THE ALPHA WHO REFUSED TO APOLOGIZE

Stories

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Maya never believed in monsters.

She believed in libraries, deadlines, and surviving college quietly.

Until one night, deep in the forest behind an Alpha house, she witnesses something she was never meant to see.

A wolf.

A kill.

A bite that wasn’t an accident.

Now her body is changing in ways science can’t explain.

Her senses are sharper. Her wounds heal too fast. And every moment she is away from Jaxson Wilder—the ruthless Alpha who bit her—feels like withdrawal from a drug she never agreed to take.

He doesn’t apologize.

He doesn’t explain.

He doesn’t soften the truth.

His touch is the only thing that stops the pain.

His presence is the cure—and the poison.

Trapped in a bond she never chose, forced to live under the same roof as the wolf who refuses to feel remorse, Maya must decide what terrifies her more:

Losing herself to the Alpha who claimed her…

—or surviving without him.

Because some bites don’t turn you into a monster.

They make you dependent on one.

Complete Chapters 20

Rating 4.4 ( 19 reviews ) Age Rating mature

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1

The bass wasn’t just a sound; it was a physical assault.

It slammed against my ribcage, rattling my teeth and vibrating through the soles of my beat-up Converse. The air in the Delta Sigma house was a toxic cocktail of cheap beer, expensive cologne, and the unmistakable, humid stench of three hundred sweating bodies grinding against one another.

I hated it. I hated every single molecular particle of it.

“Maya! Stop looking like you’re at a funeral!” Chloe screamed over the thumping beat of a remix I didn’t recognize. She draped an arm around my neck, her weight threatening to topple us both into a nearby table covered in crushed red solo cups. “This is the Alpha house! Do you know how hard it is to get on the list for a Wilder party?”

“I liked it better when we weren’t on the list,” I shouted back, though my voice was swallowed instantly by the noise.

Chloe just grinned, her glittery eyeshadow catching the strobe lights. She was in her element—a chaos demon in a miniskirt. I, on the other hand, was wearing a dark grey oversized sweater and jeans, clutching a cup of lukewarm soda water like it was a holy relic protecting me from social interaction.

“Live a little, Maya! It’s absolute primal energy in here!” Chloe laughed, spinning away to dance with a guy who looked like he spent more time bench-pressing Buick sedans than studying for midterms.

Primal. That was one word for it.

I pressed my back against the wall, trying to make myself as two-dimensional as possible. Blackwood University was prestigious, ancient, and weirdly isolated, tucked deep into the mountain ranges of the Pacific Northwest. The scenery was gothic and beautiful, perfect for a scholarship student like me who just wanted to keep her head down, get her degree in Archival History, and get out.

But the social hierarchy here was… strange. Intense.

The guys at this house—the “Wilders,” as everyone called them, though only one of them actually had that surname—were the kings. They were too big, too fast, and too beautiful in a way that set my teeth on edge. They walked through the campus like they owned the pavement, and everyone else just parted like the Red Sea.

I scanned the room, my analytical brain trying to find a pattern in the chaos. I saw faces flushed with intoxication, eyes dilated, hands grabbing at hips. It was a sea of indulgence.

It wasn’t a sound. It was a sensation, like static electricity ghosting over the back of my neck. The fine hairs on my arms stood straight up.

I looked toward the massive staircase at the far end of the great room.

He was standing on the landing, looking down at the party like a monarch surveying a particularly disappointing kingdom.

Even from across the room, through the haze of smoke and strobe lights, he was terrifying. He was taller than everyone else, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light behind him. He wore a simple black t-shirt that strained against his chest and dark jeans. His hair was black, messy in a way that looked intentional, and his face was a mask of bored, lethal indifference.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart. Even from this distance, they seemed to catch the light—amber, glowing, predatory.

He scanned the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the writhing bodies. Then, abruptly, his head snapped toward me.

I froze. It was impossible. There were hundreds of people between us. I was a shadow against the wall. But for a split second, I felt pinned. Skewered. The air in my lungs turned to ice. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He just… looked . It felt less like a glance and more like a target acquisition.

Then, a blonde girl in a red dress stumbled up the stairs and grabbed his bicep, whispering something in his ear. The connection broke. Jaxson turned away, his expression darkening, and he disappeared down the hallway on the second floor.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My hands were shaking.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “That’s it. Capacity reached.”

