Forced Mate

Elara Vance pulled her rented Kia to the curb. Blackwood Hollow. The town sign was peeling. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. She checked the file on the passenger seat. Missing persons reports dated back five years. All disappearances coincided with lunar cycles. She gripped the steering wheel. Her mission was simple: gather proof the local legend was true. She needed to expose the monsters living here. She needed to survive the process.

She grabbed her notebook and her large, functional handbag. Her cover story was solid. She was a freelance travel writer researching small-town revitalization. No one would suspect the truth. Her true identity was a journalist specializing in supernatural phenomena. Her last assignment nearly ended her career. This assignment could save it. She had to focus.

The town's main street was one block long. It held a post office, a general store, and a coffee shop. The coffee shop was the target. It was called The Daily Grind. She needed caffeine. She needed a base of operations.

Elara pushed the glass door open. A bell above the door chimed loudly. The interior was dark wood and worn leather. Three tables were occupied. All occupants were male. All stopped talking. They looked at her. The silence was immediate and heavy. She ignored them.

She walked to the counter. The barista, a tired-looking woman, gave a small nod. "What can I get for you?"

"Black coffee. Large." Elara paid with cash. She did not want digital records.

As she waited, she scanned the room. The men were large. They wore heavy plaid shirts and sturdy boots. They looked like lumberjacks. Their eyes were too sharp. Their posture was too rigid. They felt coiled. They did not move like normal men.

Then the air changed.

It was not a smell. It was a sensory takeover. Pine needles, fresh snow, and rain-soaked rock. It was wild and potent. It hit her like a physical force. It drowned out the coffee aroma and the old wood scent. It flooded her lungs. It made her knees shake.

She heard the door open again. She did not need to turn around. She knew he was there. The temperature in the room dropped. The other men in the room shifted. Their deference was palpable. Their silence was absolute.

The barista placed the cup on the counter. "Here you go."

Elara took the coffee. Her hand shook. She turned slowly.

He stood six feet, four inches. He wore a dark, tailored coat over a simple black t-shirt. His hair was black. His jawline was sharp. His presence was overwhelming. He was not just big. He was dangerous. He was lethal. His eyes were the color of molten gold. They fixed on her. They dismissed everything else in the room.

Dax Thorne had never experienced this before. His senses had warned him. A disturbance. A disruption. He thought it was a pack issue. He was wrong. It was this woman.

She smelled like sunlight and forbidden things. She smelled like home.

The mate bond was a legend. A biological imperative. It was a curse for an Alpha like him. He ruled by force. He did not rule with sentiment. He did not need a weakness. He did not want a weakness.

The smell intensified. The wolf inside him surged. It clawed at his skin. It demanded release. It demanded possession. This was primal. This was absolute.

He took one step toward her. The air crackled.

Elara felt the pull. It was an undertow. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. Her objective was forgotten. Her journalism instincts screamed danger. Her body ignored the warning. It leaned toward him. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She took a backward step. Her heel hit the counter.

Dax spoke. His voice was a low growl. It was not a question. It was a statement. "You are mine."

Elara stared at him. The heat on her cheeks was humiliating. This man was insane. He was arrogant. He was terrifyingly attractive.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was steadier than she felt.

"I said you are mine." He moved closer. His hand reached out. It did not touch her. It hovered near her neck. "You belong to me now. You will come with me."

The men around them watched silently. They waited for their Alpha's order.

Elara knew she had seconds. Survival mandated action. "I don't belong to anyone. I am a journalist. I will call the police." She raised the coffee cup as a shield.

Dax paused. He saw the fire in her eyes. It amused the wolf. It angered the man. "Police are irrelevant here."

"I am Elara Vance. I am staying at the Blackwood Inn. I am here for two weeks. I am not leaving with you." She articulated every word. She needed witnesses. She needed clear statements.

Dax took the last step. He closed the distance. The scent was a drug. He needed to touch her. He needed to confirm the bond. He lifted his hand.

Elara did not flinch. She splashed the hot black coffee directly into his face.

The room erupted.

Dax did not flinch. His skin was too tough. The heat did not register. The scent of her panic amplified. He was furious. She dared defy him. She dared assault the Alpha.

He grabbed her arm. His grip was steel. He towed her away from the counter. The movement was instant. She dropped her bag. Her notebook scattered on the floor.

"Let go of me!" Elara fought back. She kicked his shin. It was like kicking a tree trunk. It had no effect.

"Stop. You complicate things." Dax pulled her toward the door.

The barista finally moved. "Mr. Thorne! What are you doing?"

"I am securing my property, Maeve." Dax did not look back. He moved with purpose.

He dragged Elara out the door. Her purse was still on the floor. Her phone was in the purse. This was not a negotiation. This was a seizure.

Outside, a black SUV waited. It was idling. A large man sat in the driver's seat. He was alert.

"Open it, Marcus," Dax commanded.

The man, Marcus, quickly got out. He opened the rear passenger door. He averted his gaze from Elara.

Dax shoved Elara into the back seat. Her head hit the leather. The world spun. She scrambled back toward the opposite door handle.

Dax slammed the door shut. He was fast. He was stronger than anything she had ever encountered. He went around the car. He got into the passenger seat. Marcus got back into the driver's seat. The engine revved. They accelerated immediately. They left the main street behind.

"You kidnapped me!" Elara shouted. She rubbed her throbbing arm.

"I claimed you." Dax turned his head. His golden eyes were intense. "There is a difference. We are mates. The process is non-negotiable."

"Mates? You are delusional. I don't know you." She leaned away from him.

"You will. We are wasting time." He pulled a thick, soft blanket from the floor. He tossed it at her. "Cover your legs. The drive is long."

"I am not covering myself. I am leaving this vehicle."

Dax sighed. It sounded like the low hiss of a predator. He reached over the seat. His hand gripped her chin. His touch was firm. It silenced her instantly.

"Listen to me, Elara Vance. I know your full name. I know your scent. I know what you are to me. You are mine. You are safe now. Do not fight me. Fighting me will only end badly for you."

He released her. She felt the phantom pressure of his fingers. She felt the terrifying truth of his words. He was not asking. He was not threatening. He was stating facts.

"I am not safe. I am kidnapped." She hated the tremor in her voice. She had to stay strong.

"Kidnapping implies a motive of ransom or malice. My motive is survival. Yours, and mine." He looked forward again.

The SUV left the paved road. It moved onto a dirt track. Thick forest pressed in on both sides. The light dimmed. She was being driven deeper into the woods. She was isolated.

"Where are you taking me?"