My "Good Boy" is the Alpha King

Mia's POV

The rain is hammering down like the world's trying to drown Colorado tonight. I'm locking the back door of Moonbean Café when I hear it—a heavy thud, like dead weight hitting concrete.

My hand freezes on the key. Every instinct screams at me to walk away, get in my car, go home. But I'm an idiot, so I push the door back open instead.

The alley light flickers, barely cutting through the downpour. There's someone collapsed on my back steps. A man. Blood mixing with rainwater, spreading across the pavement.

I grip my keys tighter, ready to use them as a weapon if I need to. One step closer. Two. The light catches his face, and my entire world screeches to a halt.

Deep brown hair plastered to his forehead. Sharp features beneath the mud and blood. That face.

Ethan Thornfield.

The Alpha King's son. The guy who stood next to me five years ago at my coming-of-age ceremony and shattered every stupid fantasy I'd built up in my head. I thought he'd be everything. Turns out he was nothing. No wolf. No bond. Nothing.

And now he's bleeding out on my doorstep.

My hands start shaking. Not fear. I don't know what the hell this is. Anger? Concern? Some messed-up combination of both? My throat's tight, words stuck somewhere between my chest and my mouth.

A flash of memory hits me hard. Moonstone Clearing, five years ago. Both of us eighteen, standing under that ancient stone while moonlight poured down. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. The awakening. The bond. Anything.

But there was nothing. I watched the confusion in his eyes, felt my own hope crumble. Then I turned and left, disappeared into the trees before anyone could see me cry.

I bite down hard on my lip and crouch next to him. "Damn it."

Getting him inside nearly kills me. He's dead weight, all six-foot-something of unconscious Alpha bloodline, and I'm hauling him through my café like I'm moving furniture. By the time I dump him on the couch in the seating area, I'm drenched in rain and sweat and probably some of his blood.

I'm reaching for my phone to call an ambulance when his eyes snap open.

Gray-blue. Not the gold of an awakened wolf. Just those same storm-colored eyes I remember from before everything went to shit.

He blinks, disoriented, gaze sweeping the dim café before landing on my face. His whole body goes rigid. His lips move. "Mia."

My name sounds wrong coming from him after five years of silence. Too familiar. Too raw.

"Mia," he says again, voice barely above a whisper. "I had nowhere else to go. You're the only one I could think of."

I cross my arms, forcing my face into something cold. "Funny. Five years of nothing, and now I'm the only one? What happened to your precious Royal Peaks? Your Council? Your fiancée?"

He tries to sit up, fails, falls back against the cushions with a grimace. "Victoria isn't my fiancée. I said no. That's part of why I'm here."

"Let me guess." I turn away, can't look at him anymore. My hands find the edge of the bar counter, knuckles going white. "The mighty prince rejected a political marriage and got himself in trouble? How noble."

"I'm not a prince anymore." His voice is steady despite the pain he's obviously in. "I never awakened my wolf, Mia. You know that. You were there."

I spin back around, hating how that sentence makes something twist in my chest. "So?"

"The Council considers me defective. A failed Alpha bloodline. They want me gone. Dead or exiled, doesn't matter. Victoria's father, the High Chancellor, he's been pushing for my removal."

The words hit different than I expect. I should feel vindicated. Smug, even. The golden prince fallen from grace. But all I feel is this sick knot of something I don't want to name.

The silence stretches between us. Just rain drumming against the windows, his ragged breathing, my heart doing things it has no business doing.

"Why should I help you?" The words come out sharper than I intend. "You're nothing to me now, Ethan. Nothing."

Something flashes in his eyes. Pain, maybe. But his voice stays calm. "I know I have no right to ask. But please. Just temporary shelter. I'll work for it. Anything you need. I won't be a burden."

I almost laugh. "Work for it? You, a prince?"

"Former prince. And yes. I can learn. Whatever you need in the café. Cleaning, carrying supplies, anything."

I should throw him out. Call Silver Creek patrol, let them deal with this mess. But the words that come out of my mouth are different. "Fine. But you work for every meal, every night you stay here. This isn't charity, Thornfield. You're not a guest. You're staff."

Relief floods his face, followed by something more complex I can't read. "Understood. Thank you, Mia."

I turn before he can see whatever's showing on my face, heading for the storage room. My hands are still trembling when I grab the first aid kit. I force myself to breathe.

This is a mistake. Letting him stay is a massive mistake. But I can't watch him die on my doorstep either.

Damn it, Mia. You're asking for trouble.

