Villainess Marked For Her Alpha-Chapter 72: First Meeting

At that moment, the doorbell rang sharp through the kitchen haze of bacon steam and hot chocolate curl.

Who was here? No one should be here at this point of time.

Hellen’s eyes narrowed instinctive, wiping sudsy hands quick on a dish towel slung over her shoulder before striding to the front door—sleeves still rolled, blonde ponytail bouncing taut with purpose. She twisted the knob firm and yanked it open, morning sun slicing harsh across the threshold.

Gray eyes, sharp as shattered flint and unblinking beneath arched brows, locked onto hers from under the low brim of a sleek black baseball cap, its embroidered insignia faded from wear.

A tailored green blazer hugged her athletic build like a second skin—shoulders wide as a linebacker’s, rolling with latent strength; crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms.

It paired with fitted charcoal trousers that moulded to powerful thighs and calves like a panther’s sleek flanks, ending in polished oxblood brogues planted firm, soles etched with urban grit.

A faint scar traced her left jawline, silvered pale and old, curving like a crescent moon from earlobe to chin, whispering battles survived and enemies dusted—her presence sleek and commanding, every inch the urban panther poised to pounce.

Hellen gave her a blank look, a smirk curling slow and predatory at the corner of her full lips despite the wary alpha edge prickling her spine like invisible barbs.

"Reyes?" she drawled, voice low and laced with mock surprise, honey-citrus scent flaring subtle but sharp as she squared her shoulders in the doorway.

Emily was right about her. She had that warrior type look. It is my first meeting with her.

Reyes mirrored the stare cool and unflinching, gray eyes unyielding as chipped flint beneath the low brim of her sleek black baseball cap, her tailored navy blazer shifting faint over broad shoulders.

"Hellen?" she replied, tone even, betraying nothing—yet her pheromones coiled thicker into the charged air between them.

Their heights almost matched perfectly—both towering, imposing frames bristling with raw dominant alpha energy that crackled like static before a storm, each woman hiding secrets sharp as concealed blades under layers of practiced control.

"It’s Ms. Hellen to you, Reyes," Hellen snapped, smirk sharpening to a blade as she leaned one forearm casual against the doorframe, red jacket sleeve rolled taut over corded muscle. "Don’t forget that you’re just a hired bodyguard—on Emily’s payroll, sniffing around her territory."

"Yes... Ms. Hellen," Reyes conceded smooth, though her gaze didn’t waver an inch, "you’re Emily’s best friend, right? The one she raves about?"

Hellen’s eyes narrowed to slits, alpha instincts flaring hot. "Don’t call her by name. Not in her house."

"She allowed me," Reyes shot back, calm as glacial ice, one polished oxblood brogue shifting faint on the porch step.

"I don’t allow it," Hellen growled, straightening to her full height, ponytail swaying taut like a whip uncoiled.

Reyes smirked then—slow, wolfish, pulling her lips just enough to flash even teeth. "It’s her choice, isn’t it?" she murmured, voice velvet over steel.

Both of them glared at each other, locked in silent standoff, air crackling thick with rival scents—Hellen’s honey-citrus clashing aggressive against Reyes’ cedar-steel edge.

"You were in the military, Reyes?" Hellen pressed, casual cruelty dripping from the question as she crossed her arms, breakfast forgotten upstairs.

"Yes, Ms. Hellen," Reyes answered clipped, scar on her jaw catching the light like a silver challenge.

"Why’d you leave?" Hellen’s smirk returned, probing like a knife twist. "Must be due to some reason. A big one, maybe."

"It was my choice," Reyes said simply, gray eyes steady, unreadable—though her fingers flexed faint at her sides.

"Yeah?" Hellen leaned in closer, voice dropping conspiratorial. "I’ve heard some rumours about you. Care to set the record straight... or should I ask Emily?"

"I have heard some rumours about you too, Ms. Hellen."

"You have heard rumour about me, Reyes?"

"Yes, I’ve heard rumours about you too, Ms. Hellen. Some big ones," Reyes countered smooth, gray eyes glinting dangerous under her baseball cap as she leaned one shoulder casual against the doorframe, mirroring Hellen’s posture with lazy precision. "Should we talk to Emily about you, Ms. Hellen?"

