The Alpha's Bought Baby

Baby fever hit me hard that year. I snagged a beastman cub off the black market. Solid white. Round. Ridiculously cute. His only red flag? A hairtrigger temper.

He bit everyone in range. I spent three grueling months whipping him into shape. Today, I ordered him to scrub the dishes. Boom.

A glowing holographic screen materialized right in my face. [Hold up! The Beastman Leader claims this cub! A fierce white wolf lives inside him!

Why does she train him like a damn dog?!] [Ugh, poor baby. Grew up motherless, lost his memory, and now this toxic human woman abuses him.] [Chill.

The Leader ordered a citywide sweep. He despises humans. Catching a human woman torturing his kid? He'll shred her to pieces!] Wait. Whose son?! Panic spiked my chest.

I dragged my eyes toward the cub. A tiny apron strapped his round belly by the sink. A heavy scowl dragged down his cheeks. "One plate left.

I'll rub your shoulders next." Chapter 1 "Then where do you want it? Your lower back?" "No. I mean, just rest when you're done.

You don't need to serve me." Scrappy dropped his tiny dishcloth and leveled a stare at me. "Did I piss you off again?" He knitted his brows, looking exactly like a grumpy little adult. "Spit it out.

Is this because you caught me sneaking a halfhour of cartoons, or because you saw me ditch my veggies in the trash?" What?!

A spike of rage flared in my chest, but the holographic live chat's terrifying warnings instantly snuffed it out. "Neither." I forced a tight smile. "I just realized I’ve been too strict with you.

You're six years old and deserve some agency. Watch your cartoons. Trash your greens.

Go for it." "So you aren't mad?" I shook my head so hard my neck popped. "Of course not." His little face hardened into a scowl. "You better not be," he scoffed. "The plates are spotless.

Don't even think about making excuses to skip my allowance." He spun on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.

Watching his tiny retreating back, I quietly let out a sigh of relief.

If I just spoil him rotten from now on… when his dad finally kicks my door down, maybe the kid will put in a good word for me? Right?

When I first stumbled across him at the black market, the owner had beaten him so badly he couldn't even shift back into his human form.

He was just a tiny, trembling ball shoved into a rusted cage. His white fur was matted with dried blood, but he still bared his fangs, snarling viciously at anyone stepping close.

In this world, beastmen sat way higher on the food chain than ordinary humans. But sixyearolds aged out of the prime adoption bracket in the underground market.

Even with the noble blood of a Beastman flowing through his veins, no one wanted him. Add the feral dog temperament, and buyers considered him unsellable.

I originally went there looking for a docile human toddler to raise. But the second I met his fierce, unbroken gaze, my feet glued themselves to the floor.

I gritted my teeth, paid the exorbitant fee, and dragged him home. He remembered nothing. The brutal whipping left him deeply traumatized and intensely paranoid around humans.

Assuming he was just another stray dumped by a beastman clan, I poured months into breaking down his walls and establishing basic ground rules. Obviously, he despised my discipline.

Every day at kindergarten, he’d rant to anyone listening about how I withheld his candy and forced him into child labor with household chores.

I figured he’d eventually grow up and understand my tough love. But now, that damn floating screen just informed me he wasn't an orphan.

He was the flesh and blood of the Northern Base Beastman Leader. Thorne. I knew the name. Everyone did. The God of War.

A brutal, volatile tyrant credited with saving the world during the apocalypse.

He singlehandedly slaughtered massive zombie hordes, possessing combat power completely off the charts.

If a monster like that held a grudge against me… The floating comments weren't exaggerating. I’d be skinned alive, my tendons ripped out, and strung up on a flagpole as human jerky.

A violent shudder ripped through my spine. I scrambled for my purse, yanked out a crisp tendollar bill, and slapped it onto his bedside table.

Right on cue, Scrappy strolled into the room, a toothbrush jutting from his mouth. He wore the bright yellow dinosaur onesie I bought him.

His eyes zeroed in on the cash, sparking with greed for a split second before narrowing in suspicion. "Dishes are five bucks. Shoulders make it ten. I didn't do your shoulders.

You paid too much." "Consider the shoulders massaged," I blurted. "Take the extra cash and buy yourself some candy." "You banned candy." "I just said I'm not policing you anymore." Scrappy went dead silent.

