Desired By My Alpha Stepfather

A mistake

Nina

Screech!

The insistent screech of my alarm clock felt less like a wake-up call and more like a declaration of war. It jolted me from a restless sleep, the remnants of the little shreds of my dream being torn apart with every breath of my name. I knew what awaited me downstairs: the linoleum battlefield and my mother, General Sarah.

I dragged myself out of bed, the cold floor a rude awakening to the tense events that had transpired, right here in my room.

Vince.

I breathed. If only I could emancipate myself from this household. Then, whatever hold that cursed mate bond had upon me would be numb. If only I could.

Every creak of the floorboard felt amplified. It almost felt like a potential landmine waiting to trigger another explosion. I showered quickly, the lukewarm water doing little to soothe the ball of nerves tightening in my stomach.

Descending the stairs, I found Mom at the kitchen table, Her eyes, the same piercing green that had glared and accused me of making life so miserable for her, flicked up from her phone as I entered.

"Took you long enough," she said, her voice a sharp rasp that sent shivers down my spine. It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

"Sorry," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"Sorry doesn't get the groceries on the table," she snapped, stubbing out her cigarette in a chipped ashtray with an unnecessary amount of force. "Get dressed, we're leaving in ten." I wonder why she's shopping on her own when we have ton of maids. Anything to stress me, I guess.

There was no room for discussion, no space for a simple "good morning." It was a constant barrage of orders. It was literally a fencing match where I was expected to parry every insult with a silent response. I was expected to obey every single one of her orders without complaint. It was tyranny. Sarah was a tyrant.

I retreated to my room.  Dressing quickly in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I  glanced longingly at my reflection in the mirror.

"Nina!"  The bellow echoed through the pack house, shattering the fragile peace I'd found in my imagination.

"Coming!" I yelled back, the fight momentarily draining out of me.

Downstairs, Mom was already by the door, a shopping bag clutched tightly in her hand. Her face, usually painted with a thick layer of makeup, seemed even more drawn than usual.  Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and the lines around her mouth had dug even deeper.

"Took you long enough," she repeated, her voice devoid of warmth.

The ride to the market was a quiet one. It was a silence I was grateful for. One I felt was comfortable for us both. It was no use trying to force a conversation with mom when she so clearly despised me. She loathed me. Mother had accused me once of breathing too deep, accusing me of trying to suck up all the oxygen in the room. I had tried to kill her, she had said. She had accused me of trying to breath it all in, leaving nothing left for her. Yes, mom went that far with her hatred dramatics. She loathed me that much.

We arrived at the market.

I trailed behind, my eyes flitting from the overflowing stalls to the curious glances shot our way. I feared they were throwing accusing glances at me. I felt as though they had been judging me. Judging me because I had been dallying with my stepfather. My mother's very own husband. More like he had been dallying with me, because I had clearly expressed my displeasure, and wish to be rid of that cursed thing called a mate bond. I had had enough of shady business with Vince.

I quickened my pace, away from the eyes that seemed to drill holes through me.

At a fruit stall, Mom picked up a mango, turning it over in her hands with a look of distaste.

"Look at this," she muttered, her voice reeling with disgust. "Bruised already."

She tossed the mango back onto the pile with a clatter, sending a spray of ripe peaches tumbling to the ground. The stall owner, an old man with a kind face, simply sighed and began picking them up.
Shame burned in my cheeks. 

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled, reaching down to help.

"Don't touch them," Mom snapped, her voice sharp. "You'll just make a mess of things."

I froze, my hand hovering over a fallen peach. 
The fury at Mom's words choked me.  They were like a slap, stinging and dismissive. But I knew better than to react.  A fight would only escalate things. So, I swallowed the retort, the bitterness settling in my stomach like lead.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my voice past the lump in my throat.

"Mom, is there something specific you're looking for?"  It was a gamble, a question I knew might earn me another barb, but my curiosity was stronger than the fear of her response.

Everything was different. The way mom inspected the fruits, and all she was getting. It made me suspicious that something was coming up.

