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The Beast in Chains
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2025-08-21 18:40:29The 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.
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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