Chapter 8

Maxton woke up in a flawlessly whitewashed cottage.

The light was blinding at first, pure, unbroken white. Curtains, satins, linens, even the floor shimmered in ivory hues, so clean and surreal that it felt like he had woken inside a dream. Beyond the open window, he could hear the low sigh of the sea, waves folding endlessly upon themselves, filling the air with salt and calm. Everything smelled of summer, warmth, freedom, innocence. Though nothing about this moment was innocent.

On a wooden rack across from him hung a crisp white shirt and a pair of shorts. That was when he noticed the nakedness of his own body, vulnerable and exposed in this strange place. He pulled on the clothes quickly, his hands trembling slightly, though from cold or dread he wasn’t sure.

“Hello?” His voice broke the silence, uncertain, hopeful.

The only reply was the whisper of waves. No one answered.

Stepping outside, he found a table set with breakfast, as though someone had known he would come. Platters of roasted and grilled meat steamed in the open air, fruit glistened with dew, and a decanter of red wine caught the sunlight, glowing like blood in crystal.

“What in the world…” Maxton muttered, his stomach growling viciously. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment.

“For fuck’s sake,” he whispered and sat down. The first bite was ecstasy, smoke, salt, the iron taste of meat. He tore into it greedily, devouring as though the food might vanish if he didn’t eat fast enough.

And he never noticed he was being watched.

The thundering paws shook the cottage floor before Maxton could even breathe.

A white wolf, monstrous and magnificent, burst into existence and slammed him flat against the ground. Its weight crushed his chest, its hot breath flooded his face, and its claws pinned his wrists hard enough to pierce skin. Blood welled in dark crescents beneath his arms.

He tried to push up, pointless. The wolf’s strength was absolute.

“You don’t belong here.” The voice ripped into his head, deep and vibrating like thunder. “This is my realm. My flesh. My soul. Why are you trespassing?”

“I—” Maxton’s voice broke into a strangled gasp as claws pressed deeper. “I came… because I need you.”

The wolf snarled, jaws flashing. “Need me? You’ve denied me all your life. Shut me out. Locked me away like a filthy animal. And now you dare to crawl in here and beg?”

Its fangs snapped inches from his throat, close enough to make his pulse hammer.

“I didn’t know—fuck—I didn’t know you were real,” Maxton gasped, his body writhing beneath the beast. He felt the heat of its fur against his bare skin where his shirt had ridden up, the press of raw muscle and weight holding him down. The pain and pressure sent a dark, forbidden rush through him—a blend of terror and something sharper, darker.

The wolf slammed his arms back into the floor, and Maxton cried out, blood dripping from his palms.

“You never listened. You ignored my howls. You wanted to be human, weak, fragile. You disgust me.”

Maxton’s chest rose and fell fast, the animalistic fury above him setting every nerve on fire. He forced himself to stop fighting. He stilled his body, looked directly into those golden eyes burning down at him.

“Then kill me,” he whispered. “Or let me earn you.”

The wolf froze, growl vibrating like a warning. Then it leaned in, its muzzle brushing against his cheek, hot breath searing. Its teeth grazed the edge of his throat, not biting, just resting there, a reminder of power.

“If you want me,” it rumbled, “then take me. Fight me. Dominate me. Or I’ll tear you apart.”

Maxton’s blood rushed through his veins like fire. The words weren’t just a challenge, they were a taunt, dripping with primal intimacy.

The wolf leapt back, giving him space, and Maxton barely scrambled to his feet before it lunged again.

The impact was brutal. He was thrown into the cottage wall, wood splintering, pain exploding across his back. The wolf was on him instantly, biting into his shoulder. Hot blood ran in rivulets down his chest, the sting blinding. He screamed but forced himself not to yield.

“Six months,” he gasped, shoving against the weight. “Bind yourself for six months. Give me that chance!”

The wolf bit harder, shaking him like prey. “You dare to command me when you’ve never once accepted me?”

Maxton’s vision blurred. His body wanted to collapse, but something else rose inside him—something stubborn, desperate, burning with a rage that matched the beast. He shoved his bloody hand against the wolf’s muzzle, smearing red across its fur, forcing it to look at him.

“I’m not asking,” Maxton growled back. “I’m claiming what’s mine.”

For a moment, silence fell. The wolf’s growl dropped to a low rumble, not anger this time but something closer to recognition.

Then it snapped its jaws around his forearm and sank in deep. White-hot pain shot through Maxton, and he cried out, collapsing to his knees. His blood dripped freely now, staining the perfect white floor.

The wolf’s voice filled him again, almost intoxicating. “Submit or die. There’s no middle ground.”

Maxton’s head spun. His arm trembled, slick with blood and saliva. Every inch of his body screamed at him to give in. To let the beast consume him.

But instead, he bared his teeth, eyes blazing, and whispered through clenched teeth:

“No. You’re mine. And I’m yours. If I have to bleed for six months straight, I’ll fucking bleed. But I have to bind you!”

The wolf’s bite loosened, golden eyes wide, something wild flickering inside them.

For the first time, the beast hesitated.

Maxton’s chest heaved, his lips slick with spit and blood, but he didn’t look away. He leaned forward, forehead pressing against the wolf’s, their breaths mingling hot and ragged. The contact was electric, primal, terrifyingly intimate.

“You and me,” he whispered, voice raw. “Six months. Then we’ll finish this. Together.”

The wolf’s growl melted into a rumble that felt more like a laugh. “Name me, then. Claim me.”

Maxton, shaking, bloody, and trembling with adrenaline, breathed out the first word that came to him.

“Wolfie.”

The wolf blinked, then threw its head back and howled, the sound filling the realm like thunder spanning across the sea. And when it lowered its gaze to him again, something had shifted, hatred tempered. Fury bound. Power chained but not broken.

“Six months,” it said finally. “Then we’ll see if you’re worthy.”

And Maxton collapsed into the wolf’s side, bleeding, trembling, but victorious.

       And the moonlight swallowed him whole.

Meanwhile, Maxton’s body bled on the ritual bed. The sage bent close, her face grim. “Alpha, we should stop, his soul won’t survive this.”

Mason’s chest ached at the sight of his son’s wounds, the way his body trembled and bled. But his voice was steady. “No. He’s my son. He’ll survive.”

As if answering him, the wounds began to close, sealing in silver light. The sage’s lips curled into a rare smile. “Alpha… you have yourself a true heir.”

Mason’s throat tightened, and for the first time in years, a single tear fell down his cheek.

The binding was complete.

That night, far away, Dryann woke in a dingy motel, sweat dampening his sheets. A nameless man lay naked beside him, snoring softly.

“Fuck,” Dryann muttered, disgust twisting his chest. He stumbled to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, he looked at himself in the mirror, closed his eyes, trying to remember moments with Dan but it did nothing to wash away the hollowness inside.

“Hey, handsome,” the man murmured groggily, “why don’t you come back to bed?”

Dryann turned, his glare sharp enough to freeze. “Pack your things. Get out.”

The man stammered, pale. “I—I thought you wanted—”

“Get. Out.”

Moments later, the door slammed shut, leaving Dryann alone with the buzz of the city outside and the weight of grief inside. He leaned against the window, watching neon lights blur, but none of it reached him. His lover was gone, and nothing could fill that space. Not wine, not strangers, not even rage.

He dressed, silent, and left into the night.