Alpha. Bought and paid for. And I don’t care who you are—”

Gray cuts him off. “You care about money, don’t you, Malcolm? That’s what this is about to you. So name your price.”

The room falls silent, and the weight of Gray’s words hangs heavy in the air. Malcolm’s eyes flicker with greed, even as his pride wars with his practical side. But I can barely process any of it.

After all these years, it’s him. And he’s here. For me.

Chapter 3 - Gray

The urge to kill Malcolm is immediate, visceral, and all-consuming. My wolf is pacing, clawing at the edges of my control, demanding retribution for the fear I saw in Jaslyn’s eyes and the way her body flinched before Malcolm even raised his hand. She’s been through this before. That much is obvious, and the thought settles in my chest like a live grenade.

But I can’t kill him. Not here. Not with Wiley lounging against the wall like a smug little snake, watching everything with that smirk, I want to rip off his face. I take a slow, deliberate breath, reining in the rage threatening to tear loose. Malcolm’s weakness isn’t strength; it’s greed. And if I play this right, I won’t need violence to walk out of here with Jaslyn.

“You’re stalling, Malcolm,” I tell him, keeping my tone smooth and cold as I cross the room to stand over him. He flinches slightly, then covers it with a forced sneer. “We both know what this is about, so let’s cut the theatrics. I’m here to make a deal. Either name your price, or I can come back here with my pack and you won’t end up with a dime.”

His face twists, anger warring with the greed I see flickering behind his beady little eyes. “I already told you,” he snaps, though there’s a slight tremor in his voice. “She’s not for sale.”

“Everyone’s got a price,” I counter, letting my voice drop just enough to send a ripple of unease through the room. “Even you.”

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