He Claimed My Body, Not My Soul

Because I was born under the Moon’s blessing, my body ripened earlier than any she-wolf my age.

On the night of my eighteenth turning, my brother—fearing I’d be force-claimed by brutes—entrusted me to his blood-oath brother: Silas, Alpha of the Northern Peak.

The first time we met, his golden eyes locked on my bared neck and never left. His fangs sank into my scent gland that very night, claiming me beneath the full moon.

For four years since, I’ve been his scribe by dawn light, and his whore by moonrise. He trained my body to fit his every hunger, covering me in bite marks, yet never left the Mating Mark that would make me his true mate.

Four years later, his confidante from the Central Territories returned.

He tore from my heat-soaked sheets without a backward glance, racing to the moon-platform to greet her.

I followed, stomach hollow, scent glands throbbing with his phantom claim.

Only an hour before, his hand—scarred from my own teeth—had clamped over my mouth as he rutted me into the furs.

Now, before the assembled Pack, he stroked another woman’s silver hair.

“Amara, don’t show that jealous look. Have you forgotten—four years ago, you were the one who crawled into my bed while I was moon-mad.”

“This tantrum is unbecoming.”

He was right. I had chosen this life myself.

But when I finally chose to leave him, he was the first to break.

...

The comms stone burned cold against my palm.

My brother’s voice came through, relieved that I’d finally “let go of that shadow.” He didn’t know the shadow was Silas—his closest ally, my Alpha, the man who’d spent four years breaking me in and shutting me out.

I stood in the Council Hall, Withdrawal Declaration in hand. The Elder stopped me at the threshold.

“Scribe Amara. Seven days separation requires the Alpha’s claw.”

Of course. Even my escape needed his permission.

I walked to the abandoned eastern balcony—our old meeting place—and activated the rune. It rang. And rang.

A female voice answered, breathless, laughing.

“Silas? He’s… recovering. The full moon was hard on him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. My ears flattened instinctively, tail stilling—a submission reflex I thought I’d trained away.

“I see,” I said, voice flat as dead leaves. “Goodbye.”

I severed the connection.

Two minutes later, the stone blazed crimson—his color, his demand.

I answered.

“Little wolf,” his voice came, rough as gravel and silk. Smoke-and-rut. I could hear the smirk in it, could smell his scent through the magic—pine, blood, and sex. “You smell upset.”

Last night, that voice had growled my name into my neck while his teeth broke skin.

I gripped the declaration until the parchment cut my thumb. I had a vial hidden in my pocket—three black hairs I’d pulled from his pelt this morning, treasures I was too pathetic to discard.

“Alpha,” I said, steady. “I need your seal to leave the Pack.”

A pause. Then: “Return to the Central Tower tonight. Clear your scent from the inner chambers. Ilana is moving in.”

“The stone cottage on the western slope is available. I promised your brother I’d keep you safe.”

Safe. Like a broken toy stored in a shed.

He said it with such perfect, casual cruelty—the voice of a man who’d tasted every inch of me but spoke now like I was a stray he was housing. That was the wound: not his rage, but his kindness, doled out like scraps.

“No need,” I said. The wind picked up, carrying snow. I let it bite my face. “I’m an adult, Alpha. And I’m getting mated to another.”

Silence.

Then, a low laugh that raised the fur on my neck. “you mean now?”

“Clear your things by moonrise, Amara. Or I’ll burn them.”

The stone went dark.

I looked down at the vial in my pocket, then hurled it over the balcony railing into the snow.

Goodbye, Silas.