The Capture
1045 Words
Chapter Two: The Capture
Lucien
The scent wouldn’t leave him.
Even after he shifted back and rode through the darkness in silence, her scent lingered—sweet, sharp, forbidden.
He could still see her.
Sopping wet. Barefoot. Wild-eyed. Her lips parted as if she’d recognized him too.
The bond had snapped into place the moment their eyes met. He’d felt it crawl under his skin like fire.
His mate.
And he’d let her go.
Why?
He wasn’t a man who hesitated. He was a king. A killer. A conqueror. His pack didn’t question. His enemies didn’t survive.
And yet… he'd walked away.
The wolf in him was howling now—furious, betrayed.
“She’s not ready,” he muttered to himself. “And I don’t want her afraid.”
But the truth was uglier: he’d been afraid.
Afraid of what it meant to feel something again.
Afraid of her power. Of her light.
---
Aria
She didn’t sleep.
She huddled beneath a hollowed-out tree deep in the forest, soaked to the bone, every nerve on edge.
Why hadn’t he taken her?
Why had he let her run?
And why did her body still burn with the memory of his gaze?
Her palm tingled. The blood on her skin had faded, but the bond remained—coiled around her like an invisible leash.
“I won’t be owned,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t about choice anymore.
It was destiny.
---
Two nights later...
Lucien’s wolves found her.
She fought.
She bit, clawed, screamed—but they were too many. They didn’t hurt her—but they didn’t show mercy either. They dragged her through the woods, half-conscious, back toward Shadowbane territory.
And at the end of it, he was waiting.
Lucien Draven.
The Alpha King.
He stood shirtless, power radiating from his body like flame, gold eyes unreadable as the guards dropped her to her knees before him.
She raised her chin, defiant.
“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”
He stepped forward, slow, predatory.
“Why would I destroy the one thing the moon made just for me?”
She spat at his feet.
He smiled.
“You’ll learn, little omega.” He crouched in front of her, brushing a knuckle against her jaw. She flinched, but held his gaze.
“I don’t want to be yours.”
Lucien’s expression darkened—something dangerous flickering beneath the surface.
He leaned close, voice a low whisper against her ear.
“Too late.”
Lucien’s breath brushed her skin.
“Too late,” he’d said, low and final.
Aria held her ground. Even on her knees. Even surrounded. Even with her heart clawing at her ribs.
She would not cower.
She would not beg.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied.
Lucien’s head tilted slightly, eyes flicking over her face like he was deciphering an ancient text.
“No. You’re not,” he said after a beat. “And that’s what makes you dangerous.”
He rose, the air shifting as he moved. His wolves stood silent behind him, tense, uncertain—watching how their Alpha would handle the girl who should have been a trophy, not a trial.
“Take her to the south tower,” Lucien commanded, without looking back. “No chains. Just a guard at the door.”
“My Alpha—” one warrior began.
Lucien’s eyes cut to him—ice-cold. “Did I stutter?”
The room fell into motion, but Aria never looked away from him. Even as rough hands lifted her again. Even as her body ached. Even as she was dragged toward her prison, she turned her head and locked eyes with the king who haunted her veins.
---
The South Tower – Later That Night
It wasn’t a dungeon, but it wasn’t comfort either.
Stone walls. A single window, too high to reach. A bed, thick pelts, and a basin. No chains. No food.
Aria sat on the edge of the mattress, watching the flames in the hearth. They reminded her of his eyes.
She hated that she remembered their warmth. Their weight.
She hated that her body still felt his presence like it hadn’t left.
The door creaked.
She tensed.
Lucien stepped inside alone.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt was gone again. As if he wanted her to look.
She didn’t.
Not right away.
But eventually, her eyes rose, dragging over the ridges of his muscles, the runes burned into his skin, the long scar across his ribs like a white serpent.
“Come to gloat?” she said.
“No,” he said, voice lower than the fire. “I came to see if you were brave enough to ask me why I spared you.”
“I already know why.” She stood slowly. “You think you own me.”
His mouth twitched. “I think you were made for me.”
Aria walked toward him.
Every step was rebellion.
Every inch of the bond inside her sparked—wild and warning.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I wasn’t made for anyone.”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. “Say that again when your body starts begging.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Silence.
His cheek turned slightly from the impact, but his expression didn’t change. Not at first.
Then he smiled. Slowly. Like something inside him had just been fed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured.
And then he stepped forward—and the air changed.
She didn’t run. She wouldn’t.
He caught her wrist, not cruelly—but firmly. His skin was hot against hers. The bond pulsed between them, and this time it wasn’t just heat. It was hunger.
Lucien’s voice dropped.
“You think I’ll break you. I won’t.”
“Because you can’t,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “Because I want you whole when I make you mine.”
And with that, he let her go. Just as suddenly.
He turned. Left. The door clicked shut behind him.
And Aria stood trembling—not from fear.
From something far more dangerous
- Writer
