The Alpha’s Claiming Bite
The freed wolf’s head jerked up, ears flattening, a low growl vibrating from its chest.
And then the chains came.
Not iron, not steel, but shadows—vast, spectral chains that writhed out of the ground like serpents. They coiled through the air, each link etched with runes that burned violet. They didn’t just bind; they hungered, dragging the air down with them, suffocating, crushing.
At their center stood Aravelle.
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