Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

MEGAN

G rabbing her parka from the wooden peg on which it had been hung, Megan followed Drake as he led her through the winding corridors of the Northern Lights Distillery's main building. Once they were outside, they made their way through a series of winding paths that eventually led back to the main house, which was off-limits to event guests.

The murmur of the crowd faded behind her, replaced by the soft echo of their footsteps against the aged wooden floors. Her heart raced with a mix of excitement and caution. This was the moment she had been waiting for—a chance to get closer to Drake and gather more intel on the smuggling operation she was investigating. She'd been wondering how to do so, but as the opportunity had presented itself, Megan had seized it.

She knew she would need to disabuse him of his notion that they were fated mates. They might very well be, but she was not in the market for one. As he'd recognized her as a shifter as well, she meant to find out what type of shifter he was and what she would be dealing with.

As they emerged into the crisp Alaskan air, Megan pulled her parka tighter around her, her breath coming out in white clouds, visible before evaporating. Drake led the way back through one of the distillery's older buildings, where the craft of creating their renowned bourbon took place, and up toward the main house. Next to the gathering room, the house was enormous, its silhouette stark against the imposing mountains that dominated the horizon.

Megan's nerves tingled with anticipation and a deep sense of foreboding. She had been able to piece together enough information to believe that Northern Lights Distillery was involved in some illegal activities, any of which could have proven fatal to Drake's father. Strangely, Megan had never suspected his father, Magnus, of being involved. But the one thing she was sure of was that whatever was going on was dangerous and possibly deadly.

She couldn't help noticing what a fine figure he cut as she followed behind him. He was tall with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and a truly glorious ass. She did wonder what kind of shifter he might be. Not because she saw him as her fated mate, but it was more out of simple curiosity. In her mind, she could hear her snow leopard snort as if to say, ‘You just keep telling yourself that.' Her snow leopard had already begun purring at him. Megan hoped he couldn't hear her. She was determined to ignore the growing attraction she felt for Drake for a variety of reasons including letting it cloud her judgment. She had a job to do, and no bourbon-making fated mate was going to stop her.

Drake walked them to the back of the house and unlocked an ornate set of French doors.

"Those don't look like they were original to this place," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong, they're beautiful, but rustic Alaskan they're not."

He grinned. "You're right. My father hated them."

"Wasn't he alpha?"

Drake nodded. "Yes, but my mother loved them. When they visited New Orleans, my mother saw two sets of them and fell in love. My father wanted my mother happy, so he bought all four, shipped them home and had them installed here in the office and upstairs in the primary suite going out to the balcony."

Megan smiled. "My father would have done the same for my mom."

"Are your parents still living?"

"No. They were with a group of other people and were ambushed by an arms dealer and his goons. They were killed. I left our clan looking to get even."

"And did you?" he asked.

"Eventually. I had planned to kill the sonofabitch. I actually had him in my sights but got talked off the edge, so to speak, by a guy who'd been working undercover for more than a year."

"Why did he stop you?"

"If I'd killed him, he would be dead and someone would have risen up to take his place. He convinced me if I stood down and came to work with him, we could dismantle the whole operation and keep a lot of other people from being killed."

"Hmm… so I don't get an Interpol vibe, and not really FBI, so ATF?"

"Why can't I just be a shifter helping another shifter?"

"Because you aren't." He waited but said nothing. "I already know you're some kind of law enforcement. I have a friend who can find out your identity before you can get back to your vehicle."

Okay, he wanted to impress/intimidate her. Megan could play. "So, Jasmine Chen is really as good as they say?"

Drake grinned again. He had a very dark and brooding countenance, but when he grinned, his entire face changed. "You recognized Jasmine?"

"I did. Tell her Megan said hi. You aren't the only one who has contacts in the intelligence community."

He nodded. "So, ATF." Megan raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Jasmine doesn't work with the Bureau or Interpol."

