All Chapters of The Alpha King's Captive Bride: Forbidden Desires : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The Ironclaw Pack’s ceremonial clearing was alive with this antsy buzz, everyone itching for something big. The full moon hung up there like a fat, nosy spotlight, catching all these werewolves still human-shaped, chatting and milling around. Their eyes had this yellow flicker—creepy little hints of the monsters they’d turn into later. Tonight’s the night I’m supposed to tie myself to Alpha Dean, big shot of these woods. Lucky me, huh. Yeah, right. I stand at the center of the clearing, the silver threaded gown clinging to my skin like a second pelt, itchy and restrictive. My long dark hair braided with moonflowers, a tradition I’d mocked earlier to my best friend, Mira, who rolled her eyes and told me to suck it up. “You look like a goddess” she’d said. “Act like one.” Easy for her to say- she wasn’t the one about to pledge her life to a man who treated her like a prized trophy.Dean stands across from me, tall and imposing in his ceremonial robes, his golden hair standing out am

Selene’s POVThe cave was a damp, stinking hole—cold stone digging into my back, shackles chewing my wrists raw. I’d lost track of time, maybe hours, maybe days, slumped against that rusted ring like some kicked dog. My braid was a tangled wreck, moonflowers long gone, and my silver gown was more blood and dirt than fabric now. My side throbbed where that wolf’s claws had ripped me open, a dull ache I couldn’t shake. I was a mess, yeah, but I wasn’t broken. Not yet. Footsteps crunched outside—boots, not paws. I straightened, wincing as the iron bit deeper, and squinted into the dim light. Lucien stepped in, that bastard with his black leathers and ice-blue eyes, looking too damn calm for someone who’d just snatched me from my life. Two wolves followed behind him—Ragnar, the wiry creep with a smirk I wanted to claw off, and Vira, the braided one who smelled like moss and Sex for some reason. “Rise and shine, princess,” Ragnar sneered, cracking his knuckles. “Time to move.” “Cal

Selene’s POVI stumbled back to my room, door slamming behind me, heart pounding like I’d sprinted through the damn woods, not just down a hall. Lucien—shirtless, sweaty, that blonde pinned under him—kept flashing in my skull, sharp as a claw to the gut. I leaned against the wall, breath ragged, muttering, “Get a grip, Selene, he’s a bastard,” but my brain wasn’t listening. It was stuck—his firm ass flexing as he moved, those six-pack ridges glinting with sweat, every muscle in his back rolling like he was built to break things—or bodies. I slid down, ass hitting the floor, and pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to scrub it out. Didn’t work. That image burned hotter—his scars crisscrossing that stupidly perfect chest, the way his arms flexed, pinning her like it was nothing. And then—damn it—my mind went lower, picturing what I didn’t see. His pants had been tight, zipper straining, and I couldn’t stop wondering—how big, how hard, what it’d look like free, thick and ready. My breat

Selene’s POV The steak sat like a stone in my gut—bloody, forced down by that bastard’s growl—and I hated how it lingered, warm and heavy, like his damn presence had sunk claws into me. Three weeks in this gilded hellhole—three weeks of pacing the same damn floorboards, boots scuffing a rut in the rug, walls pressing tighter every night—and I was fraying at the seams. I’d tried everything—windows barred with iron that mocked my fists, unyielding as a wolf’s jaw; locks clicking shut like teeth snapping closed; Vira’s shadow stalking the halls, a hawk with claws out, waiting for me to twitch wrong. My nails—longer now, jagged as broken blades—scraped the windowsill, gouging deep into the wood, splinters biting my skin. A low hum buzzed in my chest—soft, mean, waking slow—and I froze, staring at the marks—sharp as knives—breath fogging in the dusk chill seeping through the panes. “Clawing’s getting me nowhere,” I muttered, voice rough as gravel, a laugh ripping out—bitter, sharp—bouncin

Lucien’s POVShe’s got a blade in her smile. I saw it yesterday, her green eyes glinting too sharp, voice sliding too easy, standing in my study like she could own it. Selene’s not breaking, not after three weeks of snarling, clawing, trashing my walls. She’s plotting something, and damn it, it’s got my blood humming, heat pooling low. I sat in the war room, boots propped on the table, chair creaking under my weight, scars pulling tight across my chest. Maps sprawled around me, Ironclaw’s lines marked in red, torchlight flickering over steel and stone. The air stank of oil, smoke, leather thick with fight, my pack’s pulse, my kill zone. Yesterday wasn’t just chatter, not just her poking at my scars, fishing for cracks. It was a move, a play, and it’s not surrender. I grinned, slow, cold, teeth baring, cock twitching in my jeans. Let her think she’s got me. Let her swing. I replayed it, her standing there, bare feet silent, sweater clinging soft, voice warm, asking about fights I’d