Chapter 2: The Ruthless Alpha’s Claim
1525 Words
Lyra ran.
She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. The moment Lucian loosened his hold, she shoved past him and bolted.
The hallway outside the room was dim, stretching endlessly in both directions. She had no idea where she was going—she just knew she had to get out.
Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor as she sprinted down the corridor, lungs burning.
But deep down, a terrifying realization gripped her chest like a vice.
She would never outrun him.
And she was right.
A growl echoed through the air, low and warning.
Lyra’s breath hitched as she forced herself to run faster, but the sound of heavy footsteps closed in.
Then—impact.
A wall of heat slammed into her from behind, sending them both crashing to the floor. A cry tore from her throat as she landed on her stomach, her breath knocked from her lungs.
Before she could even think about fighting back, strong hands flipped her over and pinned her beneath solid muscle.
Lucian hovered over her, furious. His golden eyes glowed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.
"Do you have a death wish?" he growled.
Lyra gasped, writhing against his hold, but he barely budged.
"Let me go!" she choked out, her voice raw with desperation.
His fingers tightened around her wrists, pressing them into the cold floor on either side of her head.
"You don’t get to run from me, Lyra," he snarled.
Her heart pounded as she looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"You kidnapped me!" she spat. "I don’t even know what you are! I—"
Lucian’s hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her words.
"You’re making too much noise," he murmured darkly.
Her muffled scream vibrated against his palm, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he studied her, his gaze dropping from her furious, tear-filled eyes to her trembling lips.
Something shifted in his expression.
A flicker of something unreadable.
Then—his free hand traced the mark on her neck.
Lyra jerked as if burned, a shudder wracking through her body.
"Stop," she whimpered against his palm.
Lucian tilted his head, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive skin.
"Does it hurt?" His voice had dropped to something almost… curious.
Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to answer.
But it did hurt. Not just physically, but in a way she couldn’t explain.
Something inside her ached, an invisible thread pulling her toward him—toward the very man who had stolen her freedom.
Lucian’s hand moved from her mouth, but before she could scream again, his fingers wrapped around her jaw.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She refused.
"Lyra," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft growl.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
The intensity in his gaze stole her breath.
"You don’t understand what’s happening to you," he said, his grip firm but not painful. "What I did… it wasn’t a choice. It was fate."
Lyra’s brows furrowed, fresh tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
"Fate?" she choked out. "You think fate gives you the right to take me against my will?"
Lucian’s expression darkened.
"I didn’t want a mate," he admitted coldly. "But here you are."
The words sliced through her like a knife.
"You don’t want me?" she whispered, a mix of anger and something far worse creeping into her voice.
His jaw tensed.
"It doesn’t matter what I want."
A bitter laugh bubbled in her throat. "Then let me go."
Lucian’s fingers tightened ever so slightly.
"No."
Lyra glared up at him, her fury battling the fear clawing at her chest.
"Then what do you want from me?" she demanded.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I want your obedience," he said simply.
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You’re out of your damn mind."
Lucian smirked.
"Perhaps," he murmured, his fingers tracing down the side of her neck, sending a strange heat spiraling through her.
She hated that his touch affected her. Hated the way her pulse betrayed her.
His golden eyes darkened as if he sensed it too.
"You don’t have to like this, little human," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "But you will accept it."
Lyra swallowed hard, glaring at him with all the defiance she had left.
"I will never be yours."
Lucian’s smirk deepened.
"Run, fight, deny it all you want," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "But in the end, Lyra… you will break."
His words sent a violent shiver down her spine.
Because for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, she felt something far more terrifying than fear.
She felt the pull.
The bond.
The slow, inevitable unraveling of her will.
And deep down, she knew Lucian Draven would never let her go.
Lyra’s entire body trembled beneath Lucian’s overwhelming presence.
His golden eyes bore into hers, his fingers still tracing the sensitive mark on her neck.
She wanted to fight, to scream, to claw at him—but something inside her froze under his touch.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. The scent of him—something dark and woodsy, with a faint, intoxicating spice—filled her senses.
It should have repulsed her.
But instead, it made her dizzy.
Lucian noticed.
His smirk deepened.
"Ah," he murmured, tilting his head. "You feel it, don’t you?"
Lyra clenched her jaw, shaking her head violently. "No."
His fingers curled under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Liar," he whispered.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Because he was right.
She didn’t know what this was, why her body responded to him despite every part of her screaming that he was the enemy.
It was infuriating.
Unacceptable.
And terrifying.
Lyra shoved against his chest, putting all her strength into breaking free. But he barely moved.
Lucian sighed, as if dealing with a stubborn child.
"You’re exhausting," he muttered. Then, before she could protest—
He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing.
"Put me down!" she shrieked, kicking wildly.
Lucian ignored her, carrying her through the dimly lit hallways with infuriating ease.
She twisted in his arms, slamming her fists against his bare chest. "Damn it, let me go, you psychotic bastard!"
Lucian’s grip tightened.
"Careful, little human," he murmured. "I only have so much patience."
Lyra went rigid.
She had already learned what happened when he lost his temper.
Her throat went dry as she glanced up at his chiseled, unreadable face.
He looked completely unbothered, as if carrying a flailing, furious woman was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, hating how weak her voice sounded.
"To your new room," Lucian replied simply.
Her stomach twisted. "No. No way. I’m not staying here!"
Lucian didn’t stop walking.
"You have no choice."
Lyra thrashed harder, panic rising like a tidal wave.
"Like hell I don’t! I’ll find a way out of here, I swear—"
Lucian growled.
A deep, rumbling sound that sent ice down her spine.
Her movements faltered, her breath hitching.
She didn’t even realize he had stopped walking until she felt her back press against the cold stone wall.
Her feet dangled in the air as he pinned her there, one large hand gripping her hip, the other wrapping around her throat—not choking, but warning.
His face was so close, she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"You will do as I say, Lyra," he said, voice dangerously soft. "Or you will suffer the consequences."
Lyra swallowed hard.
Her pulse pounded beneath his palm.
"Kill me, then," she whispered, defiance lacing every word. "Because I’d rather die than submit to you."
Lucian’s expression shifted—just for a fraction of a second.
Something dark flickered in his gaze, something primal and dangerous.
Then, without warning—
His hand slid lower.
Lyra gasped, her entire body locking up as his fingers ghosted over the curve of her waist.
But he wasn’t touching her with affection.
It was control.
Dominance.
A reminder of who was in power.
Lucian leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
"I don’t need to kill you to break you," he murmured.
A shudder wracked through her body.
Not from fear.
Not from rage.
But from something far worse.
A reaction she didn’t understand.
Lucian felt it.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
"That’s what I thought," he whispered.
Then—he stepped back.
Just like that, the heat of him vanished, leaving Lyra breathless and shaken.
She barely had time to process before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward.
"Move," he ordered.
Lyra stumbled, barely keeping up as he dragged her down the hall.
Everything inside her screamed to fight back. To claw at him, bite him, anything.
But her body was betraying her.
She hated it.
She hated him.
And worst of all…
She hated that part of her—the tiniest, most traitorous part—was beginning to wonder what would happen if she stopped fighting.
- Writer