His expression darkened into a stormy glare. "Is this another one of your twisted little games to test if I’m an honest kid?" He yanked the toothbrush out of his mouth, pointing it at me like a weapon. "Keep your money.

I'm not falling for your mind games!" He slammed the door shut right in my face. Bang. Crap. I trained him way too well. And now I was totally screwed.

Chapter 2 Clinging to a shred of denial, I waited until Scrappy left for kindergarten the next morning. Then, I made a beeline for the Beastman Base.

I needed to know if Thorne actually lost his son. But the military installation was a fortress. The hierarchy was brutal.

Ordinary humans like me couldn't even get within a mile of the perimeter without drawing crosshairs. Still, the trip wasn't a total bust.

I managed to pry some gossip out of the locals living on the outskirts. Turns out, Thorne’s exwife was an ordinary human.

She betrayed the God of War right after giving birth, ditching the baby and vanishing into thin air. After she bailed, Thorne morphed into something even darker.

His hatred for humans mutated into pure venom. Just how toxic was that marriage?

A mother actually chose to abandon her newborn just to escape him… I trudged back, my stomach tied in knots. Just as my apartment building came into view, my phone buzzed.

It was the kindergarten. Scrappy got into a screaming match with another kid and shoved him to the ground. Panic spiked in my chest. I rushed to the school.

I found Scrappy standing outside the principal's office, his jaw set in a stubborn, rebellious line. I dropped to my knees, frantic hands checking him over for scrapes or bruises.

Finding none, I let out a breath and met his eyes. "Why did you push him?" He tilted his chin up, icing me out. Scrappy was a powder keg.

His default setting was violence over words. When I first enrolled him, he caused nonstop chaos. He’d actually been behaving lately. Why the sudden relapse?

I blew out a heavy breath, forcing a gentle tone. "Didn't I tell you we don't put our hands on other people?" "What, you gonna yell at me now?" He crossed his little arms. "I knew it.

You’re definitely pissed. Just scream at me already. I won't even talk back." The absolute audacity.

I ground my teeth together, pasting on a fake, understanding smile. "Of course not. I know you must have a good reason. Just explain it to me, and we can let it go.

Okay?" "No reason. I just felt like punching him." Oh, absolutely not. I inhaled sharply.

I opened my mouth to read him the riot act, but a deep voice cut through the hallway. "You must be Scrappy's mother? Hi. I'm Hunter's uncle. Miles." I whipped around.

A man in a crisp Beastman military uniform towered behind me. He stood with perfect posture, his features sharply handsome. My gaze flicked to the insignia on his broad shoulders.

My breath hitched. A ClassA Beastman Soldier. I scrambled to apologize, but he waved it off with a warm, easy smile. "Kids get rough sometimes. It's completely fine.

Don't worry about it." After a bit of polite small talk, I realized he was surprisingly approachable.

The burning question in my chest clawed its way out. "I heard a rumor…" I lowered my voice. "Is it true that the Leader's son is missing?" Miles's warm demeanor vanished instantly.

His jaw locked. "That is classified intel. How do you know about that?" God. It was true. Ice flooded my veins.

Taking my stunned silence for fear, he softened his expression. "But don't panic," he offered gently. "We just raided the black market involved.

We squeezed some solid leads out of the traffickers. It won't be long before we bring the boy home." The world tilted. My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the cold linoleum floor.

Miles startled, reaching out to help, but Scrappy bolted past him. "I just shoved a kid!" Scrappy shrieked, his little hands grabbing my shirt. "You don't have to get on your damn knees and beg him!" He whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the towering soldier. "If you have a problem, take it up with me!

Bullying a woman is pathetic, you coward!" Me: ??? Miles: Absolute panic. Chapter 3 I spent the entire night tearing my hair out. Turn myself in, or pack a bag and vanish?

But Scrappy had a real father. I had to give him back.

The thought alone felt like a physical blow, hollowing out my chest, but I couldn't selfishly keep a child from his real family. After a sleepless night, I called Miles.

I needed to investigate Thorne's parenting style before handing the kid over. If the God of War was actually an abusive psycho… I’d fight him to the death to protect my boy.

