CHAPTER 2 - The Dark Alpha’s Claim

Selara’s POV

“You belong to me.”

The words had barely left Ezekiel’s lips before the marketplace exploded into chaos.

The crowd screamed as his aura lashed out, thick and suffocating, like the air itself was bowing to him. Guards rushed forward, but they were nothing more than lambs flinging themselves into the jaws of a wolf.

One lunged at him with a spear.

Ezekiel didn’t even flinch. He caught the shaft mid-swing, snapped it like kindling, and drove the jagged wood straight into the guard’s throat. Blood sprayed across my iron bars, hot and metallic, painting me in crimson as the man gurgled and collapsed.

The scent of it mixed with the already rank stench of sweat, fur, and desperation in the slave market. My stomach turned, but I couldn’t look away.

Ezekiel’s gray eyes flicked back to me, and it felt like being struck by lightning. Cold and hot at once.

The crowd backed away as he prowled forward, his shoulders loose, predatory, each step deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t need to. Every soul in that room already knew he was death incarnate.

The door to my cage screeched open, hinges bending under his strength. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d grab me like property, sling me over his shoulder like so many had joked they would when they bid on me.

But he didn’t.

He bent—slowly, carefully—and slid his arms beneath me. His heat engulfed me, his chest like stone as my cheek brushed against it. He cradled me as though I were fragile glass, not a cursed outcast everyone else called filth.

Something in my chest ached.

Fear, I told myself. Nothing else.

But the thunder in my pulse betrayed me.

Behind him, Ravena’s voice cut through the stunned silence like venom. “You can’t be serious, Ezekiel! That… creature? She’s cursed. She’ll rot your pack from the inside—”

His head snapped toward her.

“Another word,” he said, voice low, lethal, “and I’ll slit your throat where you stand.”

Ravena’s painted lips went pale. She clutched her jeweled cloak, but wisely shut her mouth.

Ezekiel turned back to me, his grip firm as he carried me out of that hell. My body felt boneless against his, though every nerve screamed at me to fight, to claw free. Yet his scent—smoke and rain on scorched earth—wrapped around me like a chain.

I was already caged again. This time by something far worse than iron.

**

THE OUTSIDE air hit me like a slap. I squinted against the late sun, the shouts of the market fading as Ezekiel strode across the dirt road. The villagers scattered, some bowing low, others fleeing outright. The fear in their faces was unmistakable.

“Monster,” someone whispered as he passed.

No one dared say it louder.

A sleek black carriage waited, guarded by men cloaked in crimson sigils of the Bloodfang pack. Their eyes widened when they saw me in his arms, but Ezekiel’s glare silenced whatever questions burned on their tongues.

He climbed in with me still pressed against him. The door slammed, and the muffled rumble of hooves carried us away from the market.

Only then did he set me down, though not far. I ended up sprawled across the velvet seat opposite him, every limb trembling.

The carriage was dim, shadows licking over his face as he sat back, legs spread, hands resting casually on his thighs. Casual, but commanding. Like a king on a throne.

“Eat.”

My eyes darted to the silver tray on the low table between us. Roasted meat, bread, and fruit. My stomach twisted in protest, caught between hunger and nausea.

“I’m not hungry,” I whispered.

His gaze sharpened, and my body flinched before I could stop it.

“You will eat,” he said. Not a request. A decree.

My lips parted to snap something reckless—maybe to tell him I wasn’t his pet, his prisoner—but then he leaned forward. His hand reached across the space, slow as sin, and caught my chin.

The rough part of his thumb brushed over my mouth, smearing away the streak of blood that wasn’t mine. My breath hitched. His touch was firm but careful, like I might break beneath his fingertips.

“You will eat,” he repeated, softer this time, but charged. His thumb lingered, dragging against my lower lip.

Heat spiked through me. My body betrayed me—every cursed inch of me thrummed. My thighs pressed together, desperate for friction I would never allow him to see.

“Let me go,” I breathed, though it sounded weak even to me.

“You’d last a day out there,” he said, gray eyes searing into mine. “And besides…” His thumb pressed harder against my lip, tugging it down, baring the faint scrape of my teeth. His gaze dipped there, and my lungs forgot how to work.

“You’re mine.”

The words sank deep, burning hot and cold.

I jerked my face away, nails biting into my palms. I hated the sting in my eyes, the flush on my skin, the way my core throbbed at his claim.

“Stop saying that,” I snapped. “I’m not yours. I’ll never be.”

For a heartbeat, silence filled the carriage.

Then he laughed. Dark, low, a sound that slid down my spine like smoke. “You’ll learn, little wolf. You’ll fight, you’ll curse me, maybe even try to run. But the bond doesn’t lie.”

I turned my face toward the curtained window, though my reflection in the glass betrayed me: wide eyes, parted lips, a traitor’s flush across my cheeks.

I despised myself more than I despised him in that moment.

**

THE RIDE stretched into an eternity. I tried to focus on anything but him—the sway of the carriage, the clop of hooves, the taste of iron still on my tongue. But every breath carried his scent. Every second stretched with the memory of his thumb on my lips.

I could still feel it.

By the time we slowed, dusk had bled into night. Through the window, I caught glimpses of looming gates carved with snarling wolves. Torches burned along the walls, casting the Bloodfang stronghold in a menacing glow.

The carriage rocked to a halt. Ezekiel shifted, voice dropping to a growl as the door creaked open and his Beta stepped up.

“No one touches what’s mine,” he said, each word laced with lethal promise. “Not even she.”

I froze.

His?

Not even me?

The words coiled around me like a curse, more binding than iron, more dangerous than death.

And the worst part wasn’t the fear that knotted in my chest.

It was the answering spark low in my belly—hot, hungry, undeniable.

I hated him.

I hated myself more.