All Chapters of CLAIMED BY MY ALPHA STEPBROTHER AND STEPFATHER: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Mara looks like she hasn’t slept since the last time I saw her, which was in a bar bathroom with her claws on my throat, and the fact that my first thought upon seeing the woman who threatened to kill me is “she looks terrible” instead of “I should run” tells me everything I need to know about how thoroughly my survival instincts have been dismantled by the Voss men because a normal person would be dialing 911 and I’m standing between the humanities building and the science block feeling sorry for her.She’s thinner than she was at The Iron – her cheekbones are sharper and her skin has a greyish undertone that shouldn’t exist on someone this beautiful, and her hands are trembling at her sides with the kind of tremor I recognize from my mom’s worst boyfriends except that Mara’s tremor might not be from alcohol or anger, it’s from a half-bond that is apparently eating her alive from the inside while I walk around campus wearing the mark of the man she believes belongs to her.“You look

Mara comes again and I watch Knox confront her from the second-floor window of the humanities building. I can’t hear what they’re saying but I can read their bodies the way I’ve learned to read all the bodies in my life – through the distance of glass and the physics of how people hold themselves when they’re about to break something.Knox is standing too close to her in a way that would look intimate to anyone who didn’t know what intimate actually looks like on him, and Mara is leaning forward with her chin raised and her mouth moving fast. She says something that I can’t see because her back is to me, and Knox goes rigid – the stillness that means something just hit him in a place his wolf can’t protect – and his hands drop to his sides and his jaw locks and Mara walks away across the quad without looking back and Knox stands there for eleven seconds before his fist connects with the brick wall beside him hard enough that I see dust bloom from the impact two stories up.He doesn’t

Viktor is coming for me and I am sitting on the back of Knox’s motorcycle with my thighs wrapped around him. His hand on my inner thigh instead of the handlebar, but it is a safety violation that I’m choosing not to address because that hand is partially shifted.His fingertips are harder than they should be, the nails darker at the tips, pressing into the denim of my jeans with a pressure that hovers between human and not – and the bond is broadcasting a signal that translates roughly to MINE MINE MINE on a loop so loud I can feel it vibrating behind my teeth.He parks on campus and walks me to the humanities building and kisses me in the hallway in front of forty students and a professor I don’t recognize, and the kiss is not subtle – it’s the kind of kiss that makes people stop walking and stare and then pretend they weren’t staring.His hand fisting in my hair and his mouth on mine hard enough that my back hits the wall and the students flowing past us create a current of averted

DOMINIC’S POVI push two fingers inside her and curl them forward with the same precision I bring to everything, except that here – in this room, on this couch, under these curtains, beside the pillow June arranged four times before she was satisfied with the angle – the academic architecture that my office provided has been demolished, and what remains is the raw fact of my hand between my stepdaughter’s legs while her mother’s perfume clings to the leather beneath us.The fiction I’ve been maintaining since the first Thursday is dissolving under the heat of her body, and the scent of her arousal mixing with June’s lavender fabric softener on the cushion covers is a combination that my wolf registers as territory and my conscience registers as damnation.Her walls clench around my fingers with a rhythm that matches her pulse – I can feel it, the heartbeat inside her synchronizing with the heartbeat at her throat, and the data is useful because the rhythm tells me exactly how close sh

The bruises on my collarbone are Dominic’s.I know this because Knox’s fingerprints live on my hips and my thighs and the backs of my arms, but the marks sitting in the hollow above my chest are from a hand that gripped the front of my throat on the couch while his fingers were inside me.I don’t remember when it happened because the third orgasm wiped my short-term memory like a hard drive being reformatted, but the evidence is four oval bruises arranged in the exact spacing of a man’s hand which are visible above the neckline of my v-neck, and I didn’t notice until I was already behind the counter at The Grind House and it was too late to change.Theo notices in under thirty seconds.He’s at his usual table with his Americano and his laptop and his reading glasses pushed up on his forehead. His eyes land on my collarbone mid-wave and his hand freezes in the air and his expression cycles through something I can track in real time – confusion into recognition into a tightness around h