Megan laughed. "Touché."

Drake opened the door, holding it for her. Megan stepped inside. She reminded herself that even though she was all but certain that Drake wasn't a part of what had been going on at Northern Lights, she couldn't afford to relax. She had a job to do. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and leather-bound books. It was a scent that reminded her of her time growing up within her clan. It was nostalgic and comforting. The dim light added a sense of secrecy and danger.

"This way," Drake said, his voice low and tense.

Megan glanced around the office, noting the stacks of paperwork and ledgers scattered across the desk. Given his naval background, she had expected Drake to keep a much tidier space. She had to wonder what might be contained within this mess that had caused Drake's concerns. It almost appeared as if he'd begun to suspect something and had then tried to find anything to prove himself wrong. Her mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information she had gathered. She suspected Drake had found evidence that suggested Northern Lights was no longer just a family business but something far more sinister. Her own investigative work had led her to believe it was a corrupt organization composed of a complex web of secrets and lies.

Drake turned to face her; his expression unreadable. "I never did undercover work. All of my missions were covert, but I didn't have to be anybody but me. I was a SEAL…"

"A highly decorated SEAL. Your ops are kind of legendary, and I know for a fact there's been a bounty on your head for years."

"I would think undercover would be lonely."

She nodded. "It can be at times. I've been told I can come in from the cold anytime I want, but I'm not ready. I'm not sure I ever will be."

"Sometimes you have to make a change even when you're not ready. The fact is I need your help, Megan. Even with Jasmine's help, I'm out of my league. I was a SEAL for a long time. I can look at all of this," he said gesturing to the mess strewn across the desk, "and see there's something wrong going on here, but I have trouble believing my father had a hand in it, and yet, he was alpha and some of the notations in the ledgers I recognize as his."

Megan felt a surge of excitement and fear. This was her chance to delve deeper, to get closer to the truth. But she couldn't afford to show him her hand. "What have you found?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Drake hesitated, then handed her a folder. "Coded ledgers, suspicious transactions. And then I've had two notes—one from my father and an anonymous one—that indicate his death was no accident."

Megan took the folder, flipping through the pages. The codes were complex, but she recognized the patterns. This was big—bigger than she had anticipated. She looked up at Drake, feeling a strange mix of attraction and suspicion. There was an intensity in his eyes that drew her in, but she couldn't ignore the possibility that he might be involved in the very crimes she was investigating or perhaps covering up his father's involvement.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice steady.

"Because I trust you," Drake said, his gaze unwavering. "You can deny it, but we're fated mates—that means something. And because I think you can help me get to the bottom of this."

Megan felt a pang of guilt. He might know she was ATF, but her own investigation was at odds with his trust. She couldn't turn back now. "Alright," she said. "I'll help you. But we need to be careful. Whoever's behind this won't hesitate to protect their interests. If they killed your father, they could be turning their sights on you."

Drake nodded; his expression serious. "Or you. I don't have time to go over what I've found with you today, but I can have Jasmine share what we've found so far. I need to make my presence known at the event. Can we meet somewhere quiet tomorrow? We can go over the details without prying eyes."

"We can do that, but there's no place where we can meet without being seen. First rule of undercover is don't do anything to raise suspicion."

Drake nodded. "Then why don't you act as my date for the rest of the festivities? We can tell people we know each other from before. That will explain it if anyone saw us come in here."

She didn't like it, but it was a good plan. Megan agreed but wondered if Drake didn't have some kind of hidden agenda. Alpha males, of whatever species, always pursued their own goals and often felt the ends always justified the means. She was drawn to Drake's intensity, but she couldn't afford to let her guard down—either as an ATF agent or as a woman he considered to be his fated mate. The stakes were too high, and the lines between her professional duties and personal feelings were becoming dangerously blurred.

