Claimed by my Mate’s Brother

Chapter 10: Blood & Vows

Grayson

The forest whispered behind us, carrying the scent of blood and ash in its breath. Amara lay unconscious in my arms, her cheek pressed to my chest, her body far too still. Her blood had soaked through the fabric of her clothes, and every step I took only deepened the ache in my bones.

Kael stirred, restless. “She’s ours. We almost lost her.”

I didn’t respond. There was no need. That truth already lived in my marrow.

I moved through the trees with grim purpose, heading north where the woods thickened and silence reigned. A memory surfaced—an old, half-rotted cabin tucked into the hills, once my sanctuary during the first year of exile. I hadn't thought of it in years, but my feet found the way like they'd never forgotten. Back then, I’d hidden from the world and the pain of what I’d lost. Now, I was running toward something—someone. Toward safety. Toward her. Toward the one place left where I could lay her down and not fear the world crashing in around us.

When I reached it, the first pale light of morning had just begun to lift the darkness—more a suggestion of dawn than full sunrise.

The cabin stood like a ghost from my past—half-sunken and lopsided under layers of moss and pine. I shouldered the door open with

a hard kick.

The interior greeted me with rot and dust. Still, it was shelter.

I laid Amara gently on the tattered couch, brushing a strand of blood-stiff hair from her cheek. Then I set to work building a fire, my

hands unsteady, movements clipped. Kael paced inside me, growling at every delay. But I needed to see her warm. Breathing. Safe.

When the fire caught, I turned. She stirred.

“You knew this place?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I used to come here,” I said. “Back when exile was quieter than war.”

She tried to sit up. I was at her side in a second.

“Easy,” I muttered. “You’re still bleeding.”

Her shirt was torn at the side, soaked through. As she lifted it to expose the wound, my vision tunneled. The cut was shallow, but red. Fresh.

I knelt beside the old trunk near the fireplace and pried it open. Inside, buried beneath layers of brittle cloth and rusted tools, I found a weathered leather satchel—one I’d stashed here years ago, just in case. Inside was a cracked bottle of antiseptic, some gauze, a

spool of thread, and a needle wrapped in oilcloth. It would have to do.

I crouched before her with the makeshift kit in hand. The silence stretched between us until I caught her staring—not at her wound. At me. Or rather, the scars.

They climbed over my back like a twisted story—faint white lashes, cruel and purposeful.

“Grayson,” she said softly. “Those were from… the Elders?”

I didn’t answer. Not aloud. But I knew she could read it in my stillness. The answer was yes.

Her hand hovered, then settled gently on my back.

“Turn,” she whispered.

I hesitated. My instincts screamed to protect her, to argue, to resist letting her close when her skin was still split open and healing.

But her voice—steady, certain—cut through the chaos in my head. I knelt down slowly, torn between the fear of hurting her more

and the overwhelming need to give her anything she asked. Maybe it wasn’t obedience. Maybe it was surrender. Maybe I was tired

of holding on so tightly when all I wanted was to be held.

My breath hitched the moment her hand reached out, trembling slightly before her fingers grazed my skin. Her touch was featherlight—reverent, almost. She traced one scar, then another, her fingertips following the cruel map etched into my flesh. I clenched my jaw, every muscle in my body tight as memory after memory surged like old ghosts from the dark.

Her touch wasn’t pity. It was something deeper. Fierce. Accepting. Her breath caught as she followed the trail of pain down my spine, and I felt each press of her fingers like the softest kind of agony—like being seen and not run from. I wanted to pull away, to shield her from the mess of who I was, but I couldn’t. Not when she touched me like this. Not when her presence soothed what the pain had left behind.

Then, with the same bold tenderness, her lips followed the path her fingers had blazed. One kiss. Then another. Gentle. Healing. Her mouth brushed each scar as though rewriting them with promises only we could understand. My wolf stilled, quiet for once—watching, breathing her in.

“They’ll never hurt you again,” she whispered. “Not while I breathe.”

Something in me snapped and healed in the same moment.

“You shouldn’t have to see this side of me.”

“I want to see every side,” she said. “The broken parts. The strong ones. The man who carried me through a forest of corpses to keep

me safe.”

My throat thickened. Words jammed against my teeth. So I said nothing—just reached for her, holding her like she’d vanish if I blinked.

Amara

By the time Grayson stitched my wound, the fire was crackling and warm. He worked in silence, eyes dark with unspoken guilt.

“I’m fine,” I told him.

“You’re not. You bled for me.”

“I’d bleed again.”

His jaw twitched, fingers brushing my skin with reverence. He traced the edge of the bandage with his thumb, pausing there for a breath longer than necessary. I could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying, the way his hands lingered like he was memorizing the feel of my skin, the fragile proof that I was still here, still breathing. His lips parted like he might say something, but then his expression shuttered. With a low growl barely audible, he stood suddenly, his movements sharp—too sharp. Like if he didn’t move now, he’d lose the last shred of control he had left.

