10 Dates with Mr. Alpha (MXM)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three
The Second Date: Wolves in the Den

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The pack bonfire was already roaring by the time Kiel arrived.

Flames licked high into the night, sparks swirling up into the full moon like prayers. Laughter echoed across the clearing, bodies moving around the fire in a chaotic dance of smoke, alcohol, and dominance. It was tradition—monthly gatherings, a way for the pack to let loose, to bond.

But tonight, Kiel wasn't in the mood for bonding.

He was here because their parents insisted the "second date" had to be public. To show the pack that their next alpha and his mate were strong. Stable. Connected.

Kiel snorted.

The only thing he and Ronan were connected by was sweat, bruises, and too many unsaid things wrapped in heated stares.

He spotted Dash and Connor near the drinks table, both watching him with that smug "we-know-what-you-did" smirk.

Kiel glared. "Say a word and I'll throw you in the fire."

Dash raised his hands in mock surrender. "We didn't say anything."

Connor just grinned, teeth flashing. "Your scent kinda said it for you."

Kiel growled low in his throat.

Then he felt it—that pull.

The hair on his arms stood up. His breath caught. His body tensed before he even turned around.

Ronan had arrived.

And he looked like sin wrapped in moonlight.

Black button-down, sleeves rolled up, top few buttons undone, revealing just enough chest to make Kiel's mouth dry. His jaw was sharp, his eyes glowing faintly with the reflection of the fire. Confident. Commanding. Alpha.

Kiel hated how fast his pulse jumped.

Their eyes locked across the clearing, and for a split second, everything else faded. The fire. The noise. The people. It was just them. Their bond humming, alive and insistent.

Ronan didn't walk toward him.

No—he stalked.

Like a predator who already knew his prey wanted to be caught.

"You're late," Kiel said when Ronan finally stood in front of him.

"You're glowing," Ronan said, voice low and husky. "Is that for me?"

"Fuck off."

"I'd rather fuck you."

Kiel shoved him lightly, but his hand lingered a second too long on Ronan's chest. "This is public. Control yourself."

"You're the one who showed up wearing that," Ronan said, eyes trailing over Kiel's tight, sleeveless shirt and low-slung jeans. "You want me to lose control."

Kiel's wolf yanked at the bond. Touch. Bite. Mark.

Not here.

Not yet.

"We're supposed to look normal," Kiel muttered. "Like we don't want to kill or screw each other."

"I'm doing my best," Ronan murmured, stepping closer. "But you keep looking at me like you want both."

Kiel's lips parted—half a growl, half an answer—but then someone shouted Ronan's name.

He turned. One of the female betas was waving him over. "Alpha Ronan! Come dance!"