Stolen by the Alpha

The grand hall of the rustic lodge feels stifling as I stand here, facing Ethan. 

My promised mate.

"Traditions be damned, Ethan!" My voice pierces through the air, echoing off the walls adorned with lunar symbols and pack artifacts.

Everything packed with symbolism. Meaning. 

Everything meant to keep me down and perpetuate the ancient traditions of the Blackwood pack. 

But I refuse to marry Ethan.

His sharp blue gaze locks onto mine, his eyes blazing with a fire that matches the hearth’s glow in the center of the room. "You will respect the ways that have kept us safe for centuries, Lyla," he snarls, the authority in his tone as unyielding as the ancient trees surrounding our home.

We’ve attracted the attention of the other pack members. The door opens at the back of the lodge, and the elders enter. I feel more than see my younger sister Ana enter the lodge, but I don’t look at her. I know she’ll be judging me.

This is between me and Ethan. 

I clench my fists at my sides. "Safe? Or stagnant? You expect me to blindly follow, to submit to decrees that suffocate my spirit?"

He steps closer, the air between us charged with an intensity that has nothing to do with the argument—or perhaps everything to do with it. I inhale, and against my will, my blood runs hot.

I smell his heat. His body calls to me. 

It’s the bond of mates. And I won’t give into it.

"It is not about what I expect," he says. "It is about what is demanded by the very blood that runs through our veins."

I lift my chin. "Demanded," I spit. 

Dammit all. The pull of him is both infuriating and intoxicating, a dance we know too well. As much as I try to resist him, I can’t—not entirely.

I won’t let him bed me. But I’m not strong enough to ignore the pleasure he offers me. And this argument, like all the others, is simply a prelude to the carnal release we often seek in each other's arms—a temporary balm for the tempest within. 

Just because I don’t want to be his mate doesn’t mean I can resist his flesh.

"Enough, Lyla," Ethan warns. "There are lines you must not cross."

"Lines." I step closer until mere inches separate us. "Are you too afraid of what lies beyond the lines?"

"Careful, woman," he growls. "My patience has limits."

"Then let’s test those limits. My claws have tasted the blood of our enemies just as yours have, Ethan." It was only a matter of time before I exploded. I’ve been restless since my father died.

Looks like today’s the day.

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the room, but I push on, my heart hammering with a cocktail of rage and an inexplicable desire. 

"Tell me," I breathe, stepping closer, "do you truly believe I am less capable? Or does the thought of me, standing alongside the warriors beneath the moonlight, threaten your precious ego?"

Ethan's eyes narrow, and the energy between us shifts, growing hotter, more intense. His voice drops to a growl. "You know it's not about capability. It's about order, about—"

"Control." I finish for him, my voice a low whisper. 

The word hangs between us, and for a moment, so does our restraint. 

Then Ethan's hand shoots out, gripping my arm, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body.

His touch ignites a fire within me that is both furious and hungry. I know I should push him away, assert my independence, but instead, I find myself pressing closer, craving the friction of our anger-fueled passion.

"Be careful, Lyla," he warns, his lips grazing my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Your words tread a dangerous path—one that could lead to consequences you aren't ready to face."

"Like what? There’s nothing you can do to me," I whisper back, my resolve unwavering even as my body betrays me, aching for his touch.

Our heated gaze holds. Whispers skitter across the room like leaves caught in an autumn gale, each member torn between the thrill of witnessing rebellion and the fear of its consequences.

My gaze cut to Ana. She glares at me, fire in her blue eyes, arms folded over her chest.

I’m doing this for her. For all the she-wolves. But she won’t see it. She’s blindly loyal to Ethan.

I tear my gaze back to Ethan. His jaw tightens visibly, his stance rigid against the flickering hearth. A low growl rumbles from his throat, the sound vibrating through the room. 

"Careful, Ethan," I say, throwing his own words back at him, my tone laced with a daring that borders on insolence. "Your growl suggests you might be afraid. Afraid that a she-wolf under Luna's full embrace might outshine the Alpha himself."

"Enough of this insolence!" Ethan's voice thunders through the lodge, his blue eyes now icy shards that cut through me. "You challenge not only me but the very essence of our existence!"

"Is our essence beyond scrutiny?" I shoot back, my voice laced with scorn. “Like the tribute we make to the Slavers?”

A gasp rises from the elders. 

“Do not speak of that which you don’t know,” Ethan hisses, his voice so low that only I hear.

“I do know,” I whisper. “And it’s time everyone else did also.”

“Silence!” he roars, but I see the fear flicker behind his eyes.

The pack would rebel if they knew the truth about the Slavers.

“You cannot silence me,” I say.

Ethan's gaze bores into mine, a silent battle of wills that neither of us is willing to concede. And then, with a suddenness that leaves me breathless, he steps back, his expression hardening into a mask of cold resolve.

"Very well," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Know this, Lyla: once the gauntlet is thrown, there is no turning back. The path you tread will be fraught with peril, and the consequences will be yours to bear alone."

His next words fall like a guillotine blade, swift and merciless. "Lyla Blackwood, you are banished from this pack."

A collective gasp ripples through the lodge, yet I stand motionless, stunned shock freezing me in place.

We’re promised to each other. In spite of our differences, in spite of my restless anger, we are loyal to each other.

Or so I thought.

I did not expect that. 

"Leave now," Ethan commands, turning away from me, the finality in his posture severing our bond as promised mates.

I rear back as my understanding snaps in place.

No longer does he consider me his.

I’ve been cut off.