Chapter 3
747 Words
—Elaine—
When I woke that morning, the bed felt too wide, too cold.
Kave’s side was empty, but the pillow still held the weight of his presence — proof that last night hadn’t been a nightmare I could wake from.
We were mated now. Bound.
Not by love, but by decree.
If it had been Bran, there would have been a mark — his mark — sealing us in blood and spirit. But Kave hadn’t even tried. Perhaps that was mercy. Or perhaps it was disdain.
The door creaked open.
Kave entered, the air shifting with his presence.
“Up,” he said simply. “Breakfast is on the table. Eat before it gets cold.”
“I—thank you,” I murmured, half rising.
His gaze flicked to me, unreadable. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t cook it. My men bring food every morning. You’ll eat when I tell you to.”
My throat went dry. “Yes, Alpha.”
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly at the title. Then, quieter: “You’ll address me as Kave when we’re alone. Appearances matter.”
He sat across from me, movements precise, composed. Everything about him screamed control — not cruelty, but command.
“You’ll learn our customs soon enough,” he said. “This alliance won’t fail because you can’t keep pace.”
His words were mild, yet they left no space for refusal
I lowered my gaze. “Yes, Kave.”
He nodded, satisfied. Every movement of his spoke of restraint, of someone used to command. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t cruel. He simply existed at the center of the orbit I could not leave.
“Once we run,” he said, “we test your limits. Keep pace. Fall behind, and I will correct you. Understood?”
“Yes,” I whispered. My throat burned.
We ate in silence. The air between us was taut, a wire strung tight. I could feel the authority behind every movement, every glance. He didn’t brush my hair from my face or touch my cheek. There was no domestic kindness here. Only expectation. Ownership. Duty.
When the meal ended, he rose and motioned toward the forest edge. “Come. Move quickly. Time is not ours to waste.”
The forest waited, alive with the crisp scent of autumn. Leaves crunched under my feet as I followed Kave, careful to keep pace. Every step reminded me: I was not running for joy, but for duty.
“Faster,” Kave ordered without looking back. His voice was calm, measured, but it carried weight. I pushed my legs harder, breath quickening. Falling behind wasn’t an option.
We leapt over fallen logs, splashed through shallow streams. The wind whipped my hair, stung my cheeks, but I kept moving. Kave’s long strides kept him always just ahead. Not encouraging, not teasing — merely testing.
“You can keep up,” he said at last, eyes scanning the path. “Good. Don’t forget who you run for now.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. Every word reminded me of the chains around my heart. Bran’s laughter, the warmth of his hand in mine — all stolen.
A sudden sound made me glance over my shoulder. Bran stood at the edge of the clearing, silent, tense. Kave’s eyes snapped to him, amber and sharp.
“This one is mine,” Kave said simply. No anger, only finality. His tone left nothing to argue with. Bran stepped back, eyes downcast, fists tight.
I wanted to shout, to demand freedom. Instead, I swallowed the scream, feeling the weight of both packs pressing on me. Kave’s presence was like iron — cold, unyielding, inescapable.
We slowed as the sun climbed higher. Kave didn’t speak, didn’t offer a smile or encouragement. His restraint was his control, a constant reminder: I belonged to him now. Not in love. Not willingly.
I kept my eyes forward, chest heaving, trying not to let the grief for Bran show. The forest was beautiful, the air crisp, but I could feel the cage around my chest, tightening with each silent stride beside the man who had taken my place in life.
When we finally returned, Kave didn’t relax. He motioned toward the cabin. “Wash up. Prepare yourself. Today is about duty, not comfort.”
I nodded, fingers trembling. Inside, a storm of resentment, grief, and fear raged. And outside, Kave’s gaze followed every move, steady, unyielding, marking me as his.
- Writer