I needed air. I needed silence. If I stayed in this house for one more minute, I was going to hyperventilate.

I tried to wave at Chloe, but she was currently doing a tequila shot off someone’s abs. I texted her: Need air. Going outside. Don’t die.

I pushed off the wall and began the arduous journey to the back exit. I dodged flailing limbs and spilled drinks, keeping my eyes on the floor. When I finally burst through the French doors onto the back patio, the drop in temperature was a blessing.

It was late October, and the night air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and decaying leaves. The patio was crowded with smokers and couples making out in the shadows, so I kept walking. I stepped off the concrete and onto the sprawling lawn that led down toward the edge of the property.

The music was still loud out here, a muffled thumping that vibrated in the ground. I needed to get away from the bass. I needed to think.

I walked past the manicured hedges, past the old stone fountain, toward the tree line.

The Blackwood Reserve bordered the campus. It was thousands of acres of protected forest—dense, ancient pines that towered hundreds of feet into the air. Students were technically forbidden from entering the woods at night, but everyone did it. Usually to smoke weed or hook up.

Tonight, the tree line looked like a wall of ink. The moon was nearly full, casting long, skeletal shadows across the grass, but the light didn’t seem to penetrate the forest.

I stopped at the edge of the trees, wrapping my sweater tighter around myself. The silence here was heavy. It wasn’t empty; it was watching .

“Just five minutes,” I whispered. “Calm down, reset, go back in, drag Chloe out.”

I took a step into the woods. Then another.

The muffled thumping of the party faded faster than it should have. The trees seemed to swallow the sound, insulating me in a blanket of pine needles and shadow. The air was colder here, sharper. It smelled muskier, like wet fur and ozone.

I walked until the party lights were just a faint glow behind me. I found a large, fallen log and sat down, resting my head in my hands.

Why did I let her bring me here? I chided myself. I have a midterm on the Industrial Revolution in two days. I should be highlighting, not hiding in a horror-movie forest.

The sound was as loud as a gunshot in the silence.

It came from deeper in the woods. To my left.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling slightly. “If you’re hooking up, I promise I’m leaving. I don’t want to see anything.”

Then, a low, vibrating sound. It was too deep to be a human throat. It sounded like rocks grinding together deep underground. A growl.

My survival instincts, usually dormant in the safety of the library, flared to life. Run.

I stood up, turning to head back toward the lights of the house.

Something massive hit the ground in the clearing just beyond a cluster of thick oaks. It sounded like a sack of cement being dropped from a second-story window.

Against my better judgment—against every logical synapse firing in my brain—I didn’t run. Curiosity, the fatal flaw of every historian, tethered my feet. I crept toward the oak trees, peering around the rough bark.

There was a small clearing bathed in moonlight.

He was shirtless now, his skin pale as marble in the moonlight, slick with sweat. He was standing over another man—a guy I didn’t recognize. The stranger was big, too, with a shaved head and a leather jacket, but he looked terrified. He was scrambling backward in the dirt, blood streaming from his nose.

“I didn’t know!” the stranger wheezed, spitting blood. “I swear, Wilder, I didn’t know she was marked!”

Jaxson didn’t speak. He stalked forward. The movement was wrong. It was too fluid. Too predatory. His spine seemed to ripple under his skin.

“You crossed the boundary,” Jaxson said. His voice wasn’t the deep rumble I’d heard in the library or classrooms. It was distorted, layered, as if two voices were speaking at once—one human, one… something else. “You came onto my territory. You touched what is mine.”

“It was a mistake!” the man screamed.

It happened so fast my eyes couldn’t track it. One second Jax was five feet away; the next, he had the man by the throat, slamming him against a tree with enough force to shake the branches above. Leaves rained down on them.

“Please,” the man choked out, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. “Don’t. Don’t let it out.”

Jaxson’s back was to me. I watched the muscles in his shoulders bunch and spasm. He was shaking, a violent tremor that started at his core and radiated outward.

He threw his head back and let out a sound that curdled my blood. It was a scream, but it dissolved into a roar.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.

I watched, paralyzed with horror, as Jaxson’s bones audibly snapped. His spine arched at an impossible angle. The sound of tearing flesh filled the clearing—wet and sickening. He fell to his hands and knees, but his hands were changing. Fingers elongated, cracking and reshaping, nails bursting into long, black talons.