As expected, the barb came swift and sharp.  "Nosy parker, aren't you?" Mom sneered, her gaze still fixed on some unseen imperfection in a nearby vegetable display.  I braced myself. The effect was as expected. The insult was a familiar sting.  But this time, something shifted within me. Perhaps it was a flicker of smugness I glimpsed in Mom's tightly controlled expression.

Whatever it was, it spurred me on.  Mustering all my courage, I pressed on, pushing past the wall she'd built around herself.  "Is it... for Dad?"  I was literally left on pending. I was tentative yet hopeful.

A cruel smile played on Mom's lips. This smile was devoid of warmth.  "What makes you say that, Nina?" she drawled, finally turning her gaze to me.  The familiar green eyes held mine, and a deep-seated resentment that burned hotter than the sun.

"Because you never put this much effort into shopping unless..." I trailed off.  The truth was, grocery shopping with Mom was an ordeal.  She moved through the market like a disdainful queen, criticizing the quality of produce with a ferocity usually reserved for her fashion critics, and arguing with vendors in a language that left even me, a teenager, wincing.  But today, she was meticulous, turning over each mango with a critical eye, scrutinizing the ripeness of tomatoes with an intensity usually reserved for judging the flaws in a rival's designer dress.

It was this meticulousness, this complete departure from her usual supermarket dash, that gave me away.  And Mom knew it.

Mom didn't answer. Instead, she let out a huff of annoyance, her sharp gaze flicking from one fruit stall to the next without lingering. The air was pregnant with the response to my question. Was it my question? Did she not hear me?

"Mom?" I ventured, my voice barely a whisper.
Finally, she deigned to acknowledge me, but with a glare so icy it could have made milk curdle in fear.

"Can't you see I'm busy, Nina? Don't you have anything better to do than pester me with inane questions?" 

Shame burned in my cheeks. Maybe I was being annoying, but the meticulous way she was examining every single mango was unlike her usual supermarket dash. It felt...different.. Maybe she was trying to be nice for once, maybe for Vince? It had to be for him. Who else would she be so stressed about making sure things were perfect for?

Me?

Why was I so interested in knowing anyway?

Right! My damned wolf was being so possessive again.

"Are you...getting something for dad?" I blurted out, in a rush.

A flicker of surprise crossed Mom's face, quickly replaced by a scoff. "Why are you so bent on this, Nina?" Her voice was clipped, her eyes narrowed.  "Is your curiosity so insatiable you can't leave even the simplest things alone?"

Sarah finally spat out the words, but not after giving me a skeptical look, and glancing at me with distaste, "Look, Nina, since you would die for even the smallest crumb of information, fine.  I'm getting something for your... stepfather."  She emphasized the word 'stepfather' as if it were a foreign object lodged uncomfortably in her throat.

"His birthday is coming up soon," she continued, her voice barely above a mutter.  "And I want things to be perfect. Unlike some things around here," she added, shooting a pointed glare in my direction. 

Vince's birthday?  It had completely slipped my mind.  Shame washed over me, a cold wave that pooled in my stomach.  Here I was, living under the same roof as the man, sharing meals, even the occasional awkward joke, and I hadn't even registered his birthday was along the way. It felt...wrong.

"Oh," I stammered, the word barely escaping my lips.  "I, uh, didn't know his birthday was coming up." 

Her eyes narrowed, turning into emerald slits that pinned me in place.

"Don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, Nina," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.  "Especially not that overgrown oaf you call friends.  This is between us, understand?"

No wonder she didn't let us go with any maids. Not even a driver.
It wasn't just the secrecy that bothered me, it was the way she spoke about the friends she had assumed I had.  "Overgrown oafs"? 

"Mom," I started, but the words died in my throat.  The look in her eyes dared me to continue, dared me to challenge her in the middle of the bustling market.  So I shut my mouth.

Finally, Mom sighed, a sound of exasperation rather than regret. 

"Just...  go find some ripe plantains," she muttered, turning back to the fruit stalls.  "And for God's sake, make sure they're not green and mushy like your brain."

I clenched my fists, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.  But I knew better than to fight back. With Mom, there were never winners, only casualties.  So I swallowed the hurt, the frustration, and turned away, disappearing into the throng of chattering vendors.

