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The Alpha’s Claim
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2025-08-21 18:41:09The room resonated with the sound of leather being torn.
As Draven, with his golden eyes flashing with ferocious passion, severed the final restraint, Elaria's breath caught. He moved with terrifying speed for someone who had nearly bled out hours ago. Now his wolf was awake, living, and totally on her.
His huge body dominated the narrow area between them as he pushed off the bed, causing her heart to hammer uncomfortably.
With a harsh command, she raised the silver blade and said, "Stay where you are.” “You’re injured, Kaelith. If you move any further, you’ll—”
His voice was deep, harsh, and a little scary. He muttered, "I don't care.”
She trembled at the sound, however she was reluctant for him to witness her error.
Elaria knew that the sword wouldn't work against him in this situation, but she nevertheless stepped back and tightened her grip.
His muscles all tightened up, but he kept looking at her. The smell of pine smoke and damp dirt filled the room, making it hard to breathe.
She said "Lie down" again, but this time more slowly, trying to seem in charge.
But his wolf wasn't listening.
He moved toward her slowly and quietly, his molten-gold eyes shining like a tiger's as it hunted.
She did everything she could, but her wolf crept under her skin, became angry, betrayed her, and talked back.
"Don't do this!" she yelled and took another step back. There was a dull thump when her spine struck the chilly stone wall.
And that was when he moved.
Draven bridged the gap between them in an instant, his body squeezing into hers until she was fully pressed against the wall.
"Draven—" He grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head with ease, catching her voice as his claws touched the stone beside her face.
As he stood above her, his bare chest exuded heat. His eyes moved over her face, and his breath disappeared across her cheek.
He muttered, "Mine," a harsh, ancient word that made her heart race because he said it with such determination.
Elaria had to act cold even though her heart was pounding against her ribs as she gulped hard. She growled and pulled away from him, saying, "You can't claim me.”
Her resistance made his golden eyes flare even brighter.
He leaned closer and said, "You smell like mine." Despite everything, his voice was a low rumble that made her stomach turn. “Your wolf knows it.”
Her breath hitched before she caught herself. “My wolf doesn’t matter,” she snapped. "And you're crazy if you think I'd ever—”
"Don't lie," he yelled, and with his free hand, he held her still by the side of her neck without suffocating her. The contact was strong, possessive, and careful, as if he was still attempting to keep her safe even if he was a savage.
Her voice remained firm as her chest swelled and sank quickly, her wolf roaring against her control.
“You’re bleeding out, Kaelith. If you continue, you will destroy yourself.
"Not leaving," he stated plainly, his voice nearly gentle in spite of the untamed intensity of his eyes. “Not letting you leave.”
She lifted her chin boldly and spat, "This isn't about leaving.” “This is about survival. Yours, if you care about that at all.”
Something shone in his eyes then, but his wolf backed away harder, his scent intensifying, his claws scuffing the wall as he approached, his chest now brushing hers.
"Mine," he said again, this time in a quieter, more respectful tone.
And damn him, but the way he said it… it didn’t sound like a threat.
It sounded like a promise.
His lips remained near her cheek, his face lowered, and his amber eyes met hers. Although she didn't want it to, Elaria's heart skipped a beat and her breath halted.
Then his body jerked all of a sudden.
His weight sagged forward, and for a moment Elaria feared he was lunging. Instead of his claws tightening around her, they scraped the wall as his hold on her wrist relaxed a bit.
She carefully asked, looking at his face, "Draven?”
His respiration was characterized by sharp, erratic gasps, and initially, he did not react. Upon detecting the faint aroma of fresh blood, she realized that his injuries had reopened.
She shoved his chest and murmured, "You foolish, reckless imbecile," yet his massive physique barely shifted.
His golden eyes dimmed somewhat as he lurched forward and briefly pressed his forehead against hers.
With a weakened but unyielding voice, he rasped, "Don't… care.”
“You will care if you die,” she snapped, shoving harder, but his body pressed even closer instead, his weight forcing her against the cold wall.
“Not dying,” he murmured, his head dipping to her shoulder now, his breath hot against her skin. "You won't allow me to.”
At that, her heart constricted cruelly, but she pushed herself to remain composed. “Don’t get comfortable. I could just leave you bleeding out here and—
“Liar.”
His breath sent an uncontrollable chill down her spine as he muttered the phrase on her neck.
And gods help her, but he was right. She had to keep him alive.
As his weight pulled them both down, she said, "Damn you," her voice faltering for a moment.
Draven's huge body half-spread across her lap as he fell fully on her, dragging her along with him as they plummeted to the ground. Warm, uneven breath across her throat, his head lowered to her shoulder.
"Remain awake, Draven!" Despite herself, panic began to creep in as she gave the order.
His golden eyes fluttered half-open, hazy now, softer than before. And then he said it—her name, quiet, almost gentle, like it was something precious.
“Elaria…”
The sound of it made her heart twist terribly.
She placed her palm on his chest and declared, "Do not succumb on my account.”
His eyelids closed again, his breathing slowed, and his lips curled up a little, as if he were smiling or happy.
Elaria swore to herself and trembled as she concentrated and called forth her healing force. His ripped flesh felt warm from her palms, her strength slowly and painfully stitching muscle and tissue together.
She looked down at him and murmured, "You're impossible." Her magic sparkled in his golden eyes, which opened and closed again for a moment.
