3
1219 Words
Alea’s POV
Her fingers trembled as they held the hem of her gown.
She didn’t want to undress.
Not in front of him.
Not in front of the man whose eyes burned through her veil like fire against thin ice.
But something in his voice, the quiet command, the finality of it told her she had no choice.
He didn’t ask.
Alphas never did.
She pulled the gown off her skin, layer by layer, until the cool air of the room touched her bare flesh.
Shame burned through her, but it was nothing compared to the fear in her stomach.
She stood still, naked beneath the veil, her arms tight across her chest, as if that could shield her from what was coming.
And then he moved.
The man, the Alpha, stripped slowly, methodically. Not with seduction, but with something worse.
Control.
Every movement was precise, deliberate, like a king preparing for war.
When the last of his robe fell, she nearly gasped.
He was carved in power.
His body was tall and broad, the kind of frame that could crush bone or carry kingdoms. Muscles coiled beneath bronze skin, his chest rising and falling with steady menace.
His biceps flexed as he moved...thick and veined, forged from battle and years of dominance. His abdomen rippled with lines too sharp to be real, the type of body she had only heard whispers of in dark corners of the village.
But it wasn’t just his physique.
It was his face.
His jaw was razor-sharp, clenched in the tension of reined-in fury. A scar ran from the corner of his left eye to the top of his cheek, thin and silvery, like the gods had left a mark to remind the world he wasn’t just beautiful.
He was lethal.
His eyes, Icy blue and haunting cut through her, dissecting,
When he came unto her, she wanted to push him off but didn't. She dared not.
She screamed as the first thrust slid into her.
Morning came like a cruel joke as pain laced through her muscles as she turned. Each movement reminded her of what had happened the night before. Her thighs ached. Her hips burned. Her entire body was not left without bruises.
And yet, beneath the soreness, something else simmered.
Satisfaction.
She hated it.
Hated the way her wolf stirred at the memory of his touch. Hated the way her pulse fluttered when she thought of the way he had looked at her like she was prey and he was the only one with the right to devour her.
She rolled over, slowly, afraid of what she’d see.
Claus lay beside her, chest bare, one arm sprawled across the silk sheets. His eyes were closed, but there was nothing peaceful about him. He looked like a god at rest, dangerous even in sleep. The sharp line of his jaw caught the sunlight, highlighting the small scar that curved just under his eye. His lashes were thick, his hair messy from sleep and the s*x. She stared, and her wolf whimpered.
She tore her gaze away.
No. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t anything close to it.
This was survival.
This was punishment.
She swung her feet off the bed, ignoring the throb that shot up her legs. She needed to leave. She could figure something out...run, hide, shift if she had to. She was halfway to the door when a low voice stopped her cold.
“Going somewhere?”
Her breath caught. She turned, slowly.
Claus’s eyes were open now. Cold. Unreadable. Still lying lazily like he had all the time in the world, but she knew better. That stillness was a mask. A warning.
“Good morning, Alpha,” she said softly.
He didn’t respond. Just stood. Grabbed his pants. And walked past her without a glance. The door slammed so hard the walls shook.
Her throat tightened.
She hadn’t expected kindness. But she hadn’t expected to feel this hollow either.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she turned to the mirror. Her reflection stared back, wild hair, bruised lips, faint red marks along her throat and chest. Her fingers trailed to the mark on her shoulder. The place where his teeth had grazed her skin and where his tongue had made her moan.
Goosebumps rose.
The memory hit in flashes.
His touch.
His growl.
The way he said her name was like a curse and a promise.
Her wolf stirred again, and she clenched her fists.
“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t enjoy this.”
But her body told another story.
The door creaked open again, and she jolted. Claus leaned against the frame, arms crossed. His voice was rough and clipped.
“Done admiring yourself?”
She swallowed. “I—”
“Dress. Come downstairs. Now.”
She hesitated.
He took a step closer, his voice like thunder. “We talk. The villagers say you brought the ones who murdered sixteen of our kind. Today, I give judgment. Be quick.”
Then he was gone again.
Her hands shook as she slipped into the black dress lying across the bed. Her body still ached, but now it was fear twisting in her chest.
When she came downstairs, the throne room was already alive with voices.
Claus sat on the elevated platform like a carved god, cloaked in power. His eyes didn’t flicker when she entered.
But everyone else saw her.
And they roared.
“She’s a witch!”
“Murderer!”
“Kill her!”
“She brought the curse. Kill her before she brings more!”
The crowd surged, but guards blocked them. Still, their rage pressed against her like a wave. She could barely breathe. Her knees shook, and she sank to the floor, her forehead bowing low.
“Kneel,” someone shouted.
“She’s filth!”
Claus raised a single hand, and the room fell into tense silence.
He looked at her.
“Katherina,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “Did you bring them?”
She shook her head fast. “No, Alpha. You’ve got the wrong person, I swear...”
“Liar!” someone shouted.
“She’s the reason the pups died!”
“She opened the gates for them.
Kill her!”
Aliyah’s lips trembled. “I didn’t...”
Claus stood, and the room went deathly still.
“My word is law,” he growled, his voice like a blade drawn slowly. My position is not up for debate. Anyone who steps out of line will face me.”
The crowd simmered in silence, seething.
He walked down the steps. Every inch of him radiated dominance. Her body flinched before he even reached her.
“If you tell the truth now,” he said, crouching just enough to meet her eyes, “you may keep your pathetic life.”
“I swear on the moon goddess,” she whispered, tears slipping. I didn’t bring them. I didn’t betray the pack.”
The pause was long.
His eyes searched for her. There was something unreadable in them...some flicker of conflict. Then I finished, buried under the same cold mask he always wore.
He straightened.
“This…” he said, his voice loud, carrying over the crowd, “is my judgment for you...”
- Writer