****

The market faded behind us, replaced by the air-conditioned coolness of Scone, a neighborhood known for its high-end boutiques and fancy restaurants. Mom seemed to shed the frenetic energy of the market like a worn-out cloak. Her shoulders relaxed, her usual scowl replaced by a tight frown of concentration.

We reached a quaint little shop tucked away on a quiet side street. The name, "Exquisite Finds," was marked in a delicate font above the glass door.  A tinkling bell announced our arrival as we entered.  The air inside smelled of expensive leather and something vaguely floral.

The store was a far cry from the bustling chaos of the market. Soft music played in the background, and the only other patrons were a well-dressed couple browsing a collection of antique globes.  A young woman with a bright smile and a perfectly styled bob greeted us.

"Welcome to Exquisite Finds," she chirped, her voice as polished as the store itself.  "Can I interest you in anything today?"

Mom seemed momentarily speechless.  She cleared her throat, her eyes darting from shelf to display case.  "We're looking for a specific gift," she finally said, her voice clipped.

"Wonderful!" The saleswoman beamed.  "Do you have anything in mind? Perhaps a price range?"
Mom hesitated, then mumbled something about "something for a man," and a budget that sounded pretty fair for the kind of place we were in. 

The saleswoman's smile remained fixed, but I thought I saw a flicker of something else in her eyes – maybe pity, maybe disdain.

We spent the next hour wandering the store, Mom picking up various objects and putting them down just as quickly.  A silver flask, engraved with initials, was deemed "too ostentatious."  A silk tie in a tasteful paisley pattern was "too loud."  A leather-bound journal was "too predictable." 

Frustration infested my inside. This was supposed to be a secret mission to find the perfect birthday gift for Vince, yet Mom was acting like a picky eater at a buffet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mom stopped in front of a display case filled with cufflinks.  Each pair was more elaborately designed than the last – miniature tigers, tiny globes, even tiny spaceships.  Mom narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing each pair with the intensity of a hawk inspecting its prey.

"What do you think, Nina?" she snapped, her voice holding no warmth.

The question caught me off guard. Mom rarely solicited my opinion, especially on something as trivial as a gift.  I scanned the display, my gaze settling on a pair of simple silver cufflinks with a subtle geometric design. 

"Those are nice," I ventured, pointing to them.  "Simple but elegant." 

Mom let out a scoff.  "Simple?  Your stepfather deserves more than 'simple,' Nina."  The edge in her voice made it clear that my opinion wasn't valued.

We continued browsing, the silence punctuated only by the soft music and the occasional cough from the well-dressed couple.  My frustration grew with each passing minute.  Here we were, in this fancy store that reeked of pretentiousness, and Mom couldn't pick a simple birthday gift for the man who helped put food on our table, the man who gave me a roof. And the man who well... invaded my space as much as he liked.

"Mom," I finally blurted out, unable to hold back any longer.  "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?  Dad isn't the kind of guy who cares about fancy cufflinks."

Mom whirled around, her face a mask of fury.  "Don't you lecture me about what Vince cares about, Nina!" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.  "You wouldn't know the first thing about him, or about putting in any effort to make someone happy."

The sting of her words brought tears to my eyes.  "I just... I want Dad to be happy," I stammered.
Mom's face softened for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing her features.  But then, as quickly as it appeared, the mask of indifference slammed back into place.

"Look," she sighed, her voice tight.  " Just stay out of it, alright?"

Her words were cryptic, but the pleading in her voice kept me from pressing further.  The rest of the shopping trip was conducted in a tense silence. 

Finally, Mom settled on a pair of gold cufflinks encrusted with tiny sapphires. The price tag made my stomach clench, but Mom didn't even blink as she handed over her credit card.

****

We weaved through chaos of the market, the air thick with the mingled scents of ripe mangoes, grilling spices, and exhaust fumes.

Mom swept the crowd very easily, her sharp eyes scanning the overflowing stalls. But today, I felt uneasy. It wasn't just the usual pre-shopping tension that clung to us like a second skin. This time, it felt different.

