The Alpha Christmas claim

Chapter 2 Alphas Den

Lila woke up not with a jolt, but with a profound sense of disorientation. The first thing she registered was the smell: not the stale cigarette smoke and cheap cleaning products of her old apartment, but something earthy, clean, and overwhelmingly masculine. It was the scent of pine needles, wet leather, and a spice she couldn’t name—a smell that had been imprinted on her senses the moment the massive stranger had touched her. It was the smell of Rhys.

She was lying on her back, beneath a blanket so heavy and soft it felt like a weighted cloud. The mattress was huge, swallowing her small frame, and the sheets were crisp white cotton. For a dizzying moment, she thought she was in a very expensive, very strange hotel room. Then she opened her eyes.

The room was vast, dominated by a rough-hewn stone fireplace where embers glowed like dying red eyes. Everything was natural—dark wood, grey slate, and heavy beams. It was rustic in the way a king’s winter hunting lodge is rustic. She was alone, but the silence wasn't empty; it was pressurized, expectant.

She sat up too fast, and the room spun. The panic hit her then, cold and swift, worse than the snow outside. Mark. The cheating. The alley. The man. She touched her neck, instinctively seeking reassurance. Her hand brushed against the soft fabric of a shirt—a men's black thermal, oversized, which smelled exactly like the bed.

But beneath the fabric, on the pulse point of her neck, was a distinct, low thrumming sensation. It wasn't pain, but a deep, internal vibration, a warmth that felt inexplicably protective. It was where Rhys had put his mouth, where he had growled that terrifying, possessive claim.

He said, "She is my mate."

Lila finally allowed her rational mind to catch up. She immediately dismissed the entire event as a psychotic break. The shock of finding Mark with another woman, the lack of sleep, the freezing cold—it must have triggered a hysterical fugue state. She must have been picked up by a well-meaning (or possibly deranged) Good Samaritan who brought her here.

Okay. Breathe. Find your coat, find your phone, call the police. You are safe now.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her own clothes, soaked through and frozen, were gone. She was wearing only the shirt.

She stumbled to the door, a heavy, dark oak structure, and gripped the brass knob. It didn't turn. It was locked.

A fresh wave of terror washed over her. It wasn't a good Samaritan. This was an abduction.

She backed away, scanning the room frantically for a window. There was one, a large pane overlooking a landscape of silent, snow-covered forest that stretched into infinity. It was beautiful, but terrifyingly isolated. When she tried to slide the sash open, it didn’t budge. Bolted shut.

Just as she started to scream, the door clicked, and Rhys entered.

He looked different now. Gone was the long, snow-dusted coat of the alley. He wore tailored, dark trousers and a simple grey sweater that did nothing to hide the immense musculature beneath. He moved with a heavy, deliberate slowness that was more unnerving than a rush. He carried a tray with a steaming mug and a small, crusty roll of bread. He looked like an impossibly dangerous man playing at domesticity.

"You're awake," he stated, his voice the same low, gravelly timbre that had vibrated in her chest.

Lila scrambled back toward the bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it to her chest like a shield. Her voice trembled, a pathetic, reedy sound in the huge room.

"Where am I? What is this? You need to let me go, or I will call the police."

Rhys set the tray down on a small table, the casual clang of the mug against the ceramic saucer a sharp sound in the quiet room. He walked toward her, and Lila shrunk back until her shoulders hit the solid headboard.

"You are safe. You are in my home. And you will not be calling the police," he said, his golden eyes narrowed slightly in mild frustration. "You will not be leaving the property."

"You abducted me! This is kidnapping!" she choked out.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, his stance dominant, his large hands resting loosely on his hips. "I claimed what is mine, Lila. I saved you from a pathetic human male who was unworthy of you. I brought you home."

"Home?" She laughed, a short, sharp, hysterical sound. "My home is in the city, with my job and my life! You are delusional! You think you can just..." She gestured helplessly, "…declare ownership of a person?"

Rhys sighed, a sound that held an unusual note of weariness. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Lila. Sit down. You need to understand this is real. Everything you know about the world is wrong. I am not a man who thinks he's a wolf. I am a wolf. I am the Alpha of this territory."

His admission—the full, ridiculous, over-the-top admission—didn't scare her in the way he probably intended. It cemented her earlier suspicion.

"You're right," Lila said, lowering the pillow slightly, her eyes wide with false sympathy. "You’re unstable. This is a delusion, maybe a schizoaffective episode. I'm going to cooperate. Just let me use a phone, and I can call someone to get you help. A hospital."