I just didn't expect Miles to pick an insanely exclusive Beastman restaurant for our meetup. The ambiance dripped with old money, but the massive dining room was a total ghost town.

The scent of roasted meats and expensive spices lingered in the air, heavily masked by a tense, chilling silence.

Crystal chandeliers cast a cold, fractured light across the pristine white tablecloths, making the emptiness feel suffocating rather than exclusive. "The Leader bought out the entire place.

No guests allowed for months." Miles rubbed the back of his neck, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "The manager is a buddy of mine.

He slipped us in." Catching my panicked look, he waved a dismissive hand. "Relax. The Leader is out of the city. Plus, he's generous.

He wouldn't care if we grabbed a bite." We barely hit our seats. The heavy oak doors slammed open. A towering figure stalked into the room.

He wore a razorsharp military uniform, his kneehigh combat boots cracking against the marble floor like gunshots. All the blood drained from Miles's face.

He scrambled to his feet, knocking his chair back. "L—Leader!" The man offered a curt nod and strode past, but then his boots abruptly halted.

His cold gaze locked onto me, his eyes carrying an unconcealed murderous intent. "Who is this?" "S—she's my friend." "I recall stating no outsiders were permitted to dine here." Miles turned the color of a crushed tomato. "I apologize, sir!

I'll escort her out immediately!" Thank God. I shot out of my seat, desperate to bolt. Then, the icecold voice sliced through the air again. "Forget it.

Just this once." "T—thank you, sir!" Miles barely collapsed back into his seat before the terrifying warlord casually dragged out an empty chair next to us. "You ordered plenty.

You don't mind an extra plate, do you?" The air in the room evaporated. The untouchable Beastman Leader was actually lowering himself to share a table with a ClassA grunt.

Miles was hyperventilating. His voice shook uncontrollably. "Dining with you is an absolute honor, sir!" He gripped the edge of the table. "You've been my idol since childhood!

Wait, no—I mean, I've been your idol since childhood!" While my brain scrambled to process his catastrophic slipup, a familiar blue light pulsed in my peripheral vision.

The holographic live chat flickered back to life. [LMAO, is this Miles guy paid to be the comic relief? But Thorne is a total ice king.

Why the hell is he crashing their lunch date?] [Duh, he totally caught a scent. Beastmen have crazy noses, and Thorne is an apex wolf.

He definitely smells his cub all over this woman.] [Finally! My baby is getting rescued! Watching the cub suffer through phonics class this week almost gave me a stroke.] [Hell yes!

I am so ready to watch the Leader roast this bitch alive with his Hellfire!] My lungs seized. A cold sweat broke out across my spine. What?! I'm going to end up as a human kebab?!

Chapter 4 A sudden jolt went through me. I looked up and met Thorne's steady gaze. Across the table, Miles was rambling about something, his words blurring into white noise.

Thorne cut through the static with a lazy, calculated drawl. "I recall you mentioning your nephew attends the Beastman prep school?" Miles nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir.

Just down the street.

Nothing fancy." "If he's classmates with Miss Willow's son, her boy must be a Beastman cub as well." Thorne’s eyes pinned me to the back of my chair. "Catching your scent… I’m guessing your husband was a rather rare breed?" Wolves were nearly wiped out during the initial human mutation wave.

White wolves were basically breathing myths. He smelled it. Before my frozen vocal cords could force out a single syllable, Miles chimed in. "Wait, you mean Willow's kid, Scrappy?

You think he's a wolf?" Miles let out a booming laugh. "Scrappy is a Beagle! Dogs and wolves share the same ancestry, so the scent profile is nearly identical.

You must be mistaken, sir." He kept digging the hole. "Willow is a single mom. Her husband died in the Apocalypse Wars.

If Scrappy actually had wolf genetics, she could claim the heritage grant.

She wouldn't have to scrape by like this." "Is that so?" Thorne’s gaze lingered on my pale face. "Then I must be mistaken." The second we stepped outside the restaurant, my knees gave out.

Violent tremors hijacked my hands and feet. Thank God I forged his school enrollment paperwork. I officially listed his species as a white Beagle. But a dog is not an apex predator.