As we stopped at a stall piled high with colorful vegetables, a group of men huddled nearby caught my eye. They were motorcycle club buddies, easily recognizable by their patched leather vests and the air of machismo that danced around them like a thick fog.

My breath hitched as I saw them exchange pointed glances with Mom, their lips twisting into ugly smirks. One of them, a hulking man with a shaved head and a handlebar mustache had the name "Butcher" inscribed on the breast pocket of his jacket, leaned in towards another, a wiry fellow with a cruel glint in his eyes had "Snake" written on his own breast pocket.

Weird names if you ask me.

"There she is," Butcher rasped. "The gold-digger herself."

Ahah!

I knew they were on to us. I knew they were on to mom. The way they glanced at her, like they had something on her.

My heart hammered against my ribs. A cold dread seeped into my bones. Mom, who was usually typically quick with a scathing retort, seemed frozen in place. Her gaze darted away from the men, her jaw clenched tight. It wasn't like her to back down from a confrontation, especially one this blatant.

Snake acted pretty much like the instigator he was, and chimed in. "Yeah, can you believe it? Seduced Vince into marrying her and taking care of her little mistake."

He gestured towards me with a sneer, the word 'mistake' ringing in my ears. Shame burned in my cheeks, the throbbing ache spreading through my chest. I knew their perception of Mom – the manipulative outsider who'd snatched Vince away from their brotherhood and burdened him with a child who wasn't his. It was a cruel narrative, but I couldn't quite rewrite the truth that only they seemed to believe.

"Mistake?" A third man, a lanky fellow with a scraggly beard named Weasel, joined the conversation, his tone rose with amusement. "More like a whole damn detour, man. The Alpha could've been dallying with much more gobsmacking women, living the life. But noooo, gotta settle down with the trophy wife and the kid."

Butcher chuckled, a sound like gravel grinding together. "Yeah, trophy wife, my arse. Have you seen how she dresses? All those flowy things to hide the... imperfections, shall we say?"

Their laughter echoed through the market. It was a  grating sound that made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. Mom's knuckles whitened as she gripped the shopping bag, her silence deafening. I longed for her to unleash her usual verbal firestorm, to tear down their baseless accusations. But she remained strangely mute, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

The men continued their taunts, their voices growing louder, their laughter more obnoxious. They kept going on and on about the position Mom held within Vince's circle. They saw her not as a partner, not as the woman who brought a semblance of stability back into their lives, but as an intruder, who wanted to rid Vince of his "gold."

"Hey, beautiful," Snake called out, his voice diced with a false sweetness. "Picking out some veggies for your sugar daddy, huh?"

Mom's face flushed, but she kept her gaze fixed on the overflowing stall of tomatoes.

"Maybe she's buying some eye candy," Weasel said with a leer. "Vince deserves a little somethin' somethin' after all that she puts him through, right?"

The men erupted in laughter again. Their amusement was the raw definition of malicious. I wanted to scream, to defend Mom, to shatter their twisted perception. But the words stuck in my throat.

Amidst chuckles and mocks, the men hopped on their motorcycles and vamoosed.

I blinked my eyes rapidly.

Just moments ago, a pack of hyenas masquerading as motorcycle buddies had subjected Mom to a verbal assault so vile it would make a sailor blush.

Their words choked iny throat.

Mom, who was usually a master of withering retorts, had been rendered speechless. Her face that was usually animated and expressive was plainly stoic, her jaw clenched so tight I feared her teeth might shatter.

Shame burned in my cheeks, spreading through my chest on her behalf.  I knew the narrative they spun – the manipulative gold-digger who'd snatched Vince away from their brotherhood and burdened him with a child who wasn't his.  It was a lie, but it stung nonetheless. Not like I could convince them that it wasn't as it seemed.

As the last of their jeering laughter faded into the market din, Mom finally moved.  But it wasn't towards the overflowing stall of tomatoes she'd been eyeing moments before. Instead, she pivoted on her heel, her emerald eyes flashing.

"Nina," she snapped. It wasn't a request, it was an order barked from a queen on the verge of a breakdown. 

