All Chapters of The alpha's forbidden desire: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Standing at the altar, in front of everyone he loved and cherished, Silius couldn't bring himself to look at him. But he could feel him. He could feel that stare burning into his skin from somewhere in the crowd — intense, unwavering, and hauntingly familiar. It wasn't new. It never had been. Mathew had always watched him like that, like an eagle eyeing its prey: silent, calculating, possessive. The kind of stare that didn't ask permission to exist. It simply took up space in a room and dared anyone to challenge it. The smirk on Mathew's face only grew wider as the seconds dragged on, feeding off Silius's anxiety the way a leech feeds off blood — patient, certain, satisfied. Silius felt sick. His stomach twisted into knots so tight he thought he might fold in on himself right there in front of the altar, in front of God, in front of everyone. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to run — run far, and never look back. But he knew Mathew. Mathew would follow. Even to the depths of hel

Michael's eyes finally opened. For a moment he simply looked up at Silius, blinking the sleep away, and then a slow smile spread across his face — easy, warm, completely unaware of the storm it had just caused in Silius's chest a few seconds earlier. "Morning~" Michael said, voice still thick with sleep, stretching one arm over his head. "M... morning," Silius managed, pulling his hand away from Michael's grip the moment he had the chance, as though letting go fast enough might erase what had just happened. His skin still tingled where Michael's lips had pressed against his knuckles minutes ago. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice into something steadier. "You better go and wash up before your mom decides to show up here." Michael sat up properly, the blanket sliding down around his waist, hair messy in a way that should not have looked as good as it did. "Is he up yet?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. *He.* Of course. Even half-asleep, even seconds after waking, Michael

Mathew kicked the boy on the ground one last time, his breathing still heavy, his eyes still dark with something that hadn't fully burned itself out yet. Then, without a single glance back at the crumpled figure behind him, he turned and started walking toward Silius. Silius froze where he stood. Mathew's fingers reached out first, cupping the side of Silius's face with a gentleness that felt almost wrong given the blood still drying across his knuckles. For a moment, it was almost tender — the kind of touch that didn't match anything else about the last five minutes. But the softness didn't last. His grip tightened, fingers pressing hard against the bruised skin beneath Silius's eye, and Silius flinched at the sudden sting. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to interfere when I'm beating up someone?" Mathew snapped, voice low and rough, still simmering with leftover rage. "It looked like you were about to kill that boy," Silius said, refusing to look away despit

It was interval, and Silius was in the washroom, tucked away in one of the stalls. He was just about to step out when a burst of gossip drifted through the door, familiar voices carrying easily across the tiled room. Curious despite himself, he paused with the door half-open and decided to linger a little longer. Eavesdropping wasn't exactly noble, but it was, without question, always entertaining. "Ughhh... I'm telling you, Mathew is so hot," one of the girls said, her voice practically dreamy. "I would literally do anything just to be his girlfriend," she added a moment later. *Yeah... he's handsome but not boyfriend material,* Silius thought dryly from behind the stall door, arms crossed as he leaned back against the cool metal. "Yeah, same," the second girl agreed easily. "I wonder why he's so cold to everyone," the first girl continued, sighing. *Cold? More like an annoying psycho,* Silius thought, unable to stop the internal eye-roll that came with it. "But Michael is the

They brought Marcus in on a stretcher. Theodore heard them coming before he saw them — the measured cadence of people carrying weight carefully, the low voices of the two Ridge scouts coordinating movement through the compound entrance. He had been standing at the edge of the central ground for twenty minutes, arms crossed, watching the tree line with the focused stillness of someone who had decided that moving would make the waiting worse. When the stretcher cleared the tree line he was across the compound in seconds. "Marcus—" "I'm alive." The voice was rough and stripped of its usual steadiness but it was Marcus — unmistakably, entirely Marcus — and the relief that moved through Theodore at the sound of it was so physical it was almost embarrassing. "Stop looking at me like that. I've had worse." "You haven't," Theodore said. "I definitely have. The time with the Voss border wolves—" "That was worse for me. You thought it was funny." Marcus made a sound that was appr