The Beast in Chains

The leather straps creaked beneath the pressure of Draven Kaelith's force.

Elaria stepped back, instinctively reaching for the silver sword secured to her thigh while her pulse thundered in her ears. Given the significant volume of blood he has lost, he ought not to be conscious.

Nevertheless, it was evident that the wolf within him was indifferent to injuries or rationale.

His muscular cords constricted as he pulled against the constraints, his muscles bulging beneath torn fabric. In the dim firelight, his amber eyes gleamed, no longer obscured by anguish but sharp, wild, and insatiable.

With a more assertive tone than she experienced, she commanded, "Recline.”

He ignored her, gazing at her with such intensity that it caused her breath to falter. Primal and territorial, the sound of his wolf snarling deeply in his chest resonated across the environment.

“Mine,” he snarled again, this time with greater intensity, as if the utterance originated from the beast within him rather than the man.

Elaria had a constriction in her throat. “You are not in a sound state of mind,” she stated, striving to maintain a steady tone as she approached the bed, weapon still in hand. “You must recuperate before exacerbating your injuries.”

However, he was indifferent to injuries.

As she neared, he applied increased pressure against the shackles, his body arching slightly away from the bed. The durable leather pierced his skin, veins bulging in his forearms as his claws half morphed, scratching against the restraints.

Notwithstanding her utmost endeavors, she was unable to divert her attention from him.

Power permeated his entire being, and despite his injuries, heat emanated from his body, rendering him both fearsome and exquisite, even in his half-wild state and while still bleeding. Now awake and more robust, his scent permeated the room: smoke, black pine, and an additional warmth that, despite her attempts to stifle it, coiled deep within her abdomen.

“Cease,” she whispered, primarily to herself rather than to him.

Every emotion she had for him as a man was betrayed by the way her wolf reacted to him, restless and agitated beneath her skin.

This was her father’s killer. Her people’s enemy. The Alpha who had made her pack bleed.

And yet her traitorous body reacted as if he were… exactly what he claimed.

“Mate,” he snarled once again, evaluating the term as if it were a vow, his eyes traversing her form in a manner that ignited warmth in her cheeks.

In an attempt to restore control, Elaria swallowed forcefully. “I don’t care what your wolf thinks,” she snapped. “You’re not my mate.”

There was a flare of wrath, irritation, and something darker, possessive, in his eyes at that. He yanked violently against the leather cuffs, and his wolf responded immediately, growling deeper.

The bedframe creaked.

Elaria stepped back abruptly and gripped the blade more tightly. “Draven, stop!”

At the sound of his name, his head tilted slightly, almost curious. Then, to her shock, he stopped struggling—not completely, but enough to look at her with something other than raw aggression.

“You know me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, his wolf still present but not fully in control.

Elaria froze. He doesn’t remember, does he?

Rhyven had been right. Draven Kaelith—the ruthless Alpha who burned villages and slaughtered her father—was staring at her like a stranger. His eyes searched her face, confusion and… something softer slipping through the feral intensity.

“I…” His voice caught as if the words were hard to find. “I should know you.”

She experienced an unwanted discomfort in her chest due to his phrasing, as if it troubled him that he had not.

"It is inconsequential," she exclaimed, diverting her gaze. "Your purpose is to recover. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Nonetheless, his wolf seemed to disagree.

As he inhaled her scent, his nose expanded, and his golden eyes intensified in brightness as his sight became clearer once more.

With a swift stroke, he severed one of the leather straps by forcefully twisting his wrists.

Elaria's heart raced into her throat.

"Remain motionless!" She raised the silver blade and barked, but he ignored her.

Another strap tore loose.

Panic gripped her chest as he sat up somewhat, still shackled at the ankles but significantly less constrained now. His chest rose and fell laboriously, his wounds reopening marginally, yet he appeared indifferent. His his attention was directed towards her.

Even though her heart was pounding, she forced a steely tone into her warning, "Don't do this.” “You’re injured. If you move too much, you’ll”

"Remain with me." He interjected in a brusque, somewhat imperative tone.

The words brought her to a halt.

She momentarily considered that he intended it as a supplication rather than an order or a menace.

However, his wolf rose once again, erasing the brittle humanity in his voice. His growl deepened as his eyes raced over her, causing tension throughout her body.

A loud crack splintered the leather strap over his chest.

With her blade lifted and her breath coming more quickly, Elaria stepped back. If he broke free completely, there was no one here to stop him.

“Draven,” she warned, her voice trembling despite herself, “I swear if you”

The last strap snapped.

He lunged in a single, powerful motion.

With his golden eyes burning and his wolf completely awake, he lunged forward, still wounded but moving with horrifying speed, causing the bedframe to moan under his weight.

He was quicker than Elaria, who attempted to back off.

In an instant, he was out of bed and he was enclosing her against the wall, his body radiating heat. The blade she wielded pressed innocuously against his chest while one of his hands grasped her wrist and the other positioned beside her head, claws partially transformed.

As her back collided with the frigid stone, she inhaled sharply.

“Draven,” she said, striving to keep her voice steady despite her beating heart. "You're in pain. You need to—”

Involuntarily, she experienced a shiver as he inclined his head, his breath warm against her ear, and his voice resonated like a deep growl.

“Mine,” he murmured, his lupine voice imbued with instinctual certainty.

As Elaria struggled to think clearly, her pulse was racing and every nerve in her body was stiff.

Because her wolf's devious reaction echoed in her mind—soft, needy, and undeniable—despite her intense loathing and determination to push him away:

Mate.