Hellen snarled low, lips curling back from her teeth in a feral flash, pheromones spiking sharp and aggressive like citrus rind under a boot. "You’re very imbecilic, Reyes—thinking you can play these games on my porch."

Reyes didn’t flinch, her own pheromones coiling thicker, steady as gunmetal. "I know," she drawled, smirk deepening wolfish, "but you’re too cocky as well. Strutting like you own her already."

"You don’t need to care about me—or Emily," Hellen shot back, voice gravel-rough, fists clenching faint at her sides as alpha instincts roared possessive.

Reyes tilted her head, scar silvering under the porch light. "Emily is not your wife."

"Not yet," Hellen growled, the word hanging heavy, loaded with feral promise—blonde ponytail twitching taut like a lion’s tail lashing.

"Yet?" Reyes echoed, one brow arching slow as her gray gaze drilled deeper, probing. "Do you like her?"

Hellen’s smirk twisted sharp and feral, eyes narrowing to predatory slits that gleamed, her honey-citrus scent surging thick and cloying like overripe fruit spoiling for a fight.

"Do you?" she pressed, voice a low, taunting purr that vibrated with barely leashed alpha dominance, one hand flexing casual at her side as if itching to claim territory right there on the threshold.

Reyes didn’t blink, her gray eyes flint-hard and unyielding beneath the baseball cap’s brim.

"I asked you first," she fired back smooth, lips quirking just enough to bare a hint of teeth, her tailored navy blazer shifting over broad shoulders as she held her ground.

"I asked you too," Hellen snapped, smirk faltering into a snarl, blonde ponytail lashing taut behind her like a whipcrack as she straightened to her full height sleeves straining over corded arms—alpha posturing pure and primal.

"Shouldn’t you answer?" Reyes countered, voice velvet over razor wire, one corded forearm crossing casual under her chest, scar on her jaw catching the fading sun like a battle trophy glinting.

"You should answer first," Hellen growled, leaning in closer, the air between them crackling electric with rival pheromones—citrus clashing cedar, thick enough to choke on.

Reyes’ smirk deepened slow, wolfish, gray gaze locking like a sniper’s scope. "I like her," she admitted flat, no shame, no backpedal—just raw ownership in the words, her powerful frame radiating quiet threat.

Hellen’s laugh barked short and bitter, eyes flashing triumph then fury.

"I like her too," she hurled back, the confession laced with possessive venom, her chest rumbling a warning growl as honey-citrus flared hotter, sourer, drowning out the morning bacon-scent drifting from the kitchen.

"Good," Reyes murmured, tone deceptively mild, but her fingers twitched faint at her sides—coiled springs ready to unleash.

"Very good," Hellen echoed mocking, lips curling wider, though her alpha instincts screamed mine in every tensed muscle, ponytail swaying aggressive with the subtle shift of her weight.

Reyes tilted her head, scar silvering sharp. "Our discussion’s weird... and so are you," she drawled, voice dropping conspiratorial, gray eyes boring holes through Hellen’s bravado.

"You’re weirder," Hellen retorted instant, snarling proper now, full lips peeling back from teeth as her hands balled into fists—hired help daring to challenge her claim on Emily, upstairs oblivious in her bath.

Reyes’ cool cracked then, smirk vanishing into a hard line. "Emily will be mine," she stated low and lethal, the words a gauntlet thrown—navy blazer taut over her linebacker shoulders, every inch the ex-military predator staking ground.

Hellen’s vision tunnelled red, alpha rage boiling over. "I like Emily, and she will be mine," she roared back, voice thunder-rough, blonde ponytail whipping wild as she stepped forward aggressive. "My wife, birthing my kids—swollen with my seed, not your gutter-trash fantasies!"

Both snarled at once—deep, guttural rumbles shaking the porch boards like seismic warnings, lips peeled back from fangs, eyes blazing feral fury. Hands shot forward in perfect sync, fingers clawing air inches from throats—alpha dominance exploding raw, muscles bunching for the brawl, scents warring toxic, ready to each other.

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