CHAPTER 3

Shackles of the Alpha

The morning after felt different.

I woke in the small, bare room they’d given me inside the Alpha’s wing. Not my cramped omega quarters anymore, but not freedom either. The walls were stone, cold and unyielding. The bed was wider, softer than I’d ever known, yet I lay stiff on its surface.

In the light coming from the high window, the silver cuff on my wrist gave off a slight glint.. My skin was raw beneath it, the burn a reminder of Damien’s claim. I flexed my hand, hissing as pain shot up my arm.

My wolf whimpered inside me, wounded. Submission was written into our blood, but I bit down hard, refusing to give in.

This is not the end. This is a chain. Chains can be broken.

A knock came at the door. Before I could answer, it opened. A servant slipped in, carrying a tray of food—bread, meat, and steaming tea. He placed it on the table quickly, avoiding my gaze, then retreated.

I stared at the food. Omegas were fed last, given scraps. This was sufficient for two people and was both fresh and warm. My stomach growled, but suspicion knotted in me.

I ate slowly, warily, as though poison might linger in every bite. The food settled in my stomach, but the unease didn’t fade.

Moments later, the door creaked open again. This time, it was Damien.

He entered with the confidence of a man who owned the world. Dressed in black, his presence filled the room before his voice did. His glass-sharp eyes were fixed on me.

“You look better in my wing,” he said casually, as though commenting on the weather. “Cleaner. Less… forgettable.”

I clenched my jaw. I would not thank him.

His gaze flicked to my wrist where the silver glinted. His smirk returned. “Good. You’re learning.”

I forced myself to meet his stare. “All I’m learning is how heavy your chains are.”

The smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning sharper.

“You’ll wear them until you understand your place,” he said softly. “And when you break, Elena, you’ll thank me for it.”

My stomach churned, but I lifted my chin. “Then you’ll wait a long time.”

His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might strike me. Instead, he turned, striding toward the door.

“Dress yourself. Tonight, you stand beside me at the feast. Let the pack see who their Alpha has chosen.”

The door slammed shut, leaving me in silence.

My chest tightened, but my resolve only deepened.

If he wants me to break in front of the pack, I will show them instead that I can endure.

 The Feast of Wolves

The feast hall glowed with firelight that evening, long tables laden with roasted boar, venison, and overflowing goblets of wine. The air was thick with smoke and chatter, warriors boasting of hunts and victories.

I stood at Damien’s side, my wrist still bound in silver, though hidden beneath a long sleeve. The dress they had given me was simple but finer than I had ever worn, its dark fabric brushing my ankles. I felt like an imposter draped in borrowed skin.

Eyes followed me wherever I moved. Whispers crawled across the hall like snakes.

“An omega?”

“Why her?”

“She’ll never last.”

Their judgment pressed heavy, but I refused to bow beneath it. I lifted my chin, ignoring the burn of the cuff, ignoring the ache in my chest.

Damien raised his goblet, his voice carrying across the hall. “Tonight, we feast not only for victory—but for my choice.” His hand clamped down on my shoulder, firm, possessive. “This omega is mine.”

The hall erupted in shock. Some cheered out of loyalty, others muttered in disgust, their faces twisting.

Heat crawled up my neck, but I forced myself still, refusing to flinch beneath the weight of hundreds of eyes.

A warrior sneered from the crowd. “An omega by your side, Alpha? She’s weak. She’ll shame the pack.”

Damien’s eyes sharpened dangerously. “Would you challenge my choice?”

The warrior paled, stammering, “N-no, Alpha.”

Damien smirked, satisfied. He lifted his goblet high. “Then let it be known—Elena Dawson is bound to me. No one touches what is mine.”

The declaration rang like iron, a chain tightening around my throat.

But beneath the weight of it, something sparked in me. If they thought I was weak, if they thought I would break—I would prove them wrong.

I let my eyes sweep the hall, meeting the gazes of those who dared to look. For a heartbeat, my fear quieted. I wasn’t nothing. Not anymore.

Then, across the hall, my eyes caught a stranger’s. A man at the edge of the crowd, his presence commanding even though he hadn’t spoken. His eyes are unreadable and sharp, and he has dark hair and a scar along his jaw..

He didn’t look away.

Something in the intensity of his gaze made my pulse skip.

And in that moment, I knew—my story wasn’t just Damien’s to write.

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