His patience snapped. The sheer absurdity of her rational, human-based denial clearly chafed against his dominant instincts. His face darkened, and the golden light in his eyes flared, this time brighter, more menacing.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave into something that was undeniably a growl. "I am not sick. I am not broken. I am a Werewolf. And you, my mate, are blocking the bond with your silly human logic, and it is driving me to the very edge of my control."

He paced to the window and back, the suppressed energy radiating off him making the air in the room feel thick and volatile. "The mate bond is an absolute. It is a primal, biological imperative that tells the wolf who belongs to him. I smelled you last night, a scent I've waited two hundred years to find. You are the other half of my soul. You are mine."

Lila instinctively pressed her hand back against her neck, the low, powerful thrum of the scent mark intensifying as he grew agitated. The feeling was a profound contradiction: terror at his words, but a deep, inexplicable, physical rightness at his proximity.

"A bond? Two hundred years?" She shook her head, trying to maintain her sanity in the face of his utter madness. "This is not a fairytale. We have science. We have psychology. You are a man, and I am a woman, and you are holding me here against my will! That is the only reality that matters!"

"The reality that matters," Rhys countered, stalking to the bedside table and picking up the mug of hot liquid, "is that if I let you walk out that door, you will be dead before you hit the city limits."

He placed the mug into her cold hands. The warmth seeped into her skin, startling her. She looked up, confused.

"I marked you last night," he explained, pointing to her neck. "That scent is only apparent to wolves, but it is unmistakable. It tells every wolf in a fifty-mile radius that you belong to the Alpha of this territory. It makes you a target for every rogue, every enemy, every ambitious fool who thinks he can destabilize my rule by taking my mate. Your old life is over, Lila. You cannot go back."

The casual finality of his statement—Your old life is over—finally bypassed her logical defenses. She looked out the window at the vast, empty snowscape. She thought of Mark's pathetic betrayal, the cheapness of the lie. Did she really have anything to go back to? The thought brought a cold, empty ache, not panic.

"I... I don't believe you," she whispered, but the conviction was gone. The primal part of her brain, the one that responded to the deep, steady thump of Rhys’s heartbeat, was starting to listen.

Rhys sat on the edge of the bed, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the heat radiating from him was palpable. The golden light in his eyes softened slightly, shifting from territorial threat to something closer to weary need.

"I know this is overwhelming," he admitted, his voice regaining its lower, less aggressive register. "I know this is insane by human standards. But the bond is demanding. It is why I was desperate last night. I was losing control. That spark, that electrical shock you felt when I touched you—that is the bond trying to integrate us. You are blocking it with your fear, and that is dangerous for both of us. It is making me unreasonably possessive, and it is leaving you vulnerable."

He reached out a large hand, stopping inches from her face. "I need you to try. I need you to trust the feeling. That safety you felt in the alley when I pushed your ex aside? That is what I offer you. Absolute, total protection. But you must submit to the necessity of this reality."

Lila stared at his hand. It was rough, scarred, and impossibly strong. She pictured it shoving Mark to the ground, the immediate, overwhelming calm that had descended on her chaos when he had claimed her. She didn't want to touch him, but a deeper, terrifyingly submissive part of her yearned for the electric comfort of his skin against hers.

"I won't let you starve," he said, noticing her fixation on the tray. "Eat the bread. Drink the tea. I'll be back later. Do not try the door or the windows again. For your own safety, you will stay here until the pack is prepared for your presence."

Rhys stood up, casting a long shadow across the room. He was walking toward the door when a sudden, sharp, three-part knock resonated through the thick oak.

Rhys’s entire demeanor shifted. His body became instantly rigid, his eyes flaring fully golden again. It was a transformation from a tired, frustrated man to a lethal predator.

He opened the door slightly, enough to slip out, and a woman's low, stern voice immediately cut through the air.

"Alpha, I apologize for the interruption, but there's a problem. Evelyn has been asking for you."

Rhys paused in the doorway. He looked back at Lila, his expression grim, his previous weariness replaced by a chilling focus.

"Stay here," he instructed, the command layered with a warning that went beyond mere words. "Do not move. I mean it, Lila."

He closed the door and the lock clicked, a loud, final sound. Lila heard his heavy boots walking away, followed by the muffled, urgent murmuring of the woman who had knocked.

Lila was alone again, but she was no longer thinking about calling the police. She was thinking about Victor, the rival Alpha Rhys had warned her about. Her human life was over. The only question now was whether she would survive her wolf one.