All Chapters of Branded by the Alpha, Claimed by His Brother: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

The man currently burying himself inside me has no idea he is claiming a ghost. Burgundy silk sheets have come loose from every corner of the mattress, twisted and bunched beneath us by now, offering no grip for my knees, no anchor for my hands except the fistfuls of fabric I keep dragging toward myself like it might hold me together. Every thrust of his hips is heavy and crude, the savage rhythm of a beast that claims everything it touches. My nails dig into the mattress through the silk, and the headboard knocks against the wall in a rhythm that would almost be funny if it weren't the only steady thing left in the room. Tristan growls low against my neck, his breath scalding my skin, and I cry out in a voice pitched higher than mine, a voice that belongs to someone I'm only pretending to be. Clara. Clara. Clara. I chant it behind my eyes like a rosary, a name I stitch myself back into with every repetition, because if I let it slip even once, if my own name surfaces instea

Burning flesh smelled like meat left too long in the summer heat. I knew I would remember that smell for the rest of my life. The Pack Ascendancy wasn't cancelled. Tristan made sure of that. He didn't want to humiliate me in private. He wanted the whole pack to watch. The great hall of the Ashenmoor Pack was packed to the walls, hundreds of Alphas, Lunas, and allied council members in their finest silks, all staring down at me as guards dragged me across the cold marble floor in nothing but a blood stained slip. The silver chains clanked against the stone with every step, pulling me toward the dais where Tristan stood in his ceremonial black and gold furs. He looked every inch the Alpha King. His eyes, though, were dead. Frozen over. There was nothing left in them I recognized. Beside him, an iron brazier glowed white hot, coals hissing as a guard pulled a heavy rod from the flames. The tip glowed an angry orange, and at the end of it sat the rune for Traitor, already shaped

The cabin smelled of wet earth, old leather, and cedar smoke. It was warm inside, almost too warm, heated by a stone fireplace that cracked and popped in the corner of the room. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, and each small movement pulled fresh pain across the blistered flesh on my forehead. I couldn't shift. I couldn't heal. I was left with nothing but the pain. Lucian carried me through the doorway without effort, as though I weighed nothing at all. He didn't drop me onto the furs stacked near the wall or leave me in a corner to fend for myself. He walked straight past all of it, toward a large iron tub near the fire, steam already curling off water someone, or something, had prepared before we arrived. "I'm going to set you down." His voice was gentle. He lowered me onto a wooden stool beside the tub. My legs buckled the moment my weight shifted onto them, but his hand caught my shoulder before I hit the floor. "I can do it," I rasped, my throat hoarse from scr