All Chapters of Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

MaraThe hard work after a war isn’t the burying. It’s the counting.I spend the morning with ledgers and discrepancies. Salt, grain, lamp oil, wolfsbane resin bricks, arrow shafts, dried meat, clean bandage rolls, spare bowstrings, iron nails. Every line should marry the next. Today they sleep in different beds.“Two crates of resin from the south cache,” Orrin says, tapping a quill at a neat column. “Transferred after the battle. Logged here.”The ink says yes. My nose says no. All I smell in the south shed is tallow, rawhide and pine-sap. None of the sharp-bitter sting resin leaves in the back of the throat that makes even the strongest wolves blink away tears.“Show me,” I say.Orrin’s been with me five winters. He’s square-shouldered, careful-handed, and, until this week, reliable. Inside the south shed, crates are stacked shoulder-high, lids chalked with the tidy block letters of quartermasters. I pry one open with my knife. Arrowheads nested in straw. The next, smoked venison.

MaraThe bodies are gone from the sheds, hauled to cells or stretchers. Hazel’s arrows have finally stopped singing. Jace wasted no time on starting his cleanup. As usual his work is quiet, surgical and efficient. My task is the part that lingers. To measure the fracture and decide if the bone can be set, or if the rot needs to be cut away.The ledgers are stacked in front of me again, their tidy columns a lie. I trace each line with a fingertip, looking for discord. Resin. Grain. Arrow shafts. Too many hands touched these books, too many mouths shaped numbers into fictions.One truth is already clear. The betrayal wasn’t a drunken mutiny. It was an infection in the marrow of my own circle. Officers I hired. Wolves I trusted. Orrin, who once carried me half a mile through snow after my leg snapped. Lio, who served under my father and sharpened my blades when I was still learning where to hold them. Dever, who stitched his own chest closed in the field and laughed while he did it.All

EliRonan’s fury is still walking the walls.It’s in the scuff marks pacing a groove in the floorboards. It’s in the way the latch thunks a little too loud when he shuts the door behind Mara, Jace, and Hazel. It’s in the set of his jaw. Stone chiseled by a storm he’s refusing to let loose.The council hall is five minutes in our past and I can still hear the way the dissenters said price like it was a word that applies to me. The way they wanted a discussion about selling me, as if you could appraise a heartbeat and tally it in a ledger. Ronan’s growl rolled through the hall like thunder and it hasn’t finished reverberating in my bones.Power still clings to him, the leftover flare from the ritual we did days ago. That boost doesn’t fade when the candles gutter. It lives in him, in us, a current I can feel humming in the back of my teeth. I’m not sure how long it lasts. Possibly until its been spent.I’m a bit disappointed by that. I’d love an excuse to perform the ritual again.Right

EliHe withdraws slowly, thrusts the same distance again, building fire on the edges, not the middle. I groan, helpless. The ropes creak. He sets a rhythm that is almost nothing and somehow everything. Teasing, surgical, each push angled to brush a spot that sparks behind my eyes without giving me the slam I’m hungry for.He watches me take it. Watches my face, not the join. Watches the way obedience and hunger battle under my skin and both win.“You’re perfect like this,” he mutters, too honest, too raw for mockery. “Open and waiting and mine.”“Yours,” I say, dizzy with how good the word tastes.His jaw works. He swears quietly and thrusts deeper, one slow drag that seats him almost fully, and my cry scrapes the ceiling. He holds, grinding in a tight circle that makes my toes curl hard enough my arches cramp. The edge rises like a wave.“Don’t,” he warns, reading me like a betrayal I’m about to commit. “Don’t you dare.”I choke on it, fighting for control. The ropes help. The hand

RonanEli is a wreck in front of me, and I’ve never seen anything more perfect.He’s spread wide on the table, plug stretching him open, cock slick in his fist, tears streaking his flushed face. Every muscle trembles, but his eyes stay locked on mine because I told him to. He obeys even when he’s broken. Especially then.The bond hums between us, strong enough to rattle my bones. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, demanding I finish this, demanding I take him now and claim him so hard the walls remember the sound.But I linger. Because watching him like this is worship.“You’re beautiful,” I rasp. His breath stutters. “Look at you, my beautiful Omega. Ruined and shining. My prize.”A strangled whimper claws out of his throat. His fist tightens on his cock, hips jerking despite my order to keep them quiet. He chokes on a sob when he remembers and stills.“That’s it,” I croon, voice gone feral. “That’s my good boy. My obedient one.”His chest heaves. His mouth shapes a broken, “Alpha,” lik