This lie had an expiration date. When it shattered, how the hell was I going to talk my way out of an execution? I unlocked my front door.

Frantic shuffling and thumping immediately echoed from the living room. I walked in to find Scrappy sitting at the dining table. His spine was suspiciously rigid.

A phonics workbook sat open in front of him—an absolute prop. Guilt radiated off his tiny frame. When I didn't say a word, he launched a preemptive strike. "Where have you been?!

I'm starving to death!" He slammed a chubby hand on the table. "Do you have any idea how insane the kindergarten prep workload is? I spend all day grinding sight words and phonics!

I come home and there isn't even a hot meal waiting for me! I'm calling Beastman CPS tomorrow! I'm reporting you for child abuse!" The TV screen radiated heat.

The remote was hastily shoved between the couch cushions. He hadn't even traced a single letter in his open workbook.

Normally, I’d pinch his little ear and drag his lies right into the light. But today? I wasn't about to add another charge to my future death sentence.

I swallowed my pride. "What do you want to eat? I'll make it right now." "I'm sick of your cooking! I want crispy chicken nuggets!" Crispy chicken nuggets? In his dreams!

Did he not realize he was already built like a bowling ball? The urge to snap flared, but logic dumped ice water over it. He was the God of War's heir.

Once he returned to his ivory tower, he’d probably never touch greasy fast food again. I nodded slowly. "No problem.

I'll order as many nuggets as you want." I pulled out my phone to open UberEats. Scrappy’s face contorted with sudden rage. "Forget it!

I lost my appetite!" He hopped off the chair, his stubby legs carrying him down the hall. His bedroom door slammed shut, rattling the picture frames.

I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling. In the three months since I bought him, Scrappy never exactly warmed up to me.

He constantly threatened to run away and legally emancipate himself. If he knew his real dad was the ultimate Beastman Alpha, he’d pack his own bags and sprint out the door.

My escape plan was straightforward but risky: I would leave him near the Beastman Base perimeter.

Once he shifted and announced who he was, the guards would escort him straight to Thorne. But first, I had a massive, lifeordeath problem to solve.

How the hell was I going to manipulate a sixyearold into keeping my name out of his mouth when the God of War interrogated him?

Chapter 5 Through my racing thoughts, the bedroom door clicked open. Just a crack. "Scrappy? It's late. Why are you awake?" "My wounds hurt." I immediately tensed up.

When I bought him, his back was flayed open. Blood matted to his fur. He couldn't even stand, yet he never made a single sound. Now he was fully healed, and suddenly he was in pain?

Internal bleeding? Hidden trauma? I threw the blankets back and ran my hands over his chubby arms and legs. Smooth skin.

Not a single blemish or hidden bruise. "Are you shipping me off?" he whispered. My lungs seized. He knew. "Yes.

Actually, I found—" "I knew it." His tiny fists clenched. "Hunter's uncle doesn't want me." "Wait, what?

Miles?" What did he have to do with any of this? "Don't play mind games with me." His voice cracked, high and fragile. "Hunter heard his mom talking.

He said you guys went on a date today. His whole family is full of cheetahs. Once you have your own perfect cheetah babies, you're going to dump the dirty mutt." It finally clicked.

That's why he punched him. "Hunter called you a mutt at school?" The beastman hierarchy was a brutal caste system.

Adults hid it behind polite smiles; kids weaponized it. "Just admit it." Scrappy's voice shredded into a wet, desperate gasp. "You regret buying me." He grabbed the edge of my shirt.

His tiny knuckles turned stark white. "I'll listen. I'll do my phonics. I'll eat the stupid vegetables.

I won't punch Hunter anymore." A tear spilled over his lashes, tracking a hot line down his flushed cheek. "Just… don't throw me away. Please." It took an hour to rock him to sleep.

He lay beside me, his breathing hitched and uneven, tear tracks dried tight against his skin. Vzzt. Vzzt. My phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Unknown Number: [You left something at the restaurant.] An image loaded. My necklace. Assuming it was the restaurant manager, I typed back: [Thank you.

I'll pick it up first thing tomorrow.] The reply was instant. [Come down. I brought it to you.] Me: ? I crept to the balcony and peered through the blinds.

