All Chapters of Marked by the Alpha: Blood Oath: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

RonanThe council chamber smells of iron and old smoke. Every wall bears the weight of Blackthorn’s history. Wolf skulls mounted between the iron-banded windows, pelts from kills that marked turning points in our territory. The war table dominates the room, scarred and stained from decades of maps, blades, and the occasional fist.The captains take their places in a loose semicircle, their eyes shifting between me and the parchment spread in the center. I let the silence stretch just long enough to remind them that this is my table, and no one speaks until I give them leave.When I finally break it, my voice carries like a blade across stone.“Redmaw’s not circling for sport anymore. Their scouts are probing our borders with purpose. Pairs sent into the marsh, the birch grove, and-” my gaze cuts to the northern captain, “-near your tower. They retreat fast, but not before they’ve mapped the watch patterns.”There’s a ripple of low growls. Good. Anger’s useful when it’s aimed the righ

EliHazel grins at me like she’s just been handed front-row tickets to my humiliation and she can’t wait for the show to start. “Your stance is sloppy.” She circles, staff balanced loosely in one hand. “Almost like someone’s been skipping training drills to… focus on other forms of exercise.”I don’t dignify it with a response. Mostly because my thighs still ache and my shoulders are still dotted with finger-shaped bruises, and if I open my mouth, she’ll hear the truth in my voice.Gods, the feeling when he’s moving inside me… I think I’m more addicted to it than he is.Hazel smirks. “Get your mind off the Alpha’s cock, Eli. You’ve been walking funny for days. The other Omegas are taking bets on whether it’s the training or the Alpha.”My grip tightens on my staff. “It’s definitely not training.”She should tell them that. The little fuckers should know to stay away from my… Oh fuck. No. I’ve got to stop thinking of him as mine. Sure, he claims ownership of me at every turn, but he’

EliHazel’s got me on the ground again. Flat on my back, breath gone, the edge of her boot planted next to my ribs like she’s pinning a snake.“Still too slow,” she says, leaning down to offer me a hand up. “I swear, you fight like you’ve got someone who’ll be taking care of your battles for you.”“Maybe I do,” I mutter, letting her haul me to my feet. My muscles ache in that deep, satisfying way. Every stab reminding me of how Ronan consumed me last night. Every night. And morning. I never expected to like sex. Now I’m an addict.She snorts, clearly not impressed. “He won’t always be around to save your ass. And what if he needs saving someday? I’m sure you want to protect your Alpha.”“I’ll embroider that on a pillow.”Hazel’s halfway to telling me exactly where I can shove that pillow when Loran saunters over. It’s the only way to describe it. He doesn’t walk, he glides, every movement deliberate, like he’s just stepped out of some perfectly rehearsed scene.“You’re dropping your

Eli POVHazel’s warning should be easy to ignore. She’s given me the watch yourself speech before. Usually about Ronan, sometimes about the pack in general. But this time, it sticks.He’s not your friend.He’s not doing you any favors.Loran doesn’t give without taking.I told her I could handle it. That I don’t need a big sister hovering over me. But the words loop in my head like a song I can’t turn off.The problem is, I keep replaying it all wrong. Not the warning, but the way Loran leaned in, the subtle curl of his mouth, the almost lazy way he told me my stance was fine for someone who’d just started trying to keep up.It wasn’t just what he said. It was how he said it. Like he knew more about me than I’d given him, like he’d been studying me long before offering a single “tip.”I don’t like it. I don’t like how much it gets under my skin either.This morning I wake up already tense, like my brain’s been chewing on the whole thing all night.The mirror doesn’t help. There are fr

RonanThe air is cold and sharp today. The kind of cold that wakes the senses, that makes every shift of wind feel like a whisper carrying someone else’s scent.We’ve been running the northern edge of Blackthorn for two hours now, and the trail is too clean for my liking. Too quiet after all the activity in the preceding days.Then I see it. A claw mark carved deep into the trunk of a pine, the sap still bleeding fresh and gold. The edges are deliberately ragged. This wasn’t a lazy stretch from a passing wolf, this is a signature.I step closer, palm against the grooves and inhale deeply. It’s someone from Redmaw, without a doubt.The wolf in me shoves against my ribs, all teeth and forward momentum. I can almost see them in my mind’s eye. A scout with too much confidence and not enough speed, thinking they can leave their stink on my border without consequence.It would be easy to follow the trail. Hunt it down. Tear it open.Instead, I roll my shoulders back and force the impulse d