Megan stood amidst the soft hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the warm glow of chandeliers at the distillery's grand event. It seemed a bit incongruous that most of those who had attended the event were in comfortable, casual clothing while those who lived and worked at the distillery were far more dressed up. She felt slightly out of place despite her composed demeanor. Her eyes followed Drake as he moved through the crowd, his presence magnetic and confident. Suddenly, he took the stage, microphone in hand, and the room quieted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Drake's voice was smooth, commanding attention. "I'd like to introduce you all to someone very special to me." Megan's heart skipped a beat. Surely, he wasn't going to—he smiled at her—oh, but he was. "Some of you know I have just recently returned to Alaska and this gorgeous creature…" he was indicating her, stretching out his hand to her and gesturing to her to join him. "This is Megan, my fiancée." Fiancée? They had talked girlfriend, not fiancée. His eyes found hers, and a warm smile played on his lips.

Bastard. She knew better than to trust an alpha of any ilk.

Megan felt her cheeks flush. Her mind raced, but she managed a gracious smile and a small wave as polite applause rippled through the crowd and she joined him. Internally, she was a whirlwind of confusion and shock. She barely knew him; their fledgling relationship was professional at best, undercover work demanding a certain distance. Yet, here she was, labeled as something much more personal.

Later, when the event allowed them a moment of privacy, Megan seized the opportunity. She pulled Drake into a secluded hallway, her grip firm on his arm.

"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but intense. "Fiancée? What were you thinking?"

Drake's expression remained calm, infuriatingly so. "Megan, think about it. What better way to keep up appearances and figure out what's going on here than blending in seamlessly? This is a distillery, not a crime scene."

She glared at him, her frustration bubbling over. "This was not part of the plan, Drake. You can't just spring things on me like that."

"We're improvising," he replied coolly. "This is how undercover work goes sometimes, right?"

They argued, the tension thick between them. But in the end, Megan saw the logic in his approach and begrudgingly agreed to stay. "Fine," she muttered. "But we're going to have a serious talk about boundaries later."

Dinner was a lavish affair, the distillery's charm enhanced by the delicious aromas and lively conversation. Megan did her best to mingle, playing her role perfectly. It was during dessert that she met Drake's aunt, Victoria, a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

"And you are?" Victoria asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.

"Megan," she replied, forcing a polite smile. "Drake's fiancée."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed. "I see." She sniffed the air. "Well, I hope you know what you're getting into."

Megan bit back a retort, sensing the woman's instant dislike. The feeling was mutual. But what surprised her most was when Drake smoothly interjected with a fabricated backstory, painting Megan as someone far from her true identity as an ATF agent.

After dinner, as the evening celebration continued, Drake guided Megan toward the room she would be staying in, explaining some historical tidbits about the distillery. Midway, he was pulled away by an urgent call. "Head up without me. I'll join you shortly. Top of the stairs and it's to the right at the end of the hall."

Megan found the room easily, her breath catching at its beauty. Dark wood, rich fabrics, and tasteful decor created an inviting sanctuary. But it was the French doors that caught her attention—the same French doors that were down in his office—the same French doors his father had brought back from New Orleans and installed in the office and the primary suite of the alpha—this was Drake's room.

When Drake returned, she was waiting for him, arms crossed. "This is your room, isn't it?"

He nodded, not seeing the issue. "Yes, it's where you'll be staying."

She threw up her hands, infuriated. "You couldn't have mentioned that earlier?"

He stepped closer, the space between them charged with unresolved tension. "I would think people would find it odd if my fiancée wasn't sharing my room. You're safe here, Megan."

Their argument escalated, voices rose as they stepped aggressively toward one another, the intensity of their emotions surging. But as words ran out, something shifted. Drake's hand cupped the back of her neck, and before she could process it, he pulled her into his body, his lips coming down on hers. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and utterly unexpected. Megan responded, her body betraying her, even as her snow leopard purred, and her mind protested.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and stunned, Megan could only stare at him, her heart pounding. This assignment had just gotten a lot more complicated.