Dark fur erupted from his skin like a time-lapse video of mold consuming fruit. It exploded along his spine, covering his shoulders, his arms. His clothes didn’t just rip; they shredded, falling away in tatters.

The man against the tree was screaming now, scrambling to get away, but he was too slow.

The thing that had been Jaxson Wilder was gone. Standing in his place was a monster.

It was a wolf, but that word felt woefully inadequate. It was massive—easily the size of a pony. Its fur was midnight black, swallowing the moonlight. Its shoulders were comprised of corded muscle that looked hard as iron.

Its snout was long, teeth bared in a snarl that displayed jagged white daggers. But the eyes… the eyes were the same. Burning, intelligent amber.

The wolf didn’t just chase him; it erased the distance. It was a blur of black shadow. It tackled the man, jaws snapping shut around his shoulder.

The scream was cut short as the man was slammed into the earth. The sound of crunching bone echoed through the trees.

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking out, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack them. This isn’t real. Someone spiked the punch. I’m hallucinating. I’m having a psychotic break.

I waited for the sounds of murder. I waited for the wet tearing of flesh.

I kept my eyes shut for a count of ten. One. Two. Three…

I just needed to back away. Slowly. Quietly. I would go back to the dorm, lock the door, and never speak of this again. I would transfer schools. I would move to Antarctica.

The clearing was empty of the man. His body was gone—dragged away, or maybe he had managed to crawl off while I was closing my eyes.

It was standing in the center of the clearing, panting. Steam rose from its black coat into the cold night air.

And it was looking directly at the oak tree I was hiding behind.

The wolf lowered its massive head. It sniffed the air. A low rumble started in its chest, vibrating through the ground and into my shoes.

It took a step toward me. Then another. Its paws made no sound on the dead leaves. It moved with a terrifying grace, a lethal elegance.

I couldn’t move. My body had betrayed me, locking my muscles in a rigor of terror.

The wolf stepped around the tree.

Up close, it was overwhelming. The heat radiating from it was intense, like standing next to an open furnace. I could smell the copper tang of blood on its breath. I looked up—way up—into those amber eyes. There was no humanity in them. Only instinct. Only violence.

It loomed over me, blocking out the moon.

I pressed my back against the rough bark of the oak, trembling so violently my teeth chattered.

“Jax?” I whispered. The name felt stupid, absurd on my tongue.

The wolf flinched. The ears flattened against its skull. It let out a snarl that sprayed hot saliva across my face. It leaned in, its wet, black nose inches from my neck.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, waiting for the bite. Waiting for the end.

Instead, I felt a hot, rough tongue rasp over the pulse point of my neck.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a taste test.

My knees gave out, and I slid down the trunk of the tree, hitting the dirt. The wolf followed me down, looming over my crouched form. It growled again, but this time the sound was different. It wasn’t just aggression. It was… possessive. Frustrated.

Suddenly, the wolf convulsed. It backed away, shaking its head as if in pain. The cracking sound returned—bones realigning, reshaping.

I couldn’t watch the reverse transformation. I buried my face in my knees, sobbing quietly.

The voice was human, but it was raw, raspy, as if his throat had been shredded.

I shook my head, refusing to look up.

A hand gripped my chin. It was a human hand, large and calloused, but scorching hot. He forced my head up.

Jaxson was kneeling in front of me. He was stark naked, oblivious to the cold, his body slick with sweat and streaks of blood that wasn’t his. His chest heaved with exertion. His hair was wild, falling into his eyes.

But his eyes were terrifying. The amber glow hadn’t faded. The pupils were blown wide, eclipsing the iris. He looked drugged. Unhinged.

“You,” he breathed, staring at me like I was a ghost. Or a meal. “Why are you here?”

“I… I was just getting air,” I stammered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t know. I swear, Jax, I won’t tell anyone. I won’t—”

“You smell,” he interrupted, leaning in closer. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply. “God, you smell like… chaos.”

“Please,” I whimpered, trying to push him away. My hands came in contact with his bare chest. His skin burned my palms. Under his ribs, his heart was beating at a frantic, hummingbird pace.

He pulled back, his jaw clenched tight. He looked like he was in physical pain. A vein throbbed in his temple.

“Run,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“Run!” he roared, the sound echoing through the trees. He grabbed his own head, his fingers digging into his scalp. “Get away from me. Now!”