"Mine," he whispered again, this time more softly, before falling into her and passing out.
Elaria stopped moving and glanced down at him with her heart racing.
Additionally, she detested herself for the one treacherous thought that crossed her head as she was holding him on her lap.
Because for the first time since she met him, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to let him go.
Latest chapter
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 155
The silence after the shattering was absolute—so complete that it felt like a hand closing over Elaria’s mouth, over her heartbeat, over the pulse of the world.She hung suspended in the dark spiral Kael and Draven tore open, the two of them collapsing inward as the tether between them snapped like wet sinew. Their light scattered. The Gate-body imploded. The web of memory split into a thousand burning strands, each whipping through the void like a dying nerve.But none of that was what struck her.What struck her was the voice—the one that had called her by a name she did not remember, a name she felt under her skin like an old scar.“Finally,” it had said. Soft. The softness of something ancient enough to forget cruelty because it remembers eternity.“Finally, you hear me.”And now she stood—no, floated—inside the aftershock of that word.The void around her was no longer a void. It pulsed.With her.With who she had been.Her arms trembled as she lifted them, the skin flickering li
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 154
She couldn’t breathe.Not because breath was impossible here — breath was irrelevant — but because the truth pressing against her ribs had stolen every illusion of air her mind still clung to.You were never born, the voice had said.You were remembered.The words lived in her bones now, vibrating like a tuning fork struck by a divine hand. Elaria drifted in a space that was not space at all — a vast chamber of light where nothing cast a shadow because everything was the shadow. The walls, if there were walls, moved with the slow, tidal pulse of memory reformatting itself.She was suspended, body half-formed, half-light, threaded together by strands of blue and silver that pulsed like veins. The filaments seemed to be stitching her into a shape she no longer recognized. Her skin shimmered with shifting fragments of the selves she had worn across lifetimes — girl, daughter, healer, anchor, weapon. Each one flickered across her body like pages of a book being flipped too fast to read.A
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 153
There was no falling.There was no rising.There was only being undone.Elaria tried to breathe, but breath had never belonged to this place. The light that swallowed her in chapter 148 had not been illumination; it was remembrance, a force older than the first dawn, tearing open a seam inside her and pouring into it like molten memory.The voice that claimed her — you were mine before you were born — followed her through the rupture, curling around her like smoke with weight, shadow with purpose.It whispered again now.“Let me show you.”The world around her peeled apart.Not in a violent tear, but like petals unfolding backward — colors stripped from colors, shapes dissolving into their ancestors, time buckling into a soft, circular ache.She reached for something solid.There was nothing.She reached for her own name.There was less than nothing.The voice pressed close, behind her ear, inside her skull, beneath her ribs:“You were a tear in the Veil before you were a daughter of
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 152
Darkness had texture.Not the absence of light, not the blindness of shadow—this was something tactile, alive, aware. It slid over Elaria’s skin like a second pulse, a second breath, tasting her the way fire tastes oxygen.And then—That voice.That impossible, steady voice:“Mine.”The word hit her like a hand closing around the back of her neck.Elaria gasped.Or the world gasped with her—she couldn’t tell. The dark rippled outward in rings, each one sending a tremor through the void until every inch of it was vibrating with recognition.No shape.No face.But the voice pressed closer.“Elaria.”It spoke her name like the world had waited centuries just to say it properly.She tried to move—her limbs answered, but wrong, like they were remembering themselves in reverse. The darkness split around her, threads of it pulling away in jagged lines, revealing the faintest suggestion of form beneath her feet.A floor.A path.A web of fractured light stitched across an ocean of void.Her h
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 151
The plunge ended not with impact, but with unmaking.Light peeled Elaria apart strand by trembling strand, as though she were a tapestry the world finally had permission to unravel. Her breath vanished first, pulled into a glittering thread. Then her heartbeat. Then her name.Only her awareness remained—thin as a whisper in a storm that had forgotten what silence meant.Then the light spat her out.Not onto ground. Not into air.But into something living.Something that breathed through light. Something whose pulse was a rhythm older than the first Gate. Something that should not have been able to hold a mortal body—Except she wasn’t quite mortal anymore.Elaria gasped.The world around her reacted instantly.A wave of pale gold rippled beneath her, a surface that shimmered like water but burned like memory. Figures—half-formed, half-remembered—moved within the depths: faces she knew, faces she had lost, faces she had created in the marrow of her grief.Kael.Draven.Kael again, but
Bound to the Enemy’s Bed Chapter 150
Light swallowed her.Not the soft, forgiving glow of healing magic—no, this was a vertical detonation, a column pulled upward like the spine of a god being torn open. It roared through her bones, through her breath, through the most fragile edges of her name. Elaria had no time to cry out. Her voice was stripped from her in the first heartbeat. Her shadow in the second.And in the third—Kael and Draven’s hands vanished.The last thing she saw of them was not their faces, not their eyes, not even the shapes they wore after the world shattered—just the impression of reach, of desperation, of two wills trying to reclaim her from the impossible.Then the light took everything.She rose without meaning to rise.She ascended without choosing to ascend.She became weightless, formless, unheld.**The column of light was not light at all.It was memory, liquefied. It was the Vale, rewritten. It was a mouth swallowing her whole.At first, she could hear nothing. Then, slowly—too slowly—the sil
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