Chapter 3 - The Alpha's Touch

Eli

I’ve spent too many years being someone’s property. So I fight every instinct and hold his gaze. Refusing to submit.

But Ronan Vale sits there like a king carved from shadow and firelight, and my defiance feels paper‑thin under the weight of his stare.

My pulse hammers against the fresh mark on my neck, heat licking out from it in little waves.

“I told you.” My voice is hoarse, “I was just passing through.”

“Passing through,” he repeats, tasting the words like they’re wine he suspects is slightly sour.

“Across my eastern border. Past three warning signs. Into my hunting grounds.”

His smile is lazy and sharp. “You’re either a fool… or a liar.”

“I didn’t know-”

“Liar it is then.”

He leans forward and the chair creaks under him.

“There’s nowhere in these mountains you can run without knowing whose land you’re on. So why don’t you tell me the truth before I decide to drag it out of you?”

The burn in my neck flares again, spreading through my chest and lower.

My wolf stirs uneasily, whining. I can’t tell if it’s in fear, or desire.

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

His gaze deepens, molten gold drowned in shadow, and a raw, feral energy pours off him—dense and suffocating. I feel it hit low, unwanted and fierce. My legs tense, breath stumbling out of rhythm.

I despise that I can feel him inside my skin already, like his mark rewired something fundamental.

Of course he notices. That smile deepens. There’s nothing warm about it. It’s slow and cruel.

He rises from his chair, the movement fluid, predatory, and circles behind me.

“Careful,” he murmurs near my ear.

His voice is low, intimate, a growl that slides down my spine. “The bond doesn’t lie.”

I flinch when his hands settle on my shoulders.

They’re warm, heavy, pinning me to the chair without effort.

He leans even closer, breath ghosting over the curve of my neck. “You feel it already, don’t you?”

“No.” The word slips out too fast, too shaky.

“Definitely a liar,” he says again, softly this time.

His nose grazes the bite mark, and I feel the world tilt, my pulse roaring in my ears.

His teeth just barely scrapes my skin, a ghost of what he did in the forest, and my hips twitch involuntarily against the chair.

“You want to run,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear, “But your wolf knows better. Your wolf knows who keeps you alive now.”

“Stop it.” My voice breaks. “Get off me.”

Instead, his hand slides down from my shoulder, slow and deliberate, over my chest, flattening against my sternum.

The warmth of his palm bleeds through my torn shirt.

He’s not even groping, not really, but it feels like he’s touching everything.

My lungs lock. My heartbeat kicks against his hand like it wants out.

“You’ll learn,” he murmurs, that dark amusement curling through his voice.

His hand drifts lower. Over my ribs, down toward my stomach. And every seditious nerve in my body lights up.

I go still, breath suspended, the ache gathering low, my legs tightening. Then, suddenly, he’s gone.

The chair scrapes as he steps back, leaving a cold ache in the space where he’d been.

Ronan prowls back around to face me, arms folded, head tilted like he’s inspecting a particularly interesting piece of meat.

His grin is sharp, unapologetic. “Not tonight. You’re too jumpy. But soon.”

I don’t know whether I’m feeling relieved or disappointed. The thought makes me sick.

He turns toward the door.

“Jace!” His voice booms out into the night, and moments later the scarred Beta from before steps inside.

“Take him to the quarters. Lock the door. He doesn’t leave unless I say so.”

Jace’s gaze flicks between us, curious, but he just jerks his chin. “On it, Alpha.”

Ronan doesn’t look at me again as he walks toward the back of the lodge, but I feel his attention like claws raking over my skin.

The mark throbs in time with my heartbeat, aching and hungry.

Jace hauls me to my feet and shoves me toward the door. I can’t stop myself from glancing back.

Ronan’s silhouette is framed by firelight, massive and still. He’s watching me go.

My ribs feel too tight, a low burn rising in me despite the fury biting at my veins.

I hate him.

But I think I might already belong to him.