Chapter 3

SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Control by Halsey

IVARA'S POV:

The air hums with whispers. Everywhere I go, I can feel it, their eyes darting toward me, voices dropping when I enter a room. The Voss pack is full of gossip as usual, but now, I notice it from both sides: Dravens. My father’s rival pack.

Even from the human bikers who linger near the outskirts, there’s a murmur, a prickle of tension that raises goosebumps on my skin.

Something is happening.

I feel the pulse before I see it; the pull, subtle but sharp, dragging at the edges of my control and I hate it. Every fiber of me screams to resist, to deny, to bury it deep where it can’t touch me but the world refuses to comply.

Rumors ripple like wildfire: the Alpha’s interest in Kael’s daughter, the tension between them, the bond. I hear snatches, “Did you see him looking at her?”, “She doesn’t belong there. She’s dangerous.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.

I clench my fists, letting the cool metal of my bracelet bite into my skin. I am not dangerous. He is. He killed my family’s enemies. And yet… My wolf whines, soft, frustrated, urging me to acknowledge the truth I refuse to speak aloud.

By midnight, I can’t take it anymore. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the suffocating weight of my father’s expectations pressing against me.

I slip out, careful to avoid the guards and sleeping bikers, and head to the garage. The smell of grease, fuel, and cold metal fills my lungs and calms me in a way nothing else can.

I mount the bike, fingers trembling slightly as I grip the handlebars. My wolf thrums in my veins, impatient, eager, needing movement, needing release. I push off, tires screaming against the concrete, and the freedom of speed fills me like a rush of wind through my lungs.

I spin, weave, and kick up sparks as I push the machine harder and harder, muscles burning, heart pounding—not from exertion, but from rage. Rage at Kael. Rage at Ronan. Rage at myself for feeling anything at all.

A sharp metallic clang echoes from the corner of the garage. I spin, heart hammering, but it’s just Cassian, leaning against a motorcycle, arms crossed. “You’re late,” he says, voice low, calm but carrying that undertone of warning that always makes my skin prickle.

“I could say the same about you,” I snap, forcing my voice steady, keeping my pride intact. I don’t need him to know the truth: that Ronan’s presence still lingers in my blood, dragging at me even when I’m alone.

Cassian shakes his head, smirk softening into concern. “You can’t keep running like this. Not when he’s…” He stops, eyeing me sharply. “Not when he’s around. The pack will notice weakness. He’s already distracted.”

I feel my stomach tighten. “Distracted?” I ask, voice brittle. “I barely saw him. He’s busy ruling, fighting, keeping his wolves alive. How distracted could he possibly be?”

Cassian’s gaze is firm, unwavering. “Enough. He’s watching, whether he admits it or not. And anyone weak will be exploited.” He doesn’t look away, and I know he means it. My blood boils, but not from fear. From anger. Anger at everyone, including myself.

I don’t answer. I spin the bike around once more, tires squealing, sparks flying across the concrete. I need motion, need the control of speed, need to drown out the pull that gnaws at me.

Later, neutral ground. Finn’s bar. Smell of oil, smoke, and whiskey. The low hum of conversation is punctuated with clinking glasses and laughter.

It’s supposed to be neutral, a truce zone, but the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. And I can feel it before I see him: Ronan, leaning against the bar, black leather gleaming under dim neon, ice-blue eyes scanning the room like a predator.

My wolf stirs violently, but I force my chin up, stepping inside with the careful grace of someone who has practiced restraint a thousand times. Every step toward the bar makes the pull stronger, dragging at my ribs, demanding attention I cannot give.

He notices me the instant I cross the threshold and I notice him. Our gazes collide, and something ignites. Sparks, fire, raw electricity that leaves me trembling, though I force my expression to neutral. He tilts his head, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re far from home, Ivara,” he says, voice low, smooth, dangerous.

There's something about how be pronounces my name...

I glare at him, green eyes flashing. “And you’re far from your manners, Draven.” My words are sharp, biting, fueled by the heat that coils inside me like a living thing.

He chuckles, dark and soft, and I feel it in my bones. “Careful,” he warns, moving just close enough for me to feel the weight of him. “One wrong word, and you might regret it.”

I scoff, turning my back on him and making my way toward the bar. I don’t need him. I will not be distracted and yet, I feel his gaze burn across my shoulders, following, studying, claiming. My wolf growls, low and frustrated, and I know he feels it too.

The evening drifts, drinks flow, laughter and murmurs blending into the background. I try to focus on nothing, but fate seems intent on mocking me. A human biker, drunk and belligerent, leans too close as I pour myself a glass of water. His hand brushes mine, lingering too long.

I freeze and my instinct flares. My wolf snarls beneath my skin, but I’m frozen, trying to think. But before I can react, he’s there.

Ronan’s hand is on the man’s chest, pushing him back with a strength that makes my knees go weak. “Hands off,” he growls, eyes flashing ice. “Now.”

The biker stumbles back, muttering, eyes wide with fear. My pulse races, my chest tight, and I feel my wolf tremble, not with fear, but with betrayal. He acted for me... Against everything I have sworn to feel, my hatred and the distance I tried to maintain.

I glare at him, venom dripping from every syllable. “I’d rather die than belong to you,” I hiss, voice low, trembling with fury and shock.

He doesn’t flinch or retreat. Instead, his gaze lingers, sharp and unreadable. And I can feel it, the bond, burning between us, unrelenting and insistent. My wolf trembles beneath my skin, whining softly, confused and restless. It wants him, craves him, even as I fight it with every fiber of my being.

“You will never belong to me,” I continue, teeth gritted, trying to assert control I don’t have. “I don’t care what this… this curse is. I’m not yours.”

Ronan steps closer, every movement controlled, deliberate. “Oh, the amount of in I will have with you...” he murmurs, low and dangerous, eyes dark as midnight. And yet, there’s a softness there too, a hint of need he cannot hide, no matter how hard he tries.

I spin on my heel, stalking toward the exit, wolf howling silently in my veins. I can’t fight the pull entirely, can’t ignore the way he dominates my thoughts even now. And yet, my pride refuses to bend, refuses to yield. I am Ivara Voss. Daughter of Kael. Alpha in my own right and I will not give him what he wants.

Outside, the night is cold, stars hidden behind heavy clouds. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the damp air, trying to soothe the fire that burns inside me. My wolf whines softly under my skin, frustrated, aching, begging for something I can’t give.

And somewhere, not far away, I know Ronan feels it too. The bond screams between us, pulling him toward me against every shred of will. His wolf growls low, deep, insistent, but so does mine. We are tethered in ways neither of us can deny, and the tension, the fire, between us is only just beginning.

I glare over my shoulder once more at him, voice dripping venom even as my pulse betrays me. “I’d rather die than belong to you.”

My wolf trembles beneath my skin and I know, without a doubt, that the war between us which is silent, relentless, and utterly consuming, is only starting.