Bound by fate to the future Alpha.

**Chapter Seven: Pack Dinner- Blake's POV**

After a grueling practice, all I can think about is how nice it will feel to shower and unwind before I meet Malia. The water feels like bliss, washing away the sweat and tension of the day. However, just as I step out, the soothing atmosphere is shattered by the sound of my name being called. I quickly throw on some clothes, my mind racing as I make my way downstairs. To my shock, the dining table is set not for a usual meal, but for something far more formal. My pulse quickens: Oh seven hells, what is happening now?

My mother appears, looking stunning in a fitted black cocktail dress with heels to match, her long raven hair curling elegantly down her back. Panic surges through me. "Blake, hunny, you don’t seem dressed for the meal," she remarks with a pointed look. "You best get dressed in your suit before your father sees you." There's a command in her voice that’s hard to ignore, a Luna’s aura demanding obedience even beyond an Alpha’s. I sprint back upstairs, hurriedly donning my tuxedo and combing my hair before making my way down again.

As I return to the living room, it hits me—guests are milling about, my mother greeting each one as if it’s the most casual of Sundays. But my mind is racing; I’m supposed to meet Malia in just thirty minutes! I whip out my phone to text her and, before I can hit send, my father’s steely glare meets mine, and with a swift motion, he snatches my phone away. Ugh, this is the last thing I need right now.

Just when I feel trapped, Jackson, my beta and friend, arrives, equally unenthusiastic about this pack formal dinner. I pull him aside, desperate to borrow his phone to shoot a text to Malia, but of course, he’s in the same boat—our fathers seem to have conspired against our convenience. The elders occupy themselves with discussions about territory shifts, while the women chatter endlessly about who knows what. I’m caught in this tedious back-and-forth in the middle of a formal dinner, all while guilt gnaws at me, knowing Malia is waiting alone somewhere.

The conversation pivots to the upcoming game the next day, a much-needed distraction. I try to focus, eager to contribute when suddenly my father interrupts with his own thoughts, steering the discussion in a way only he could. It’s nearly unbearable. Finally, the evening draws to a close, and Jackson and I let out a collective sigh of relief—thankfully, it’s time to shift gears and think about the game.

Once upstairs, fatigue washes over me, and before I know it, I’m out like a light. Then, it’s another early morning, roused by my father’s relentless insistence on maintaining our rigorous routine. We shift into our wolves and run for what feels like hours before he gives me an over-the-top pre-game speech that makes me roll my eyes. I shower once more, hydrate with a few sips of protein shake, and hop on my bike, adrenaline already pumping for the day.

As I ride toward school, I spot a petite figure in the distance—it’s Malia. I pull over, my heart racing, only to have her tell me to “piss off” in a surprisingly feisty tone. I’m momentarily taken aback—how did the sweet girl manage to be so defiantly rude? I offer her a ride, but she rejects me outright, launching into a rant. Frustration bubbling within, I reluctantly acknowledge that maybe she has some spirit. But inside, I can’t shake the thought that when I become Alpha, no one will dare speak to me like that. I throw my helmet back on and speed away, fury fueling my ride as the day ahead looms larger than life.

As I roll into the school parking lot, adrenaline surges through me, and I park in my designated space. The moment I step off my bike, I’m met with an electrifying sight: the entire football team is gathered, their faces painted with bold streaks of our school colors, each one pumped for the high-stakes match that’s looming just hours away. The tension in the air is high; this isn’t just any game. This is the championship, a chance to reclaim our title and the pride that comes with it. "We’ve got this!" shouts Joe, hyping everyone up, and the rest of the team echoes him, their voices merging into a symphony of excitement.

Amidst this buzz, I catch sight of the cheerleaders, vibrant in their champions’ uniforms, already rallying the rest of the school for the big game. Their unwavering support is infectious, and I can feel the energy radiating throughout the hallways. Every student seems to embody the same determination, a united front building towards what could be a defining moment for our school spirit. It’s amazing how something as simple as a football game can bring everyone together, igniting a sense of camaraderie that’s hard to find in everyday life.

I swing open my locker, stuffing in my books haphazardly, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts about strategy and plays. Suddenly, as I turn around, my lips meet someone else's in an unexpected clash that jolts me back to reality. It’s Kirsty, her eyes sparkling with mischief. My brain does a quick double-take; I admire her guts from afar, but I’m caught off guard. I push her away slightly. "What in the seven hells are you doing?" I blurt out, trying to mask the embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. She simply smirks, her response as playful as ever, “Just a good luck kiss. Ready for tonight? You know this always used to bring you luck.”

She isn’t wrong; the memory of previous games flooded back, tinged with nostalgia. But this isn't exactly the best moment for reminiscing. Just as I start to shake off the awkwardness, I notice Malia standing a few lockers down, her gaze piercing through the crowd like daggers. The look on her face is unmistakable—pure anger. My heart sinks. F**k. I can feel the tension shift as her eyes narrow, and suddenly, the raucous excitement of the day takes a backseat to an impending storm that I clearly didn't see coming.