All Chapters of Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

RonanThe bond goes quiet like a heart cut from the chest.Not gone, gods, don’t even think about gone, just muffled, as if someone packed snow into my lungs and told me to breathe anyway.The sudden absence leaves a ringing behind my eyes. I can hear my own pulse like a drum, feel my wolf rake its claws down the inside of my ribs.Loran is on the ground where we found him, half-conscious and making the mistake of still breathing. I put my boot on his sternum and lean until his ribs creak. Eli fucked him up properly before they dragged him away.“Where is he?”His split lip trembles. There’s a laugh in it. “You’re too late.”I take his laugh. Fingers around his throat, thumb pressing where his pulse flutters thin as a moth wing. His eyes bulge. Not enough. I want to crush. I want to end. I force myself to count to three,Discipline is a leash I keep for everyone but him, then I release.“Hazel,” I say without looking away from the traitor, “Find Jace. Tell him Redmaw has my mate.”She

EliWe cross the line into Blackthorn and the air changes.Not the temperature, the weight. The world seems to lean toward Ronan like iron to a magnet. The bond kicks under my skin. Ronan stumbles once. It’s small, a hitch only someone looking for it would see.I’m always looking for him.“Keep moving,” Jace says, low and clipped, eyes hunting the treeline behind us. “We’re not safe yet.”Ronan breathes like the forest owes him air and it isn’t paying fast enough. He hasn’t let go of the back of my neck since leaving the Redmaw camp.Fingers hot, steady, possessive enough that something traitorous in me quiets. Then his grip tightens, a not-human growl scraping his throat, and my name drags out of him like it has teeth.“Eli.”He stops dead. The hand on my nape turns to iron. Gold eats his pupils.Jace swears softly. “Rut.”Hazel blows out a breath that is eighty percent relief and twenty percent mischief. “Finally.”Mara flicks me a look that says are you alright and also I told you

EliRonan doesn’t walk. He hunts.Every step closer rattles something deep in me, that bond screaming between us like a live wire about to snap. My thighs are already trembling, my cock hard and dripping.His hand slams against my chest, pinning me flat to the wall. His palm finds my throat next, hot and rough, squeezing just enough that my lungs stutter. My mouth falls open on instinct, a sound torn out of me that isn’t protest.His cock drags against my thigh, heavy, leaking, hot enough to scald. He snarls my name into my jaw, teeth scraping hard enough that I know I’ll wear the bruise later.“Mine.”It’s not a word. It’s law.The next second he’s grinding me into the wall, rut-dumb and reckless. His hand doesn’t leave my throat. He licks me like he’s trying to taste the marrow through my skin. When he pulls back, his eyes are blown wide, all wolf, all need.“Knees.”My legs fold before my brain catches up. The stone floor bites my skin. I don’t care. I want this. Gods, I want it. H

EliRonan is inventive in the way storms are. Whatever the room offers, he turns into a weapon, a stage, a lesson.Against the wall first. My spine thuds against the logs hard enough that dust shakes loose, his mouth crushing mine. His hand locks around my throat, cutting me down to the sound of my own pulse under his grip. “Breathe,” he growls, and I do, shoving air past his palm, the burn of it as sharp as the ache in my chest. Tasting obedience and oxygen at the same time.He lifts me like I’m nothing. My legs clamp over his hips, the wide muscle of them grinding between my thighs. His cock drives up into me, brutal, blunt, unstoppable. I’m slick already, my body won’t stop producing while my Alpha needs me, and it gushes more with every thrust, spilling down my ass, painting his skin, splattering the wall. He uses it, pistoning harder, each push a wet, obscene slap. He forces me wide open, the stretch biting, the ache sweet, his knot swelling at the base and grinding against me as

JaceRonan’s rut should have burned out after three days. Five, at the ugly edge. We are past the edge and walking on the underside now.Maps cover the table in the command room like skins. Border marks, choke points, old poacher trails, new Redmaw tracks burned in with charcoal. I’ve redrawn the same black spruce notch three times, and the paper still insists Redmaw is gathering there like flies on meat.Mara leans against the doorframe, arms folded, gaze knife-sharp. “You keep staring at the same line like it’s going to move for you.”“If it were polite,” I say, “It would.”“How long has it been now?”“Since the bond went quiet and we pulled Eli out?” I don’t need to check. It’s welded into the back of my eyes. “Eight days.”Mara doesn’t flinch, but her jaw ticks. Rut is supposed to be a storm. Violent, brief, gone. Ronan seems to have turned it into a season.“We need him on the field,” she says, and it’s not a complaint, it’s arithmetic. He’s ridiculously strong and the warriors w