Claimed by the Enemy

CHAPTER 4:The First Break

Serenya’s POV

The moonlight was cruel tonight.

It painted everything silver—the trees, the grass, even the rough stone of the cliff edge where I stood trying to breathe.

The moonlight had teeth tonight.

It bit at my skin as I stood on the cliff’s edge, the wind tugging at my hair, my pulse a wild, traitorous drum. I had slipped out here to escape the suffocating weight of my father’s house, of the betrothal collar I could already feel tightening around my throat.

But I wasn’t alone.

He stepped out of the shadows like he belonged to them, the rival Alpha with eyes that burned low and steady, the kind of fire you couldn’t smother. His presence was wrong here. Wrong in my territory. Wrong in my lungs.

And yet my wolf leaned forward inside me, whining softly, as if he was exactly what she’d been starved for.

“Stop following me,” I snapped, dragging my arms tight around myself like a shield.

His smirk was slow, deliberate, as if he had all night to strip my defenses bare. “If I were following you, little wolf, you wouldn’t even know it. I would already be at your back. Breathing against your neck.”

Heat shot through me so fast I nearly choked on it. I glared, hoping he couldn’t see how my body betrayed me, how my pulse leapt. “I am not your little anything.”

He took one step closer. Just one. But the air between us bent, thickened, as if the moonlight itself had tightened its grip.

“Say what you want,” he murmured, voice low enough to tangle with my heartbeat, “but your wolf knows me.”

That word—wolf was a knife, slicing straight to the marrow. My wolf surged forward, tail high, ears perked, eyes gleaming. She pressed against my skin as though she might burst out, desperate to close the space between us.

“No,” I hissed, stumbling back a step, claws prickling against my palms. “You don’t get to stand here and— and—”

“What?” His tone cut sharp. “Pretend? Lie?”

I hated him. I hated how he looked at me like he saw through every layer I wore, down to the raw truth I couldn’t hide. My chest rose and fell, my breaths coming shallow.

“I don’t want this,” I spat. “I don’t want you.”

His jaw flexed, his shoulders tensing, but his voice stayed maddeningly calm. “Good. Because I don’t want a mate.”

The words were flung like a blade. They should’ve freed me. Should’ve untied the bond clawing at my ribs. But instead, my wolf howled at the rejection, lashing against me, demanding I step forward, demanding I claim him anyway.

I nearly staggered from the force of it.

“You think that helps?” I whispered, my voice cracking, raw fury laced with something far more dangerous. “You think I asked for this? That I wanted the moon to shackle me to— to you?”

He moved then. Fast.

One moment he was a breath away, the next his hand slammed against the tree beside my head, pinning me between bark and his body. The impact echoed in the night air, sharp, final. My heart leapt into my throat.

The heat rolling off him was unbearable. His scent hit me hard, pine and woodsmoke, filling my lungs until I was dizzy. His other hand came to rest at my waist, not quite gripping, not quite letting go.

“Say it,” he growled, eyes burning gold now, no restraint left. “Say you don’t feel it.”

I tried. Goddess, I tried. My lips parted, but the words withered, dying on my tongue. My wolf pressed harder, claws raking my insides, pushing me toward him with a hunger I could not fight.

I hated myself for trembling. I hated him more for noticing.

“Say you don’t feel it,” he growled again, lower, more dangerous, his breath brushing across my mouth like a threat.

My throat locked. My body burned. My wolf howled inside me, clawing, snarling, mate, mate, mate.

“I don’t—” My voice broke. My claws dug crescent moons into my palms. “I don’t feel—”

He pressed closer, his chest crushing mine, heat searing through my bones. His hand at my waist tightened, and with one hard jerk he yanked me flush against him. My breath hitched.

“You’re shaking,” he said darkly, voice edged with triumph and restraint all at once. “Not because you’re afraid. Don’t lie to me, little wolf. Don’t lie to yourself.”

My head slammed back against the bark. The tree bit into my scalp, the sting grounding me for only a second. “You’re arrogant. You think—”

And then his lips were on mine.

I gasped into him, a sound that should’ve been defiance but shattered into something else—something desperate.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t searching. It was war. His mouth claimed mine like a battlefield, teeth scraping, tongue demanding entry. My body betrayed me instantly, parting for him, giving him everything he asked for even as my fists bunched in his shirt, meaning to push him away only to pull him closer.

The world tilted. The cliff beneath us seemed to drop away, and all I could cling to was him. His hand slid up, cupping my jaw with a roughness that burned, forcing me to tilt higher, to bare my throat, my mouth, my everything to him.

And gods help me, I let him.

His taste was fire and storm. His kiss stole the ground from under me, every shred of balance I had fought to keep. My wolf arched and keened in bliss, tail curling, body shivering.

“Stop,” I managed against his lips, though my voice was ruined, fractured with need.

He tore his mouth from mine, chest heaving. His forehead pressed against mine, hot and furious. “You don’t mean that.”

The worst part was—he was right.

Every nerve in me screamed to close the distance again, to sink my teeth into his mouth, his throat, to devour him whole. I hated him for it. Hated the moon for binding us. Hated myself most of all for the way my knees trembled under his hold.

“I can’t—” I whispered, ragged, clutching his shirt like it might keep me standing. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He let out a guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a laugh. “You already did.”