Sold to the Ruthless Alpha

Chapter 2

Lythia slammed the apartment door shut behind her and bolted it twice. Her hands trembled as she leaned against the door, trying to take note of her surroundings. Outside, New York City carried on with its relentless noise: sirens blaring, horns honking, and people yelling at each other. The sounds sounded through the walls, increasing her anxiety and sending her heart racing. It had been days since she had been on the run from Zyran, but every sound felt like a reminder that someone might still be after her.

The tiny room smelled of stale pizza and mold. A single bare light bulb swung from the ceiling, casting a shaky glow over a mattress she had salvaged from the street. She dropped her bag and quickly scanned the room for signs of life or anything suspicious, and there was none. But beneath the city’s stench. The exhaust mingled with something familiar to her. It lingered in the air like an unwelcome ghost: the faint smell of wolf. Because of the smell doubts gnawed at her. Had she really escaped, or was danger still lurking in the shadows? She had paid cash for everything and adopted a new identity—“Elena Voss”—yet the sensation of being watched made her skin crawl.

Exhaustion crashed down on her like a wave. She tumbled onto the mattress, and sleep took her almost immediately.

In her dreams, Zyran's oceanic green eyes locked onto hers from across the trial room. The mate bond surged painfully in her chest. She loathed him, and yet that connection was undeniable. It was a magnetic pull that was both terrifying and intoxicating. He took a step closer, chains clinking against each other as he moved. "You betrayed me," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. His hand brushed her neck, igniting a warmth that both repulsed and thrilled her. She wanted to pull away, but instead leaned in, cursing herself for it.

She jolted awake, gasping for breath, her body drenched in sweat. The bond throbbed like a headache, which was a constant reminder of the turmoil she felt. Rubbing her face with her palms, she banished those thoughts. She couldn’t afford to get lost in memories or emotions, when survival came first.

The morning light filtered through the shabby curtains, casting a dull glow across the room. She threw on a hoodie, pulled the hood low over her eyes, and stepped out into the chaos of the city. The world felt intimidating, the noise felt overwhelming. She needed a job, which was the only way to blend in and lay low. Her medical degree was legitimate; all she needed was to use her alias effectively.

The first clinic she approached was a small one in Brooklyn. Lythia, now Elena, handed her resume to the receptionist, who looked at it with interest. “ER experience,” the woman noted, raising her eyebrows. But as Lythia stood there, she caught a whiff of something wild_ a werewolf scent that brought back her worst fears. Her heart raced as she spun around, but it was just a man with a big dog. Nothing to be alarmed about, she told herself, forcing her body to relax.

Next, she ventured into Midtown, where the bustling crowd made her skin crawl. Every person who brushed past her felt like a threat, each person lingering too long on a street corner sent panic racing through her. She quickened her pace, desperate to find something, or anything, to ground her.

By afternoon, she finally landed an interview at a small ER in Queens. “We need someone for night shifts. Can you start tomorrow?” the head nurse asked. Relief washed over her as she nodded vigorously, signing the papers with her new name. It was a small win, maybe it could lead to more stability.

But as she rode the subway home, that familiar scent washed over her again. It came from the next car over. The instinct to flee kicked in, and she jumped off at the next stop, taking the long route home through alleys and side streets, the hood pulled tight around her face. She couldn’t help but check over her shoulder at every corner.

Back in her apartment, anxiety twisted her stomach. The city was an oppressive weight, and the noise built up around her like a pressure cooker, ready to explode.

Her phone buzzed, and she instinctively recognized the caller before answering. “Yeah?” she said, annoyance coloring her voice.

“Lythia? Or is it Elena now?” Vincent's smooth voice slithered through the phone. “Word is, you’re in New York. Bold choice.”

“Cut to the chase. I need clean papers, and maybe a better place to stay. Zyran’s out, and he’s looking.”

There was a sudden pause from his side before he continued. “Out already? The guy has connections. Tell me, how did you manage to slip away? And what’s he sitting on? Cash, property? That information might help us both.”

Lythia tensed at the question, distrust flaring in her chest. “Why do you need to know about his money?”

“Just thinking strategically. Relax. I'll set you up. Meet a guy tomorrow; I’ll text you the details. But keep your head down. Zyran doesn't let go easily.”

“Neither do I,” she snapped, hanging up. It felt like help, but trust had never been Vincent’s strong suit. Still, her options were running thin.

Meanwhile, far away from her makeshift home, Zyran paced in his new hideout, the mate bond burning fiercely in his chest. He slammed his fist onto the desk, sending a water bottle crashing to the floor.

“Ethan!” he barked, his eyes ablaze with determination.

His beta entered, expression serious. “We’ve got leads in the city. Scent trails and cameras have picked her up. She’s careful, but she’s slipping.”

“Find her,” Zyran commanded, his voice cold. “Bring her back, alive. She put me in that hell, and she will pay for it. But she’s still mine.”

Ethan nodded tightly, aware of the thundercloud forming over Zyran’s usual composure. “The bond’s messing with your head, Alpha.”

Zyran's laughter was devoid of warmth. “I’m aware. And that's the reason you should find her.”

That night, Lythia went back to the apartment, nervous. The hallway was dark, making her heart race. She fumbled for her keys when a sudden, forceful knock rattled the door. It was three hard raps that sent dread coursing through her.

Before she could even call out, the door smashed open. Ethan stood there, his tall frame blocking her escape. In one hand, he held a tablet, the screen reflecting a sinister light.

“Watch,” he intoned flatly, pressing a button. The screen flickered to life, revealing a horror she never expected. Her parents, bound and terrified, were back on pack land, surrounded by flames, a blade to her mother's throat.

“Sign this,” he commanded, shoving a contract at her_a marriage to Zyran, demanding total subservience.

“No way,” she spat, fighting against the panic rising in her throat.

“Watch,” Ethan replied, his expression emotionless. The camera zoomed in on the knife, blood seeping slowly down her mother’s neck.

With trembling fingers, Lythia took the pen, her heart racing with terror.