Marked by the Alpha: My Forced Mate

Chapter 4

Mia squeezed her phone so hard her knuckles turned white. The new text burned into her eyes—*You belong to me now. Don’t run.* Every word felt like a cold, mean order, sharp enough to cut.

Run. The word bounced around in her head, loud and scared. But where? The howl was closer now—not far off, but a low, deep growl that shook the dorm walls. It was like whatever was out there was right below her window, sniffing her out, waiting to pounce.

She stumbled back from the bathroom mirror, her shoulder hitting the tile with a soft thud. The silver mark on her neck still burned—hot, nonstop, matching the pace of her racing heart. It wasn’t just a mark anymore; it was a sign, yelling *mine* to whoever was hunting her.

“No,” she whispered, voice breaking. She’d always been normal—plain clothes, okay grades, a quiet life that no one noticed. How’d she end up here? Marked like something someone owned, followed by a monster out of a scary story?

Lila’s voice drifted through the door, muffled but urgent. “Mia? You okay in there? I heard you scream earlier.”

Panic hit her hard. She couldn’t tell Lila—not yet. Her best friend would think she was crazy, that the party and the woods had messed her up. Maybe she was, but the mark, the texts, the howl… they were too real to be made up.

“I’m fine!” she called back, forcing her voice to sound calm, even as her hands shook. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

There was a long pause, then Lila’s soft “Okay… wake me if you need anything.” The floor creaked as her friend walked away, leaving Mia alone with her fear.

Mia let out a shaky breath, sliding down the wall until she sat on the cold floor. Her phone lit up again—but this time, it was a call. Same unknown number, the digits glowing like a warning in the dim bathroom light.

She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the decline button. If she answered, would she hear that same low, possessive voice from her dream? The one that rumbled *mine* in her head, thick with dominance?

She didn’t answer. The call rang until it went to voicemail, a robotic beep cutting through the silence. A second later, a voice filled the small bathroom—deep, rough, and sharp, like it was scraped from stone. No softness, no patience, just raw, unyielding command.

*“I know you’re scared, Mia. I know you’re itching to run. Don’t.”* The words were cold, unforgiving, no room for argument. *“That mark’s not a game—it’s a claim. You’re my mate, and I don’t lose what’s mine. I’m outside. Don’t make me break this door down.”*

The voicemail cut off with a click. Mia dropped her phone, tears stinging her eyes. Mate. The word felt like a chain around her wrists, heavy and unbreakable. She didn’t wanna be anyone’s mate. She didn’t want this life—trapped, marked, owned.

Then the howl came again. This time, it was right outside her window, low and guttural, sending chills down her spine. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the frosted glass.

A shadow was pressed against it—tall, broad, with shoulders that looked too strong for a normal man. It wasn’t a wolf anymore. It was human, but there was something feral in the way it moved, something wild that made her blood run cold. Like it was holding back a beast, just barely.

Seconds later, a knock hit her dorm door—slow, deliberate, three taps, then a pause, then three more. A warning. A claim. He was here.

Her heart stopped. She knew who it was. No one else moved like that, spoke like that, looked at her like she was his and his alone.

The voice came through the door, low and harsh, no warmth, no mercy—just cold, unflinching authority that made her bones ache.

*“Mia. Open the door. Now.”*

She sat there, frozen, her hand pressed to the burning mark on her neck. Outside, the shadow didn’t move. He was waiting. And she knew—there was no running. Not from him. Not from the mark. Not from the life he was forcing her into.

The floor creaked outside the door. He was leaning against it, close enough that she could almost feel his presence through the wood. A low, rumbling growl vibrated through the door, soft but clear—*mine*.