Part of me wanted to argue, to point out the perfectly ripe tomatoes that would be a steal, but I knew better.  Pushing Mom when she was like this was akin to poking a cornered viper.  Besides, I understood.  The air around those men with hostility, was suffocating. We both needed to escape. We needed to escape from the judging stares.

"Coming, Mom," I mumbled, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

As I followed her towards the car, I stole a glance at her profile.  The proud set of her jaw now fell.  Her shoulders, usually squared in confidence, slumped slightly.  It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability in a woman who rarely showed weakness.

Reaching the car, Mom practically flung herself into the driver's seat.  The engine roared to life with a deafening sputter, a sound that usually elicited a groan from her about the car's temperamental nature. Today, however, it seemed to mimick her rage.

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the thrumming of the engine and the distant hullabaloo of the market.  I wanted to reach out, to offer a word of comfort, but the right words seemed to elude me. That too, and well, I knew Mom wouldn't be so receptive to my words of comfort, or anything I had to say.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low and raw.  "Those... those jackasses," she muttered, the words pitched with disgust.  "They don't know the first thing about..." Her voice trailed off, the sentence left unfinished.

Before I could offer any platitudes, Mom whipped her head towards me, her eyes burning with an icy intensity that sent shivers down my spine.  "And don't you dare open your mouth and say anything about 'they don't define you' or any other such nonsense," she spat.  "You, of all people, should understand how easily someone's reputation can be tarnished."

The sting of her words was immediate.  The air became almost suffocating. Shame burned in my cheeks, a familiar heat that had nothing to do with the sun. My own mother, the woman who was supposed to have my back and not blame me because of my deadbeat father's mistake, was using their insults to fling them back at me in a twisted way.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.  "Mom," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.  "I..." 

"No, you don't get to play innocent now, Nina," she cut me off, her voice a cold sneer.  "Their perception of me might be skewed, but yours?  Yours is built on a foundation of disappointment and... well, let's just say you haven't exactly made things easy for me, have you?  If it weren't for you, the burden of a child, I wouldn't have to deal with their taunts about a gold-digger latching onto him. "

"You don't mean that, Mom." I said with a cracked voice.

It was my fault she was accused of being a gold digger? Sarah had never ceased to surprise me.

Mom's words echoed in the confined space, bouncing off the dusty dashboard and settling into my gut. "No," she'd said, "you make life difficult for me, Nina," she continued, her voice a low growl. "Having you, keeping you... that was a mistake." 

Who could have thought that I would have been feeling utterly depleted, emotionally ransacked by the woman who was supposed to be my anchor.

"But what about Dad?" I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.

Mom scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Don't you dare bring him into this," she spat. "He was a mistake too, a fleeting fancy that landed me with a lifetime of responsibility.  And you? You're just a constant reminder of his recklessness."

The sting of her words was immediate that it branded my soul.

"That's not fair, Mom," I stammered,  "I didn't ask to be born."

A humorless laugh escaped her lips, a chilling sound that scraped against my heart.  "Oh, but you were born, Nina," she said.  "Born with an insatiable need for attention, a talent for throwing tantrums, and a face that would make a blind dog weep. You may not have asked to be born, but you sure haven't made things easy for yourself or anyone else around you." 

The anger began to simmer within me.  "Maybe if you'd actually parented me instead of leaving me to raise myself," I shot back, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands, "things might be different."

Mom's eyes narrowed into slits, her jaw jutting out in defiance.  "Don't you dare turn this around on me, Nina," she hissed.  "I did the best I could with the sorry hand I was dealt.  You were a demanding child, and you've grown into an equally demanding young woman.  Always wanting, never grateful."

The accusations hit a nerve. Grateful?  How could I be grateful to a woman who seemed to resent my very existence? 

Grateful for what, Mom? For the constant criticism?  The guilt trips?  For feeling like an afterthought in my own life? School really needs to resume soon.

"Put on your seatbelt, you damned baggage." She snapped.

And I did.

NOTE: I have something to clear. This book is based on the modern world. Not a pack house where everyone worships royalty. Everyone goes about their life here. Just felt I should mention based on some comments I've been seeing.