All Chapters of Claimed by The Alphas: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The morning sun broke through Aria’s window in golden slants, warming her skin before she even opened her eyes. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours. James had broken into her home. Rogues had been spotted. Unease had started to bubble beneath the surface of the pack.Her wolf stirred uneasily, ears pricked. The danger hadn’t passed—it had only begun.Her phone buzzed beside her on the nightstand.Samantha: Shopping today? I need a hot but not slutty outfit. Help me.A small smile tugged at Aria’s lips. Some normalcy. She could use that.She texted back: Mall at 11?Samantha: Perfect. You’re my fashion goddess.Aria got up and headed to the bathroom, letting the steam from her hot shower relax her tense muscles. Coconut-scented shampoo filled the air, blending with lavender body wash until she smelled like a peaceful tropical storm. The scent usually comforted her—but this morning, it barely took the edge off.She dress

The moment Aria stepped inside her quiet house, the weight of the world pressed heavier against her chest. The mall’s bright lights and chatter felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the cold, hollow silence of her own space.She kicked off her sandals, the soft click of the door echoing in the emptiness. Slowly, she peeled off her blouse and jeans, folding them neatly on a chair before slipping into her favorite pajamas—soft, worn cotton that smelled faintly of lavender and safety. It was a small comfort in a world that felt increasingly hostile.Collapsing onto her bed, Aria grabbed her phone from the nightstand. The comforting glow of the screen lit up the darkened room as she opened the TechTok app—a constant escape where short, fast-paced videos whisked her mind away from the chaos that clawed at her.Her thumb scrolled through snippets: a puppy trying to catch its tail, a dancer spinning flawlessly, a hypnotic video of waves crashing on a beach. For a few moments, her breat

The moment Wyatt stepped into his office, something was off.He paused in the doorway, scanning the room. The furniture was untouched, the blinds still half-drawn, the desk just as he’d left it… but the air wasn’t right. Beneath the usual scent of old wood, parchment, and leather was something faint, soft—Lavender.His jaw tightened.It was barely there, but he knew that scent. He’d caught it on patrol just the other day, caught it in the threads of Aria’s clothes when she’d walked by. It clung to her skin like sunlight—subtle, feminine, sharp.Wyatt crossed the room, heart thudding. He hadn’t authorized anyone into his office.At his desk, the patrol folder sat right where he’d left it. But the top wasn’t aligned. He flipped it open.And froze.A single strand of hair curled against the top page. Dark brown. Long.He stared at it for several seconds.Aria.He picked it up gently between two fingers, held it in the light. He knew the texture, the color. Combined with the faint perfum

The trees around him whispered like traitors. Pine needles blanketed the earth, soft and silent beneath James’s boots as he waited in the dense woodland just outside the western border of the pack’s territory.Footsteps rustled behind him. A gaunt, scarred rogue in human form emerged from the shadows—one of many who had pledged loyalty to James over the last few years. The kind who would do anything for scraps of power—or revenge.James didn’t turn around. “You have the letter?”The rogue handed over a folded sheet of parchment. The ink looked smudged in just the right places, the edges frayed as though aged. James opened it and read through the forged letter one last time, smirking.A fabricated report from an anonymous witness. One who claimed to have seen Aria Smith meeting with known rogues during one of her patrol shifts. It included dates, times, and general descriptions—vague enough to cast suspicion, but not specific enough to disprove quickly.“This will get into the right ha

Wyatt stared at the folded piece of paper on his desk, its presence as heavy as a loaded gun. The handwriting on the page was James’s—he’d seen it before, years ago when the coward had been foolish enough to send him a request for a rogue pardon. This time, it wasn’t a plea. It was a trap.The letter accused Aria of treachery. Of collaborating with James. It detailed plans for more rogue attacks, claimed Aria was still loyal to him and that the last ambush was just a test. It said she’d returned to the pack to lower defenses.And the scent. Lavender.Faint, but fresh.Wyatt’s gut clenched.He didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to consider the possibility that Aria—fierce, wounded, and trying so hard to rebuild—might be working against them. His wolf paced behind his ribs, ears pinned back, growling in protest.But the letter was real.Wyatt rose, smoothing his hand over the letter once more before tucking it into his jacket. “Let’s handle this quickly.”The hallway was quiet as th