"Follow me," I tell him once I've patched the worst of the bleeding. "And don't bleed on my stairs."

The attic above the storage room is barely a room. A mattress on the floor, one small window letting in weak moonlight, exposed beams overhead. It's not much, but it's shelter.

"This is your room." I point at the mattress. "Don't expect comfort. You start work tomorrow at 5 AM. The café opens at 6."

He looks around, taking it in without complaint. "5 AM. Got it."

"And stay out of my sight when there's no work. I don't want pack members asking questions about why there's a stranger in my café."

"I'll be invisible."

I'm halfway to the door when I remember. "One more thing." I turn back. "If anyone asks, you're my distant cousin from out of state. Got it? I won't have rumors spreading about why I'm sheltering the failed prince."

His eyes go dark for a second, but he recovers fast. "Your distant cousin. Understood."

My hand's on the doorknob when he speaks again, voice so quiet I almost miss it. "Mia. I'm sorry. For everything five years ago."

I freeze. Don't turn around. Can't turn around. "Save it. Apologies don't change anything."

I take the stairs too fast, close the attic door harder than necessary, lean back against it with my eyes shut tight.

I'm halfway through cleaning the bar when I remember. Silver wounds. He needs the special herbs. The ones that prevent infection from silver weapons.

I stare at the small jar in my hand. Let him suffer one night. Deal with it tomorrow. But I'm already grabbing bandages, already heading back upstairs.

Damn it.

He's struggling with his shirt when I push the door open, movements stiff and awkward.

"Stop." My voice cuts through the quiet. "You'll tear the wound open more."

He whips around, surprise clear on his face. "I thought you..."

"Sit. Silver wounds need special treatment. Unless you want to die of infection."

He hesitates for half a second, then pulls his shirt over his head. Moonlight spills across his shoulders, and I force myself to focus on the wound. Not on how much more built he is than he was five years ago. Not on the lean muscle, the broad shoulders, the way his body's changed from boy to man.

"This might sting," I mutter, dipping my fingers in the salve.

The second my hand touches his bare shoulder, he goes completely rigid. His whole body starts trembling. His breathing turns harsh and uneven. He jerks his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.

His hands ball into fists, knuckles white, veins standing out.

I stop. "Did I hurt you? You're shaking."

"No." The word sounds strangled. "Just cold. And weak. Sorry."

I frown but keep working, trying to ignore how he's trembling like I'm torturing him. "You're shaking like a leaf. Some Alpha bloodline you've got."

He doesn't answer, just keeps his head turned away, breathing like he's running a marathon. There's something almost intimate about it. Vulnerable. This proud prince, reduced to shivering under my touch.

It's kind of hot, actually. The thought hits me out of nowhere and I shove it away immediately, working faster to finish the bandaging.

"Done," I say, pulling back. "Work starts tomorrow."

I'm out the door before he can respond, taking the stairs two at a time, not daring to look back.

The attic is silent after Mia's footsteps fade away. Ethan finally releases the iron control he's been holding since the moment she touched him.

His eyes flash pure gold, flooding the small room with light. He touches the wound. Already healing faster than it should, faster than any non-awakened wolf could manage. His chest heaves as he fights down the wolf still snarling in his head.

Five years. Five years of feeling this bond like a chain wrapped around his soul, pulling him toward her every second of every day. Every moment away from her was agony.

And now he's close enough to touch her, to smell her scent, to hear her heartbeat. Still too far to tell her the truth.

The memory slams into him. Moonstone Clearing, five years ago. Standing beside her, waiting. Nothing happened for her. Nothing happened for him. Not then.

He watched her disappointment deepen, watched her walk away into the trees. Watched the girl he loved disappear.

Then, alone in the clearing, it hit him. Pain like lightning splitting him open. Bones breaking, reforming. The wolf tearing its way out of him in a violent awakening.

And with it, the bond. An invisible thread connecting him to Mia even as she got further away.

She's my mate. She's always been my mate. And I let her walk away thinking we were nothing.

He moves to the small window. Below, light glows from Mia's room. He stares at it, gold eyes reflecting in the glass.

"I'm finally close enough to protect you, Mia," he whispers. "But still too far to claim you."

His phone vibrates. Encrypted message: Phase one complete. Council suspects nothing. Victoria's father is getting impatient. How long can you maintain the cover?

Ethan's fingers move across the screen: As long as it takes to keep her safe.

He shuts off the phone, looks back at that light below. Gold eyes gleaming in the darkness.