Lahat ng Kabanata ng Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

RonanThe woods taste of iron.The wind is sharp, pine biting the back of my throat, and under it the chemical tang of Redmaw’s barrels. They want to sour the bond, make us fight half-blind. My wolf shoves at my ribs anyway, teeth bare, claws eager. It wants blood, and it wants Eli. One of those I can give it.Jace moves like he’s an extension of the map we left behind. Sure of every gap and hollow, every trench dug and stake planted. He signals once, two fingers low, and the line flexes with it. Bows raised. Blades loose. We are a throat waiting to close.Draven Holt makes sure I see him. He stands atop a ridge of snow, broad-shouldered, dark hair bound with a leather cord, eyes like coals banked deep. Red paint slashes his cheekbones. He’s younger than Varek, hungrier, the kind of man who thinks rage alone can make him king. He lifts his arms like a priest.“Blackthorn!” His voice carries like a crack in the sky. “You took our Alpha. You stole our prize. Tonight we take back what

EliThe world has gone very quiet inside my skull. Snow hisses somewhere to my left where a fire arrow is eating an old fir. Somebody cries out. A blade clatters. None of it matters.All I can hear is the absence where his breathing should be.“Come back,” I whisper, and it scrapes my throat raw. “You can’t leave me, Ronan. You’re too stubborn to die.”Nothing.The bond is a frayed wire under my ribs, sparking once, then going dark. I press harder on the hole in his chest, as if I can bully his heart into remembering its job. Hot blood pushes between my fingers anyway, slicking my wrists, spreading through the lines of my palms until they’re a map of him. My hands shake so hard I have to lock my elbows to keep pressure where it matters.He looks wrong. Too pale around the mouth. Too still in the shoulders. Ronan always seems to be in motion, even when he’s resting. I’m desperately searching for the faint twitch at his jaw that broadcasts he’s about to start a fight, the way his fing

RonanHe leans down and licks my crown, a lazy stripe of tongue that has my fingers fisting in the sheet. He teases me slowly. Circles, tastes, breathes me in like he’s making up for a lifetime, and then opens his mouth and takes me in, hot and wet and smug as his throat works around me.My spine bows. “Eli.”He hums sinfully and the vibration punches through me. He sucks slow, cheeks hollowing, one hand wrapping the base in a firm ring while the other spreads over my belly like he owns the world under it. Every time I try to lift my hips, his palm presses me down.“Easy,” he murmurs, coming up slick and smiling, a string of spit gleaming between his mouth and my cock before it breaks. “Doctor’s orders.”“You’re not a doctor,” I grind out.“I am when you’re undressed. Though I suppose I am more of a blessing, really.” He drags his tongue along a vein, kisses my lower belly, then mouths the place where my hip meets thigh, teeth just shy of cruel. “And when you’re an obedient patient, yo

EliI’ve grown used to the feeling of constantly simmering tension in the Blackthorn Hall in the weeks since the battle.Men bent over maps, Mara’s knives laid out on the table like punctuation, Hazel perched in the rafters with her bow across her knees. The air hums with readiness, everyone pretending we aren’t still raw from Redmaw and Ashgrave.But today, the smell is different. Foreign leather. Oiled steel. Perfume sharp enough to hide sweat. Silvercrest has sent a visitor.The envoy is tall and narrow, with hair braided back so tight it looks painful. He wears the white-grey cloak of his pack, trimmed in silver thread that gleams in the firelight like coins scattered on snow. He bows once, stiff, respectful in form if not in intent.My hackles lift before he even opens his mouth.“Alpha Vale.” His voice is smooth, varnished with charm. “Silvercrest sends greetings and respect. And a very handsome offer.”Ronan doesn’t rise. He sits at the head of the table, broad shoulders swathe

EliThe ropes hum.Not literally, but that’s how it feels. Like someone strung my nerves across Ronan’s hands and tuned them too tight.I’m on my back on the cabin floor now. Runes scrawled in black charcoal all around me, thick lines curling across the boards like some ancient wolf dreamed them. They look crude, smudged, a little ridiculous. That doesn’t matter. My skin is the canvas he really wanted. The black dust streaks my chest, my hips, smears where his thumb pressed into me too hard while he drew.I wasn’t prepared for how erotic that would be. How it would set every cell of my body to quiver helplessly. How it would make me drool and beg, while Ronan mercilessly tells me to be a good boy so he can follow the instructions.I’m still bound. Arms stretched into the air by my wrists which are tied together, the rope looped around one of the beams overhead. Ankles lashed wide, soles pressed flat to the floor. My body stretched open like he’s presenting me to the gods. The blindfo