Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 2

The instinct to scream was there—lodged somewhere behind my teeth—but it was like the rest of me had short-circuited. Every reflex froze.

His muscles were carved, like someone had sculpted them out of stone and left them slick and glistening. Defined forearms, taut stomach, the faint dip between his hipbones where the crisp, white towel began. But it was his hands—veined, precise, impossibly strong-looking—that held me hostage.

Water dripped from his jaw, trailing down his chest. I followed the drops—over his pecs, down the ridges of his abs—until they disappeared into the soft white terrycloth. I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, into my cheeks.

"Think you’ve seen enough now?"

My head snapped up. My body reengaged. And then—oh no.

Oh god, it was Richard. King Richard. My best friend’s father.

Gorgeous, aloof, incredibly off-limits, Richard.

He scowled. "How the hell did you get in here? This is a private room."

I could tell he didn’t recognize me, which disappointed me somehow.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I met Richards sharp, questioning eyes, the shame of being caught like that, of having just ogled the King of the Werewolf Kingdom, hit me all at once. I fumbled for something—anything—to say, but he was already looking me up and down.

His eyes landed on my stained uniform. I wanted to disappear into the floor.

I hated that this was how he was seeing me—creased shirt, smudged apron, cheap fabric clinging in all the wrong ways. I hated the way I looked even more under the weight of that stare. It wasn’t just that I felt small—it was that I felt disposable. Like background noise. Like someone he’d forget existed the second he walked away. And the worst part? He wouldn’t be wrong.

Not even when Adam had seen me like this—sweaty, tired, underdressed—had I felt this exposed. With Adam, I’d felt like I could brush it off. With Richard, I couldn’t even breathe.

"Don’t tell me you’re the maid service that I didn’t order," he said flatly. "Coming in here to clean up? I’ve had enough of these tricks."

Tricks?

"I—I’m not—" I stammered, my throat dry. "Jenny told me to come here. She said I could change in this room. I didn’t know anyone would be in here. I swear."

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The weight of his gaze made my skin prickle.

"And you didn’t think to knock?"

"I thought it would be empty," I blurted. "I didn’t even think—God, I wouldn’t just walk in if I knew—"

He stepped forward and it was like being hit with a wave.

Patchouli. Peppermint. Clean skin and heat and power.

I swayed slightly under the weight of it all. My body wasn’t listening to me. My mind was struggling to form coherent thought.

Not that it ever had, not around him.

Ever since I was fifteen and saw him for the first time in person I hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. Not for more than a second.He’d been handsome then, intimidating in that distant, untouchable way. But now? He was older, sharper, more carved from stone than flesh. He carried a kind of gravity that made everything inside me tilt.

Not even Adam made me feel that way.

I looked down, away from his eyes. "J-Jenny," I stammered. "She sent me up here to change. For the Ball. She didn’t say anyone else would be... here."

He tilted his head slightly, those steel-blue eyes narrowing.

"Jenny? Changing clothes?" He took a breath, then nodded slowly, the barest shift in his expression softening his scowl into something closer to amusement. "You better not be lying."

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he gestured toward the closet. "Get changed. You’ve got two minutes."

He disappeared back into the bathroom and I exhaled for what felt like the first time.

The dress Jenny had left was easy enough to find. Blue satin, elegant but clingy. It slipped over my hips with ease, cool against my skin, whispering promises I wasn’t sure I wanted kept. I tugged it into place and reached around to zip the back—

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify