Bound by Chains
957 Words
Morning came with pain.
Aiden woke to the sting in his shoulder and the sound of quiet footsteps echoing across the warehouse. For one disoriented second, he forgot who else was there until the scent hit him. Dark, sharp, infuriating.
Dante.
The rival heir stood at a cracked window, golden eyes catching the pale light. His shirt was ruined, knuckles split, but he held himself as if the night hadn’t touched him at all. When he turned, that same irritating curve tugged at his mouth.
“You’re alive,” Dante said casually, as if they hadn’t fought for their lives hours ago.
Aiden pushed himself upright, biting back a groan. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
Dante’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m not disappointed. Just surprised. You were softer than I expected out there.”
“Careful,” Aiden muttered, dragging himself to his feet. “Or I’ll show you just how soft I’m not.”
For a moment, golden eyes gleamed, something sparking between them before Dante looked away. “Save it, Blackthorn. You’re not worth the bruises.”
The words stung more than they should have.
By nightfall, the warehouse was behind them.
Back at the Blackthorn estate, Aiden endured the storm of his father’s fury. Adrian paced the length of the study, voice a lash with every word.
“Two fights in two nights? Do you think this is a game? Wolves don’t follow a leader who brawls like a pup in heat. You embarrassed me, you embarrassed this pack, and you” His eyes cut to the bandaged shoulder. “you put yourself in the rogues’ jaws.”
“I handled it,” Aiden snapped, though the memory of Dante’s hand pressed to his wound told another story.
“You nearly got yourself killed.” Adrian’s voice dropped to a low growl. “And worse, you were seen fighting alongside a Veyron.”
Aiden flinched. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Adrian said coldly. “You chose wrong.”
The next day, the council chambers brimmed with tension. The Veyrons arrived, Lucien tall and imperious, Dante at his side with the same golden-eyed calm that drove Aiden mad.
The announcement landed like a blow.
“To show strength against the rogues,” Adrian declared, his voice carrying across the chamber, “the Blackthorn and Veyron heirs will co-lead our alliance. They will work together, stand together, and show this city we are united.”
Aiden’s jaw clenched. “You can’t be serious.”
“This isn’t a request,” Adrian snapped. “It’s survival.”
Lucien nodded in agreement, his gaze cutting toward his son. “For once, Blackthorn and Veyron must stand as one.”
The words tasted like ash. Aiden wanted to protest, to spit that he’d rather die than stand beside Dante. But across the chamber, Dante’s eyes caught his. Calm. Steady. Infuriating. And that smirk, Gods, that smirk made his blood boil.
Their first test came three days later.
The press conference was a circus, cameras flashing like lightning, reporters crowding close with questions sharp as claws. Aiden stood at the podium, his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder, Dante a dark presence at his side.
Adrian spoke first, his voice measured. “The Blackthorn and Veyron Packs are united against the rogue threat. Our heirs will lead this alliance.”
The words echoed, but the questions came fast.
“Mr. Blackthorn, how can the public trust this alliance when you and Mr. Veyron nearly tore each other apart at the gala?”
Aiden froze. The memory slammed into him—the rooftop lights, Dante’s fist, the humiliation of being dragged out like a child. His throat tightened, words choking before they could form.
And then Dante moved.
Smooth as ever, he stepped forward, his voice carrying with practiced ease. “Of course, they can trust us. What’s family without a little fighting?”
The crowd laughed nervously, cameras flashing brighter. Before Aiden could react, Dante slung an arm casually across his shoulders, pulling him close.
The contact burned. For one stunned second, Aiden didn’t move. He felt the heat of Dante’s body, the scent of his skin, the way his smirk widened just slightly at Aiden’s stiffness.
Then he shoved him off, his face hot.
But the damage was done. The room buzzed with whispers, the cameras snapping frantically, the headlines already writing themselves. Rivals no more? A Blackthorn-Veyron truce? Or something more?
Backstage, Aiden rounded on him, fury crackling in every word. “What the hell was that?”
“Saving your ass,” Dante said, loosening his tie, infuriatingly calm.
“You humiliated me.”
“Please,” Dante leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You blushed harder than a virgin on prom night. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
Heat rose in Aiden’s chest, anger mixing with something he refused to name. His wolf snarled inside him, restless. He wanted to strike him, to wipe that smug look from his face, to silence him with No. He forced the thought away.
“Stay the hell away from me,” Aiden snapped, storming out before Dante could see the crack in his armor.
That night, alone in his room, Aiden scrolled through the headlines.
“Blackthorn and Veyron: From Rivals to Partners?”
“Chemistry Caught on Camera: Are the Heirs More Than Allies?”
“United Front or Secret Affair?”
His reflection stared back at him in the screen. Scarred. Bruised. Uncertain.
And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase the heat of Dante’s arm around him, or the smug gleam in golden eyes that seemed to know far too much.
- Writer
