All Chapters of Claimed By The Predator: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Thorne’s POVMorning doesn’t come gentle on this campus—it crashes in with the sharp scrape of chairs, footsteps in the hall, the distant echo of voices waking too early. But I’m already awake, alert long before the sun filters through the blinds.He’s out there, somewhere beneath the sleepy sky, moving through his day in that quiet, anxious way that twists my gut tighter every time I watch. I know he spent last night clutching my glove, that small piece of leather tied to me like a secret rope pulling him deeper into my orbit.---I spot him before he sees me, hunched over a book in the far corner of the library, the same spot he always chooses—the one where he can disappear but still catch every sound. His hair tumbles over his eyes, ears flicking as if they catch more than he admits.I cross the room, footsteps silent, closing the gap until the heat of my presence settles like a weight between us.“Morning,” I murmur, voice low and rough around the edges.He startles but doesn’t mo

Thorne’s POVIt starts like a whisper in a crowded room, something so quiet it almost slips past notice.The way Ari’s body no longer tenses when my fingers graze his wrist—no more sharp flickers of fear or flinching away like I’m a threat.His breath, once shallow and hurried, now slows, steady and calm, like a river finally finding its way around the rocks instead of crashing against them.It’s in his eyes, too—the way they flicker with something new. Not quite trust yet, but the spark of it—like a tiny flame daring to ignite inside a cold, cautious shell.---We walk side by side through the tangled maze of dorm hallways, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the distant laughter and chatter of other students.I no longer need to grip his wrist tightly to keep him close. Instead, I let my hand rest lightly on his forearm, fingers brushing softly, gentle as a feather’s touch.He lets me.Sometimes, when the hall grows quiet for a breath, I reach up and run my hand through his hai

Thorne’s POV The room was a cage disguised as a sanctuary. Sterile white walls stretched up to a ceiling heavy with silence, broken only by the steady hum of the ventilation system—mechanical, indifferent, and cold as the steel chair Thorne was strapped to. His wrists ached against the unforgiving restraints, but it was the invisible chains—the ones wrapped around his will—that weighed the heaviest. The door slid open with a crisp click, sharp and precise, slicing through the quiet like a knife. Two figures entered, moving with a grace so polished it was almost mocking. His mother’s smile was a practiced curve, sweet on the surface but venomous underneath. His father followed behind, arms crossed, eyes calculating. “Darling,” his mother purred, voice dripping with honeyed poison. “How was your little vacation?” Thorne didn’t answer. He refused. Her smile faltered just a fraction—a flicker of amusement in the cold air. His father leaned against the far wall, gaze sharp a

Thorne’s POVThe walls of my parents’ house were built like a labyrinth, not of stone, but of lies and chains dressed up as duty.Every word they spoke dripped with the same poison I’d grown up swallowing: you owe us, you belong to us, you are nothing without us.They didn’t need bars to make a prison. They were the prison.For days, I let them believe they had me cornered. Shackled, restrained, toyed with—the prodigal son dragged back to heel. I let them play their games, let their venom curl around me like smoke. I didn’t fight the restraints. Not yet.Because to win against predators like them, you don’t thrash—you wait. You watch. You bleed patience until it sharpens into something lethal.And finally, the moment came.I gave them what they wanted—or rather, what they thought they wanted. A nod here, a word there. Vague promises shaped like obedience. I let my father see the old submission in my eyes, let my mother believe she’d dug her claws back into me.But they were fools. The

Thorne’s POVThe door wasn’t wood. Not really. It was paper. It was air. It was nothing but a thin excuse of a barrier that had dared to keep me from him for too long.I could feel him behind it—small, curled in on himself, wrapped in fear that did not belong to him. Fear others had carved into him. Every inhale of mine was drenched with his scent, faint and frayed, but still him. The bond pulled taut between us, singing like a live wire, demanding I cross that threshold and take him back into my hands where he belonged.I pressed my palm flat against the door. The wood was cold. He was warm. I let the bond surge outward, pouring every ounce of presence into it until I felt him stir on the other side. His answering touch through the bond nearly dropped me to my knees. Fragile, trembling, but still there. Still alive. Still mine.When his hand pressed back, when I felt the echo of his fingers through the barrier, something inside my chest cracked wide open. He whispered my name, and th