Claimed By The Twins Alphas

Chapter 5

~ ROWAN’S POV ~

The sunlight hitting my face felt like a physical assault. I didn't want to open my eyes. If I kept them closed, I could pretend I was still back in my small, cramped room at the Lunar Crest pack house, dreaming of a life that didn't involve being a pawn in a power struggle between Alphas. But the scent of sandalwood and expensive linen was too heavy to ignore.

I shifted, and a sharp, throbbing ache flared between my thighs. My muscles felt like they had been pulled apart and stitched back together by someone who didn't know what they were doing. Every inch of my skin felt sensitized, humming with the phantom touch of hands that weren't mine.

The memories of the night before rushed back in a blurred, chaotic flood. Julian’s rough, impulsive demands. Marcus’s surprisingly gentle, calculating touches. The heat. The wine. The way I had practically begged for the very thing I should have been fighting against.

I sat up slowly, clutching the silk sheets to my chest. The room was deathly quiet. I looked to my left, then my right. The bed was massive, but I was the only one in it. The pillows were still indented where their heads had rested, reminding me that I hadn't just dreamt the dual weight of them pressing me into the mattress.

A wave of self-loathing washed over me. I looked at my hands, resting on the dark blue sheets. I had enjoyed it. That was the sickening part. Despite the fear, despite the fact that these men had essentially bought my life and reduced me to a biological prize, my body had betrayed me. It had responded to their touches with a hunger that scared me.

"Are you planning on staying in bed all day?"

The voice was cold and sharp. I snapped my head toward the large walk-in closet. Julian was standing there, fully dressed in a crisp black suit that made him look every bit the powerful Alpha he was. His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, and his grey eyes were as cool as morning fog. There was no trace of the man who had been whispering dark, heated promises into my ear hours ago.

"I... I just woke up," I said, my voice sounding small and raspy even to my own ears.

Julian didn't look at me. He was busy adjusting his cufflinks, his movements precise and detached. "Good. Then you can get up. We have things to do, and I don't have time to wait for you to recover from a little physical exertion."

The way he said it—physical exertion—made my stomach churn. It was a workout to him. A transaction.

"Is that all it was to you?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My stubbornness was a curse sometimes. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but the dismissal in his tone stung.

Julian finally looked at me. His expression was blank, almost bored. He walked toward the bed, stopping just a few feet away. He didn't reach out to touch me. He didn't even lean in.

"Let’s get something straight, Rowan," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Last night was about one thing. You are a Moon-bound wolf. You are here because your womb carries the potential for a legacy that will make this pack untouchable. Don't go confusing lust with something meaningful. You are a means to an end."

I felt the tears prickling the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I tightened my grip on the sheet. "You're a real asshole, Julian."

He chuckled, but it was a dry, humorless sound. "I've been called worse by better people. Now, listen closely. Marcus is out handling pack business, so you're stuck with my instructions for the day."

He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. It landed near my knee.

"Those are the rules," Julian stated. "Read them. Memorize them. If you break them, the consequences won't be as pleasurable as last night."

I picked up the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. It was a list of commands, written in a sharp, jagged script.

* You do not leave the residential wing without an escort.

* You do not speak to pack members unless spoken to.

* You will eat what is provided, when it is provided.

* You will be ready for us whenever we call for you.

"You're making me a prisoner," I whispered.

"I'm making you a priority," Julian countered, his eyes flashing. "There are people who would kill to get their hands on what you have. You stay inside because I say so. You follow these rules because your life depends on my protection."

"Protection? You treat me like property!"

Julian stepped closer, finally breaking the distance. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could smell his scent—the same one that had been all over me last night—but now it felt suffocating.

"You are property, Rowan. You were traded to us. Your own pack didn't want you. Your sister wanted you dead. We are the only reason you’re still breathing. So, stop the whining and do as you're told."

He straightened up, smoothing his jacket. "A maid will be in shortly with breakfast. Don't make a mess. I'll see you tonight."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the suite, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. The sound of the lock engaging felt like a finality, a nail being driven into the coffin of my freedom.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door. The silence in the room was heavy, pressing in on me. I eventually forced myself to move, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My knees buckled slightly as I stood, the soreness in my body a constant reminder of my shame.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. I walked toward it, the plush carpet soft beneath my bare feet.

I stopped in front of the glass and let the sheet drop to the floor.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.