All Chapters of Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

RonanHe wakes like a storm breaking inside a body. Quiet moans at first, then shivers, then the soft, insistent rub of his cock against my thigh.“Alpha,” Eli whispers, wrecked already.I don’t open my eyes yet. Allowing myself to feel him. Heat slicking my skin, breath stuttering against my throat, hips working in small, desperate arcs that drag his head along the side of my chest. The scent of him is summer gone feral. Salt, hunger, and the stubborn sweetness that ruins my discipline.He nuzzles under my jaw, whimpering like a wolf pup who learned too late that the fire bites back. “Please.”“You’re not ready to behave,” I murmur, still not looking. “You’re just ready to beg.”He makes a strangled noise and presses harder, rutting shamelessly. His cock leaves a smear on my thigh and the bond lights up, crackling. I could roll and put him on his back, take him in one rough push, end the ache that’s been coiling him for days. I don’t. I hold still and make him feel the ugly geometry

RonanHis hips are working, desperately trying to find friction against the mattress, seeking any edge, any mercy. I lift off him and stop him cold a breath from breaking. “Don’t you dare,” I say, voice shaking with want. “Not yet.”He sobs. It’s beautiful. It’s monstrous. It’s mine.I force myself back. The bed creaks. My chest heaves. He’s sprawled and shaking, slick smeared across his back, thighs trembling, hole fluttering around nothing. He drags in air like a drowning man.“Ronan,” he whispers into the pillow, and there’s urgency in it, and fury, and glee, because he’s built to love a fight and I’m the only opponent he wants. “You’re going to kill me with your cruelty.”“Yes,” I say. I don’t give him comfort yet, we’re nowhere near done. “And you love it and lap it up like a puppy with a bowl of milk.”He gasps out a laugh that holds no argument. I go to the basin, splash my face and breathe until my knuckles stop rattling. When I turn back, he’s in the exact place I left him. O

RonanThe last carriage wheel cuts a deep rut in the snow, the iron rim squealing faintly as it vanishes around the curve of the lodge road. Blue and silver banners trail behind the convoy, their embroidery catching the weak dawn light like water rippling over ice. The guards ride in stiff formation, helms gleaming, horses shod in steel. What the hell kind of werewolf rides a horse?Beside me, Jace stands with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, watching them go without a word.Behind us, Eli mutters through a yawn, scarf bunched under his chin. “It’s too bloody early and too bloody cold. I’m going back to bed before my fingers fall off.”He brushes snow off the porch rail with one hand, shoots me a mischievous look that dares me to join him, then pads back into the cabin with the lazy confidence of a man who knows he can bend law and still be adored. I keep watching until the carriages are swallowed by the trees. Then I exhale through my nose, slow and heavy. It feels like a

EliWhen I wander into the lodge’s dining room, the air tastes like salt and meat and victory.Hazel’s victory, specifically.She’s at a table with her new iron insignia pinned crookedly to her collar, hair braided back, mouth full, trying very hard to look unimpressed by the wolves who keep detouring past just to clap her shoulder so hard her teeth rattle. Every time she says “thank you” she tries to make the words sound bored, and every time they come out a little breathless instead.Adorable.I drift behind her and lean down till my chin rests on the crown of her head. “Congratulations, Warrior Sunshine.”She swats without looking. I slip sideways and her hand whiffs the air. “If you call me Sunshine again,” she says, “I’m going to put an arrow through your foot. Left one, so you remember not to lead with it.”“My Alpha would kill you and pamper me,” I say. “It hardly seems worth it for you.” I kiss the top of her head, because she hates it. “Look at you. Our very own terror of th

AlaricThe great hall of Silvercrest glows under morning light caught and broken by high panes of stained glass. Gold-threaded tapestries pour down the walls in silks and winter dyes. Hunts, treaties, the founding of our city on the river’s bend. The floor is a mosaic of lapis and onyx, the crest at its center polished smooth by the soles of generations. A hundred candles burn in branched candelabra, wasteful in daylight, deliberately so, spilling honey-colored light across marble and men alike. It is the quiet music of wealth.I sit alone at the head of the long walnut table, hands flat on the wood.Kieran has disappointed me. Again.The courier’s letter lies open before me. I read it again because anger prefers repetition, wants to savor the failure line by line.“Blackthorn thanks us for our gifts.”“Negotiations ongoing.”“Eli Vale remains in Blackthorn.”Giving the boy Ronan’s surname is offering a legitimacy to his claim. My son is a stupid cunt, who should not have been truste