BOUND BY THE ALPHA

The moment the car struck me, I never expected my life to end so abruptly. The screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the sickening thud of my body hitting metal — it all happened too fast for me to even scream. Pain exploded in every nerve, and then... nothing.

Silence.

Darkness.

Cold.

But death didn’t welcome me. Instead, when I forced my eyes open, I found myself lying in the middle of a dense forest. Mist coiled low around the gnarled roots and towering trees. The air smelled damp, earthy... and strange.

“Hello,” a calm, feminine voice echoed in my ears, as clear as if she stood right beside me. “I am your assistant, Ava. Welcome to the world of werewolves.”

I sat up with a jolt, heart pounding. My hands trembled. “W-what?”

“If you complete the task assigned to you, you will have the chance to return to the human world.”

A task? Was this some weird afterlife?

“What’s the task?” I rasped, my throat raw.

“In three years, a werewolf named Thorne will spark a bloody massacre. Your mission is to find him and stop it.”

Before I could question further, a growl shattered the silence. Startled, I whipped my head around. Between the trees, eyes glinted — feral, golden. Wolves. Massive ones, their bodies rippling with muscle as they shifted... into men. Naked, brutal-looking men whose very presence made the air heavy with dominance and violence.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And I was horribly, painfully human.

Hours later, bloodied leaves crushed under my boots, I stumbled upon him — Thorne.

He lay crumpled against a tree, his body a broken mess. Blood soaked the dirt beneath him, and deep gashes marred his skin. Several werewolves had left him for dead. His frame was lean but strong, his face beautiful even in pain — high cheekbones, sharp jaw, thick dark lashes against his bruised skin.

He groaned faintly, stirring.

I didn’t think. I ran to him.

I tore my jacket off and pressed it against the worst wound on his side, trying to stop the bleeding. He flinched under my touch, a low snarl curling from his throat, but he was too weak to fight.

"Easy," I whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you."

When his eyes fluttered open, they weren’t gold like the others. They were a deep, molten amber — filled with raw pain and confusion.

He stared at me like I was an illusion.

Slowly, trembling, I helped him to his feet, slinging his arm over my shoulders even as he tried to pull away.

"You’ll die if you stay here," I muttered. "I won’t let that happen."

He said nothing, but the slight relaxing of his body against mine told me he had no choice but to trust me.

The abandoned cabin I found was barely standing, but it had a roof and a rickety bedframe. I dragged him inside and managed to clean his wounds with the meager supplies I scavenged.

He watched me silently, his eyes dark and unreadable.

As I worked, brushing blood and dirt from his skin, our faces close, the heat between us grew heavy. His scent — wild, masculine, dangerously intoxicating — filled the air, making my head spin.

When I wiped a cloth across his chest, his muscles tensed. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with shocking strength.

Our eyes locked.

A jolt shot through me, hot and electric.

For a moment, the world outside the cabin ceased to exist. It was just him and me, the ragged sound of our breathing, the pounding of my heart in my ears.

He leaned in slightly, his nose brushing the side of my throat, inhaling. His breath was hot against my skin. My own body betrayed me, arching closer to him, craving his touch.

"Why..." His voice was a low, broken growl. "Why are you helping me?"

The question scraped something raw inside me.

Because if I didn’t, he would turn into a monster. Because I was his only chance.

Because... something inside me already belonged to him.

But I couldn’t say that.

Instead, I whispered, "Because you don’t deserve to be alone."

For the first time, a crack appeared in his cold, guarded expression. Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes, quickly buried beneath suspicion.

Still gripping my wrist, he tugged me a little closer.

Close enough that I could feel the tremble of his body. Close enough that if I tilted my head just slightly, our lips would brush.

I froze, breath caught.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

God, he was beautiful. Fierce. Broken. Dangerous.

And I was already falling.

Without warning, he pushed me back, turning his face away, his body shuddering. A low, guttural sound escaped him — half snarl, half plea.

I stumbled to my feet, heart hammering, confused and aching.

“I’m not one of them," I said softly, stepping back, giving him space. "I’m not your enemy."

He didn’t look at me.

But he didn’t tell me to leave, either.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep.

Ava’s voice broke the silence, calm and clinical in my ear.

“You’ve found him. Protect him. Change his fate.”

I stared at Thorne’s sleeping form curled up under the thin blanket, the fire casting shadows across his sharp features.

How could I save someone who was already so lost?

Before I could spiral deeper into my doubts, Thorne suddenly thrashed violently in his sleep. A broken cry tore from him, full of anguish.

Without thinking, I rushed to his side.

"Thorne!" I shook his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open — wild, glowing. Before I could react, he lunged, pinning me against the floor with terrifying strength.

I gasped, staring up into his furious, terrified face.

"Don’t leave me," he snarled, voice cracking.

"I'm not leaving," I breathed, heart thundering.

His chest heaved. His hands, caging me, trembled.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered his forehead against mine. His breath was ragged, desperate.

The tension between us thickened to a breaking point.

If I moved even an inch...

But I stayed still, letting him feel my presence. Letting him anchor himself.

Finally, his body sagged, exhausted. He collapsed half on top of me, breathing hard, refusing to let go.

I lay there under him, heart aching and burning and confused, feeling every line of his body against mine, feeling how badly he needed someone — anyone — to believe in him.

Feeling how badly I already needed him too.