Page 54 of Brutal Alpha's Sold Mate
The door to the bedroom creaks as I shove it open and make my way outside. The East Hills compound is quiet, save for the occasional comment from one of their pack members about the obvious outsider lurking around. It’s nothing like Black Cauldron—nothing like home. The sleek, modern houses line the streets in neat rows. Their angular architecture and massive glass windows catch the late afternoon light. Everything looksso polished and pristine, from the perfectly trimmed hedges to the lawns that could belong in a landscaping magazine. Even the brick pathways between the houses are flawless, not a crack in sight.
I glance down at my boots, caked with dirt from my own territory, and feel like I’ve stepped into another world entirely. The streets are paved, for one thing, with solar-powered streetlamps standing ready to turn on when dusk falls. A fountain sits in the middle of what looks like a park—no, it’s not just a park. It’s a curated space, complete with a stone seating area and a modern playground that looks more like art than something kids should climb.
The pack members match their surroundings. They walk with quiet confidence, wearing clothes that look tailored. Not practical and patched like we wear in Black Cauldron, but expensive and perfectly fitted. No mud-streaked jeans, no torn sleeves. They glance at me as I pass before quickly looking away. I’m sure they’re curious about who I am, but they don’t show it openly. They’re polite, reserved, like the rest of this place.
It’s unsettling. Even the air here smells different, less like the wild and more like tar and pollution. The pack headquarters looms in the distance, a massive building constructed of steel and glass. The way it gleams in the sun makes it feel more corporate than anything. It’s a far cry from Black Cauldron’s rough-hewn hall, with its creaking wood floors and the smell of pine sap clinging to the walls.
This is Kai’s world, I remind myself. These clean streets, these polished buildings, this air of discipline and order—it’s where she belongs. But every step I take feels wrong, like my boots don’t belong on these pristine roads. The modern perfection of East Hills is unnerving in a way I can’t fully describe.
My gaze drifts back to the houses. Even the windows seem too clean. It’s like this place was designed to hide the grit of real life, to pretend everything here is untouched by the messiness of the world. I don’t trust it. Not the buildings, not the people walking these streets like they don’t have a care in the world. Nothing this perfect is ever real.
I follow the faint sound of rhythmic thuds, the kind that comes from fists connecting with a punching bag. Sure enough, I find Kai in a clearing near her cottage, landing a series of precise blows on a worn bag hanging from a tree. The sight sends a pulse of heat through me, but it’s mixed with irritation. Of course, she’s working out her frustrations instead of talking to me. Typical Kai.
“Taking your anger out on an innocent bag?” I call, leaning against a nearby tree.
She pauses and glances over her shoulder. “Better than taking it out on you.”
“Debatable,” I reply, stepping closer. “I’m right here, after all. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
She turns fully to face me, planting her hands on her hips. “You really want to do this now? Because I don’t think either of us is in the mood for a productive conversation.”
“Who said anything about talking? Let’s settle this another way.” I gesture to the clearing. “You and me. A real fight. No holding back.”
Her brows lift, and for a second, I think she might laugh. But then she straightens and rolls her shoulders. “You sure? Because I’m back at full strength, which means I’m not pulling my punches this time.”
“Neither am I.”
The corner of her mouth quirks, and she steps forward, dropping into a fighting stance. “All right, Theo. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I circle her slowly, keeping my movements measured. The last time we sparred, she was still recovering, and I had the upper hand. This time, though, I can see the difference. She’s faster, sharper, and there’s a new intensity in her gaze that sets my pulse racing.
She strikes first, a quick jab that I barely dodge. I counter with a low kick, but she blocks it easily, pivoting to land a solid punch against my forearm. Pain shoots up my arm, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.
“You’ve improved,” I admit, dodging another blow. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”
“Good,” she snaps, ducking under my swing and aiming for my ribs. “Because I don’t need your pity.”
The fight escalates quickly. She’s everywhere at once—ducking, spinning, landing blows that make my muscles scream in protest. But I’m not about to let her win. I use my size and strength to my advantage, forcing her back with a series of powerful strikes that make her stumble.
She recovers quickly, though, and the next thing I know, she’s grabbing my arm, using my momentum against me to throw me to the ground. My back hits the dirt hard, and before I can react, she’s on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head.
Her breath comes in quick bursts, and her face is inches from mine. The weight of her body pressing against me sends a rush of heat through my veins. My cock stiffens, and I have the sudden urge to rip off her clothes and claim her right here in the dirt.
“You’re getting slow,” she taunts with a smirk tugging at her lips.
I arch a brow. Two can play this game. I wrench my wrist free and grab her hip, flipping her over in one fluid motion. Her eyes widen, and I pin her hands down, grinding against her. The friction sends a wave of pleasure through me, and I can see the hunger building in her gaze.
We stay there, frozen in the moment, our breath coming in ragged gasps. My gaze flicks to her mouth, and the urge to taste her is almost too strong to resist.
I lean down and brush my lips against her ear instead as I say, “Who’s slow now?”
Her scent washes over me, and I can’t hold back anymore. I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, my tongue exploring every inch. She kisses me back, and her body arches against mine.
The world fades away, and there’s only the heat of our bodies and the desire that burns between us. My hand slides up her shirt. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my touch.
I trace the curve of her hip and the flat plane of her stomach, savoring the feel of her body against mine. Then I reach higher, cupping her breast and brushing my thumb over her nipple.
The sound of someone in the distance brings me back to reality, but I’m too fired up to stop now.