“You need to wash. There’s a creek nearby.”

I raised a brow, letting my voice drop into a sultry tease. “Planning to watch, or are you hoping I’ll invite you in?”

He looked down at me, heat simmering in his gaze. “If I was, would you stop me?”

I laughed, then let my gaze slide deliberately down his chest and back up to his eyes. “Probably not,” I whispered, my voice laced with wicked amusement. “But maybe I want to see just how far I can push you.”

His eyes darkened instantly, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. "You keep teasing me like that, little luna, and I swear, I’ll make you pay for every sinful look with hours of mercy I’ll never give."

I arched a brow. "Promises, promises."

He stepped closer, his body heat licking across my skin like fire. "No promises, Amara. Just consequences."

We ventured into the woods, the cold biting at our skin. The creek lay just beyond the treeline, its water black and glassy in the pale

light. Grayson stripped without ceremony, and as he stepped in, the muscles in his back tensed with the shock of the cold water. I caught my breath, not just from the temperature—but from the sight of him.

His body was all sharp edges and brutal history, every scar a silent story. And then I saw it—metal glinting between his thighs, catching the moonlight.

My mouth went dry.

Grayson didn’t notice at first. He waded deeper, hissing at the chill, then turned to look at me with a cocky smirk. “You just going to stare, little luna?”

My heart hammered. Sera purred in my mind, her thoughts tangled with excitement and curiosity. “He’s pierced.”

I swallowed hard, cheeks burning. “I—uh—wasn’t expecting that.”

His eyes darkened with amusement. “You will. Eventually.”

He said it low, rough, and possessive—and my entire body clenched in response.

“Come on, little luna,” he called. “Don’t make me drag you.”

I rolled my eyes but followed, gasping as the cold hit me like a thousand pinpricks. The shock forced a curse from my lips, but I didn’t retreat. Grayson stepped in behind me, water sloshing around his thighs, his hands gentle but firm as he began to cup water and pour it over my head.

Each pass of his hands sent shivers down my spine—not just from the cold, but from the feel of his fingers threading through my hair. Blood and dirt swirled away in red ribbons, disappearing downstream. His touch lingered at the nape of my neck, slow and reverent, and when his palms ghosted down the sides of my arms to rinse the rest of me, I trembled for an entirely different reason.

I leaned back slightly against him, my body brushing his in a whisper of bare skin and building heat. His breath fanned hot against my ear.

“You smell like mine now,” he growled softly.

“Good,” I whispered, turning my face toward his.

His mouth barely brushed my temple, and then lower, trailing down to my jaw. My hands reached behind to clutch at his hips, and I

felt the way his muscles locked beneath my fingers.

“I want to touch you everywhere,” he murmured against my skin. “But if I do, I won’t stop.”

I swallowed hard, my entire body lighting up at the promise in his voice. "Then don’t stop."

He laughed—a dark, hungry sound—and pressed one last kiss to my throat before forcing himself to step back with a shaky breath.

"Not here. Not yet. But soon, little luna. Very soon."

His fingers lingered—stroking through strands, tracing my neck.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this water won’t stay cold.”

I turned to face him, our bare skin brushing. “Then stop looking at me like I’ll break.”

He cupped my face and kissed me—slow at first, reverent, like he was tasting the truth of us. Then the hunger took hold, dark and consuming. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him, and mine slid up the hard ridges of his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath my palms. He deepened the kiss, lips devouring mine with aching possession. A growl reverberated from deep in his throat as my fingers traced over his bare skin, nails lightly scraping the lines of muscle.

“You drive me mad,” he rasped against my mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Good,” I breathed. “Because I’m already ruined for anyone else.”

His thumb brushed my lower lip, swollen from his kiss. “I want to lay you down and take my time. Worship every inch of you.”

“Then do it,” I whispered.

A curse broke from him, low and sharp, as he forced himself to still. “Not like this. Not here. But soon, little luna. I swear it.”

He pressed one last kiss to my forehead, lingering like a vow, before drawing me into the circle of his arms, his touch a shield against the gathering storm outside.

We didn’t go further. But every touch screamed of what was to come.

Back at the cabin, we dried off by the fire, wrapped in a single blanket. His arms circled me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“I should’ve left long ago,” he said.

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I’m glad.”

The bond between us thrummed. Complete. True. I’d never felt anything like it with Cassian. Maybe I never had a real mate bond at all until Grayson.

The cabin creaked.

A low growl rolled from Grayson’s chest. He was on his feet before I could move.

“What is it?”

He sniffed the air, and his expression darkened.

“Viper Creek,” he said. “They’ve found us.”

My blood turned to ice.

“They’ve surrounded the cabin.”