The Alpha’s Fated Choice (Alpha's Fated Encounter Trilogy #1)

I did think of cutting it once, a couple of years ago, but for some reason, I simply couldn’t go through with it. After combing my fingers through my hair, I run my brush through the tresses before wrapping it all up in a tight bun on the top of my head.

There is a knock on my door, and my head swivels toward it in alarm. I calm down when I realize it’s Mathew on the other side. I hurry over and unlock it. He enters the room and closes the door behind him.

“Here.”

He hands me a fat envelope. I make one grand per fight. It might seem like a lot of money, considering I usually take part in two or three fights every week. But the money isn’t even a drop in the ocean compared to the amount I actually need.

“Sorry about that.” Mathew tucks his hands in his pockets and looks at me. “I forgot that Mountain Man likes to bite his opponents. Anyway, I set a match for you for Wednesday. Same time. I’m going to make sure the back entrance is clear so you can leave from there.”

“Thanks.” I tuck the envelope into the small backpack on the couch.

“Is it just me or did you lose concentration for a minute there during the match?” Mathew’s brown eyes are pinned on mine.

“I did,” I admit, ashamed. “I don’t know what happened. But that was all the time Mountain Man needed to sucker punch me. I’ll be more careful next time.”

The older man sighs. “You should be, Sophia. Even if you are a wolf shifter, it doesn’t mean you can’t get badly hurt.”

I feel flustered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Mathew has looked out for me for years. With his graying hair, kind brown eyes, and rounded belly, he has a grandfatherly look to him. Nobody would ever think that he’s running a successful cage fighting ring right under his boxing gym, or that he’s been fixing matches for years with my help. What he’s doing is wrong and illegal, but I learned very early on that life isn’t fair or kind to the innocent. Those who hold power thrive. Those who hold power also abuse it.

My beliefs are set. I haven’t taken up a life of crime by any means, but I know that sitting on my hands and simply existing in this town—as I was ordered to nine years ago—will never help me escape the hell that is the wolf pack I was born into. To get my freedom, I’m willing to do anything. That’s why it was so easy to accept Mathew’s offer to make money cage fighting.

Mathew turns around to leave, but before he does, he looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I got some takeout for you. Steak and meatballs. I know your opponent did a number on you, even if you don’t want to admit it. You need to heal; the meat will help.”

The idea of food, especially meat, has me cheering up. “Thanks, Mathew.”

He just smiles at me before disappearing into the hallway. I lock the door again and return to gathering up my things.

My bag packed, I put on a long hoodie and sit down at the dressing table, playing with the mask in my hand and feeling tired. Glancing up, I study my reflection, my eyes taking in the bruise blooming on my cheek. I don’t know who I inherited these features from. I don’t know if it was my father or my mother who had these piercing gray eyes, or whether my parents also had hair the color of ash. I know nothing about myself.

There was a time when my lack of identity bothered me. All I know is that my mother died during childbirth. I once asked Alpha Black for a picture of her. His response was harsh as he glared down at the six-year-old girl requesting nothing more than a memory of her mother. He told me I didn’t need a picture of a whore. I never asked him again, but now, as I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder about his words. Was my mother truly a whore?

The Director of the orphanage I grew up in never answered my questions, either. When I persisted, as a child desperate to know where I came from, the response she gave me was equally cruel. She labeled me a murderer. She told me that I had killed my own mother by being born.

That broke my heart. And part of me realized that the more questions I asked, the more horrifying the answers would be.

So, I stopped asking questions.

But ever since I came to this town, ever since I was exiled here, I find myself thinking about my parents. Would my life have turned out differently if they were still alive?

A bitter laugh spills out of my mouth, and I get to my feet. Why am I thinking about all this? I’m so close to my goal. Maybe in another year or two, I will finally be free. I may not be able to buy my freedom directly from the Red Rock Wolf Pack, but I can pay the South Alliance a certain fee to be free from them. It’s been done before. Wolf shifters cannot just walk away from their packs. Either they are expelled from the pack or they have to buy their freedom—from the pack or from the Alliance the pack belongs to.

I cannot see Robert Black, the Alpha of the Red Rock Wolf Pack, giving me my freedom. But if I go directly to the Alliance leader, even Alpha Black can’t refuse his order.

Letting out a shuddering breath, I get to my feet and stuff my mask into the front pocket of the hoodie. I grab my belongings and lock the door of my dressing room as I head out. Like Mathew promised, there’s a large takeout bag on the table in the kitchen. I open it and sniff its contents before smiling gleefully. Sure, Mathew and I have a transactional relationship—I fix his matches for him, and he makes a ton of money off of me—but he’s always looking out for me, as well.

After taking out one of the meat rolls, I stuff the remaining food inside my backpack and zip it up. I have just taken a bite of the roll and am about to turn around and leave when I hear loud, thudding footsteps. Alarm fills me. Nobody is supposed to be back here when I’m on my way out; it’s the only way to hide my identity. Mathew always makes sure the back entrance is clear when it’s time for me to leave.

“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of a bitch.”

I recognize the voice as belonging to Mountain Man, my opponent tonight. Annoyed, I curse silently under my breath. Who let that idiot back here? He’s coming this way, and he clearly knows I’m here.

Shoving the meat roll inside my pocket, I grab my mask and pull it over my head before I turn it around…just in time to be grabbed by the front of my sweatshirt and shoved against the refrigerator.

The man before me has the kind of face only a mother could love. He is bald, with ugly scars and a nose that was never set properly after being broken one too many times. He’s not wearing his mask, but it doesn’t matter; I already know the true identity of Mountain Man.

Roger Clark.