Down below, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp, a massive silhouette leaned casually against a black SUV. Thorne. I'm a dead woman. Flight was off the table.

A dominant apex predator would hunt me down in seconds. I tore through my closet, shoved myself into my most killer dress, and swiped on a sharp wing of eyeliner.

If I was walking to my execution, I was leaving a gorgeous corpse. Downstairs, the night air hung thick and heavy.

Thorne stood completely still, his crisp military uniform swallowing the shadows. As I approached, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He extended his right hand. Slowly. "Yours?" Resting on his calloused palm was a tiny pendant. A jagged piece of bone, intricately carved into the shape of a weeping willow branch.

I nodded, reaching out. My fingertips brushed the rough, heated texture of his skin. His fist snapped shut. Capturing the necklace. Trapping the friction between us.

His pulse hammered a slow, heavy rhythm against the thick veins in his wrist.

The scent of crushed pine and raw ozone drifted off his collar, flooding my senses. "If I'm not mistaken," his voice dropped an octave, a low, gravelly vibration that rattled against my ribs. "This is living Beastman bone.

Beastmen forge pacts with dead bone. But living bone?" A dark, unreadable gleam flashed in his eyes. "It's a miracle cure. It can drag someone back from the brink of death.

Absolutely priceless." He took a halfstep forward. The physical distance between us vaporized. "But extracting it… is agonizing. It's a localized flaying.

No one survives the shock." He tilted his head.

I could hear the slow, deliberate drag of his breath, the heavy swallow working his throat. "Whoever gave this to you… is fascinating.

Carved a willow branch out of their own living marrow." His gaze dragged down to my lips, hot and consuming. "Your name is Willow.

Did they rip themselves apart just to see you smile?" Chapter 6 A brutal image suddenly slammed into my skull. A rusted cot in an abandoned FEMA camp.

A man hunched over the edge, his torso heavily wrapped in bloodsoaked bandages. His voice was a weak, trembling rasp. "The marrow is already ripped out. Can't let it go to waste.

I carved a willow branch for you. If it buys me a single smile, it was worth the agony." A spike of whitehot pain drove straight through my temples.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head hard. "I don't remember." I dug my fingertips into my scalp, forcing the words out. "I'm sorry. I suffered severe trauma.

I was in a coma for two whole years. When I woke up in the New Era, my brain was scrambled. Total amnesia. This necklace was around my throat when I opened my eyes.

I have no idea where it came from, or who did this." The medics at the outpost had told me the living bone literally saved my life.

It sealed my failing organs right at the brink of death and fed my bloodline for two straight years. The air pressure between us plummeted.

Thorne’s expression darkened into pure thunder. I could clearly feel the aura around him change in that moment. Crap. Crap. Crap. He totally thinks I'm gaslighting him.

And honestly? I didn't blame him. Even to my own ears, the whole "fake death and convenient amnesia" excuse sounded like a garbage plotline from a cheap nineties soap opera.

But Thorne didn't argue. His fingers simply uncurled. The freezing, jagged edge of the bone pendant dropped back into my sweaty palm. He spun on his heel, turning toward his SUV.

I blinked, genuinely stunned. "You're just… leaving?" He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "What else did you want me to do?" "Nothing!" I waved my hands frantically. "Have a good night!" Something shifted in his rigid posture.

The harsh tension in his jaw melted away. His gaze dragged slowly down my dress. "By the way," his voice dropped, a low, gravelly vibration. "You look gorgeous tonight." I froze.

I suddenly remembered the killer dress and the sharp eyeliner. Wait. Oh my god. He thinks I dressed up specifically for him! A hot, humiliating flush crept up my neck.

Thorne caught my panicked expression and actually let out a low, breathless chuckle. "Scrappy is home alone, isn't he? Go back up to him. He's just a kid.

He'll panic if he wakes up to an empty house." I didn't need to be told twice. I bolted for the lobby doors. Right before I stepped inside, I glanced back.

Thorne hadn't moved an inch. The harsh glow of the streetlamp stretched his massive shadow across the concrete. He looked completely, devastatingly hollow.

My mouth moved before my brain could stop it. "Don't lose hope!" I blurted out. "Your son will be back with you in a couple of days. I… I promise you." Thorne blinked.

