Chained To An Enemy Alpha

7. Chapter

The sun had long since slipped behind the distant ridge, and darkness thickened so slowly above the trees that it felt as if the night itself approached with caution, afraid to descend too suddenly upon the forest. The air was cool, slightly misty, filled with the earth-scent of wet leaves and the heavy aroma of pine resin. When Zane’s men finally stopped, it was as though a single collective breath escaped the group—a breath that said their bodies could keep going, but their nerves were already in shreds.

The treetops met above us, forming a dense, black canopy hanging over the camp like a massive, menacing hand waiting to strike when we least expected it.

Before nightfall, Zane had motioned for two soldiers. His voice wasn’t loud, but the strength behind it pushed everyone into motion.

“Set up a separate tent for her. Further away… but close enough that I can reach her if needed.”

Tension hid beneath the forced patience in his tone. The soldiers didn’t ask why. They knew the separate space wasn’t for comfort. They knew it wasn’t a privilege—far from it. It was simply the result of one fact:

I couldn’t bear their presence.

I couldn’t bear anyone’s.

I stood at the base of a thick pine tree, a little behind everyone else, trying to sink into the trembling shadows. The whole day carried that tight, vibrating anxiety that wouldn’t let me settle. My body was thin and exhausted, my legs weak, and my shoulder still ached where Zane had held me when I’d dozed off on the horse and started slipping forward.

The moment I jolted awake…

That cold, instinctive panic still echoed through me.

I felt his strong arms holding me. His scent, too close. The warmth of his chest behind my back. And my body—before I even thought—started screaming inside, wanting to flee, crawl away, kick, claw, anything just to escape him. Fear doesn’t have logic; it was so fast, so sharp, so merciless a reflex that by the time I understood what was happening, I’d already torn myself out of his hold.

He shouted at me then. His voice was too deep, too hard. Filled with too much anger I couldn’t understand. He said:

“I don’t hurt women!”

with such force my chest shook. But I wasn’t trembling because of his words.

I was trembling because of the volume.

The tone.

Because shouting—always, always, always—meant pain to me.

Now, as the campfire flared before us, everything became too vivid again. The crackling of the fire, the clatter of pots, the low voices of the soldiers, the tiny noises in the forest. Every sound felt like it was running under my skin. Zane gestured for me to sit nearby.

The gesture wasn’t harsh, not even commanding—yet it still triggered that reflex beaten into me so many times: obey quickly, perfectly, or it will hurt.

The bowls went around. The food smelled sweet and painful all at once. My stomach clenched.

I didn’t dare touch it.

An omega doesn’t eat with alphas.

Doesn’t sit beside them.

Doesn’t touch the food they touch.

Doesn’t exist.

The men sometimes looked at me. Not with malice, not with contempt—rather with puzzlement, as if they couldn’t understand why I flinched whenever someone moved their wrist. Why I winced at every louder breath. Why I held my hands the way someone does when apologizing for even existing.

They placed a bowl in front of me. Freshly cooked food. Steaming meat, warm bread.

And I still didn’t dare touch it.

My body knew what my mind knew too: if I tried to eat what wasn’t mine, someone would grab my hair. Someone would throw me to the ground. Someone would kick my hand away. Someone would hit me.

The men eventually finished dinner. The camp fell silent—the kind of tense silence where every breath feels too loud.

That was when Zane stood. He didn’t make noise, didn’t cast a dramatic shadow across the fire, yet everyone grew even quieter.

“Go,” he said simply.

And the soldiers obeyed without hesitation. This wasn’t the radiant dominance of an alpha—it was something deeper, older, a force that needed no explanation.

Once they disappeared, the space between us widened.

The firelight flashed across Zane’s face, and he looked at me. That look… deep. Measuring. Painfully sharp. He stepped closer—but slowly. As if he knew any sudden movement would tear something open inside me.

“You can eat now,” he said softly. His voice was so gentle my whole body went rigid with shock. “As much as you want. Whatever you want. For as long as you want. No one will take it from you. No one will hurt you. No one.”

And then:

“Do you understand, Lyra?”

The word slid over me like unfamiliar warmth.

Lyra. In the wolves’ tongue: my dear.

I couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t place it. It just… struck me.

Somewhere deep, in a place no one had ever touched. Something inside my chest opened, and the tears spilled out as if they’d been waiting for this moment for hours, days—maybe years.

My hand trembled. The bowl rattled. Through tears, stuttering, frightened, I raised the first bite to my mouth.

The meat was tender.

The bread was sweet.

The warmth was like some forbidden miracle.

With every bite, I felt the armor of fear inside me crack just a little.

It didn’t disappear.

But it wavered.

Zane watched silently. He didn’t step closer. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t scold. He just stood there, looking at me as though every tremor of mine hurt him.

As though he didn’t understand what had been done to me…

But also didn’t know what he should do to make it stop.

And I sat there, in the firelight, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to eat in secret.

I didn’t have to hurry.

I didn’t have to fear the food being torn away from me.

And for the first time, I felt something I never believed I could feel:

the first taste of safety.

A faint scrap of peace.

The right to fill my own stomach.

And the realization that maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to be afraid forever.

Even if only for one single moment.

Even if only because someone else allowed it.

And that one moment changed everything.