All Chapters of BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The dream clings—teeth and shadows and a voice that wasn’t a voice, just a vibration in my bones, saying, "They’re coming." I hear them before I see anything—whispers from three floors down, the scrape of a chair in the kitchen, the wet click of a guard swallowing his coffee. And the smells—god, the smells—sweat and leather and something metallic, like blood just under the surface. My stomach rolls. The baby kicks, a sharp little protest, and for a second, I swear I feel it listening. I press my palms to my temples. This isn’t normal. The door creaks open without a knock. Remmah Arthur’s sister stands there, her dark hair slicked back, lips curled like she’s already tasted something rotten. Me. "Sleep well, human?" She leans against the frame, arms crossed. The silver rings on her fingers catch the light—wolves in mid-snarl. "Or were you too busy dreaming of ways to ruin us?" I sit up slowly, the sheets pooling at my waist. "What do you want?" She sniffs the air, nos

The first sliver of moonlight cuts through the bedroom window like a blade, and my skin catches fire. I gasp, fingers clutching at the sheets as silver veins light up beneath my flesh, pulsing in time with the child's restless kicks. It's beautiful. It's excruciating. The pain radiates from my belly outward, spiderwebbing through every limb until I'm shaking with it, sweating through my nightgown. Reid finds me like that—curled on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed to cold tile, watching my own hands glow. "Christ." He drops to his knees, but doesn't touch me. Smart man. "It's starting early." I bare my teeth. "What is?" "The change." His throat works as he stares at my luminous veins. "Except... you're not turning. You're..." "Say it." "Something else." The words hang between us, too big for this cramped space. Outside, the pack's howls rise in eerie harmony—preparations for the Hunter's Moon already underway. The sacred night. The thinning veil. My stomach clenches ar

Smoke stings my eyes as the forest burns around us. The crown of blood still sits heavy on my brow, its thorns digging into my skin with every pulse of my racing heart. I don't need to see the attackers to know where they are—their movements ripple through me like stones disturbing water, each footfall vibrating through some invisible connection I don't understand but can't deny. "Left flank," I gasp, clutching my belly as another contraction of power wracks my body. "Three of them, circling behind the oak." Reid doesn't question me. He signals the pack with a sharp gesture, and three wolves break away, intercepting the Blackwater forces with savage precision. Their snarls mix with human screams, the scent of torn flesh and gunpowder thick enough to taste. Arthur is a nightmare given form. His black wolf tears through enemies twice his size, dark fur matted with blood that isn't his. But even he can't be everywhere at once. I count five, ten, fifteen wolves closing in from the n

The first explosion shatters the night like glass. I'm awake before my eyes open, my body reacting before my mind can catch up. The room smells like smoke and something bitter—wolfsbane. The air tastes wrong. My skin prickles with it. Arthur is already at the window, his bare back tense, muscles coiled. Moonlight cuts across the scars there, pale lines against golden skin. "Stay down," he says, voice low. Another explosion. Closer this time. The walls shake. Somewhere below, glass shatters. I don't stay down. The hallway is chaos. Wolves in half-shift sprint past, some bleeding, all snarling. The scent of fear is thick enough to choke on. Reid appears at my elbow, his blond hair matted with soot. "We need to move. Now." Arthur shoves past him, grabbing my wrist. His grip is too tight. "The tunnels." That's when I see the blood. Dark and slick, dripping from his side where something—claws, teeth, I don't know—has torn through skin. "You're hurt—" "Move." The wor

Reid wants Claire dead. He says it over breakfast, casual as commenting on the weather, while buttering a slice of rye bread with those precise, surgeon's hands of his. The knife scrapes against toast like bones grinding together. "She's a liability," he says. Crumbs cling to his bottom lip. "Silas could be tracking us through her." Arthur doesn't look up from the maps spread across the oak table. The wound at his side has started bleeding again, a fresh red stain blooming through his shirt. "We keep her. For now." Reid's jaw twitches. Just once. Almost imperceptible. But I've been watching him since the attack, since I saw him with Silas in the woods. Watching how his fingers tap Morse code against his thigh when he thinks no one's looking. How his scent changes—subtly, sickly sweet—when he lies. "I'll take first watch then," he says, rising. His chair scrapes against the floorboards like a scream. The moment the door closes behind him, Arthur's shoulders slump. Just a fr