The cold, untouchable God of War vanished for a split second. "It doesn't matter." His voice was deadpan. "I called off the search." I froze. "What?" "He's just a kid.

Lost is lost." Thorne shrugged, leaning back against his truck. "Besides, the kid is a bottomless pit. Absolute garbage personality. Whoever took him in got completely scammed.

Honestly, I owe them a thankyou card." Me: ? Did I just drop my life savings on a feral toddler, only to realize I'm the ultimate sucker?

Before I could spiral, the holographic screen blasted into my line of sight. [Duh, it's because Raven just arrived at the Northern Base. The Southern Base Leader!

They are the ultimate power couple. Remember the final apocalypse raid? They literally saved the world together.] [Oh, that makes total sense.

Raven's spirit animal is a mythic beast. Their future babies will have godtier bloodlines.

A tiny mutt born from an ordinary human woman doesn't even compete.] [Probably the new stepmom hates baggage. You know how it is.

Men get a shiny new wife and completely abandon their past. I thought Thorne was different, but he's just another typical scumbag.] Chapter 7 Raven. The Southern Base Leader.

The legendary, bloodthirsty female general everyone was terrified of? She was Thorne's official match? And she was petty enough to play the jealous evil stepmom to a kid?

The math wasn't mathing. Regardless, hearing it straight from Thorne’s mouth proved one thing. He couldn't care less about Scrappy.

Back at the apartment, I stared at Scrappy's sleeping face.

A heavy sigh slipped past my lips. "Looks like your real family actually ghosted you," I whispered. "I guess… you're stuck with me." I’d been so busy stressing over my impending doom, I completely forgot about the kindergarten field day.

Scrappy had been dragging his feet every day after school. Moping. Sulking. I tried prying it out of him, but he stonewalled me. Miles was the one who finally tipped me off.

The Beastman kindergarten held a hypercompetitive track event specifically for parents. "It's a Beastmandominated event," Miles explained over the phone. "Even mixed families send the Beastman parent.

These kids have massive egos. Nobody wants to be a loser." No wonder Scrappy was acting so depressed.

With a frail human stepping up to the starting line, he was guaranteed dead last.

Miles cleared his throat, sounding intensely guilty. "I grabbed dinner at my sister's place tonight. He overheard Hunter calling Scrappy. He said some really toxic things.

But honestly? He's got a point. You can't compete against Beastmen parents. Scrappy’s breed is already at the bottom of the food chain.

This is just going to turn him into the school laughingstock. If you don't mind… I'm off duty that day.

I could go with you." He stumbled over his words, but the heavy implication was impossible to miss. "I appreciate it, but no." I shut him down. "If we lose, we lose.

Plus, Scrappy wouldn't want a stranger fighting his battles." Miles caught the hint. The call ended shortly after. Rejecting him felt empowering in the moment.

But stepping onto the campus turf? Confronted by a sea of hulking, musclebound Beastman parents? My confidence evaporated. Especially when I locked eyes with Hunter's mom.

She wore a pristine designer suit. She definitely knew I curved her brother. Her gaze raked over me, dripping with contempt.

As I walked past, she deliberately pitched her voice up for the other moms to hear. "We need to corner the principal today. Enrollment standards are in the gutter.

Any random stray mutt can get a desk here. Now they're letting humans crash our elite events?" Scrappy snapped.

He lunged forward, fists flying, but I snagged the back of his collar. "I can take her!" Scrappy thrashed in my grip, his eyes feral. "I know." I wasn't about to catch an assault charge today.

I forced a bright smile. "The 100meter dash is about to start. Can you grab me a water and an energy gel? Please?

I'm probably going to pass out." Scrappy clamped his mouth shut, glaring at the women before sprinting off toward the stalls.

I barely reached the checkin desk when a heavy grip clamped around my wrist. "What's your lane number?

Give me the wristband." "Thorne?" "The principal invited me for the opening ceremony. I spotted you." His dark eyes swept over the massive crowd, then pinned me. "Let me guess.

You're actually planning to race these Beastmen?" "I—" "I've got some time to kill." He snatched the clipboard right out of my hand. "I'll run your lap." I opened my mouth to argue, but the oblivious track official cut me off