Bound To the Cruel Alpha

Chapter Twenty

Draven

Draven’s fingers tightened around the leather strap as he worked the buckle on his horse’s saddle. The big black stallion flicked its ears, restless, stamping the packed dirt floor of the stables. The sound echoed in the quiet, broken only by the low shuffle of servants tending other horses. The Alpha’s mind was elsewhere though, still stuck on Corren’s words.

He could almost hear them again, clearly as if they were spoken a moment ago.

"It’s not a good look, Draven."

Draven gritted his teeth. He was not changing. He was the same Alpha he had always been. He still hunted rogues. He still punished betrayal. He still lived and ruled by strength. But this one rogue… she was different. Not because of her face or her voice or the way her eyes had looked at him that first day. She was different because the Moon had tied her life to his. That single fact burned hotter than any blade.

He tugged on the strap harder than necessary, making the stallion snort and shift. Draven’s jaw tightened. He hated that his thoughts kept circling back to her. He hated that Kaelen had dared to move her without asking. And most of all, he hated that he had not stopped her.

The soft scuff of boots on the stable floor broke his thoughts. Corren’s voice followed.

“Are you ready?”

Draven looked up. Corren stood beside his own horse, a chestnut gelding, already saddled and waiting. He looked eager, like he always did when a ride promised fresh air and freedom.

“Yes,” Draven said simply. He swung into his saddle with practiced ease, leather creaking under his weight. “Let’s go.”

They rode side by side out of the stables, the open gates swallowing them into sunlight. The morning air was cool, carrying the faint scent of baking bread and tilled earth. The castle walls fell behind them, and soon the wide dirt road led them toward the heart of the city.

For a while they rode in silence. Corren stole a few glances at Draven, but the Alpha’s face was carved in stone. Eventually, Corren exhaled and said, “You brood too much. A ride is meant to loosen your bones, not weigh them down.”

Draven almost smiled, but not quite. “You talk too much.”

“That balances us out then,” Corren said, grinning.

They entered the markets first. The streets bustled with noise, carts creaking under sacks of grain, stalls lined with bright fruits, bolts of dyed cloth, and baskets of smoked fish. Women with aprons dusted in flour called out prices for pies. Children darted between horses, shouting, laughing.

People noticed Draven as he passed. Some bowed their heads quickly, whispering his title. Others did not seem to realize who he was, only seeing a tall rider in dark leathers, his face shadowed by the sun. Draven liked it that way. He did not need everyone trembling. Not today.

A group of children chased after their horses, bare feet slapping against the dirt. One bold boy shouted, “Race us, Alpha!”

Draven reined his horse in, looking down at him. “Race you?”

“Yes!” The boy’s grin was missing a front tooth. His friends bounced behind him, eager.

Corren laughed. “You are not about to—”

But Draven was already sliding off his horse. The children gasped as the Alpha of their pack dropped to their level. “Fine,” Draven said. “Show me how fast you are.”

They ran. Dust kicked up as five little bodies sprinted, shrieking with laughter. Draven followed with long strides, holding back just enough to keep it fair. Corren clapped and shouted mock encouragements from the sidelines, drawing stares from the vendors. By the time Draven slowed down, two of the children collapsed in the dirt, panting and giggling.

“You win,” Draven said to the toothless boy, ruffling his hair. The boy’s eyes widened, shining with pride.

Corren leaned on his saddle, smirking. “Look at you. A hero of the children. Who would have thought.”

Draven mounted his horse again, ignoring him. But the corners of his mouth twitched.

They rode deeper, past homes built of stone and timber, past women hanging laundry and men hauling hay. The further they went, the looser Draven’s chest felt. He did not always enjoy these trips, but he admitted, if only to himself, that they grounded him. His pack was not only soldiers and members of council. It was people. And he needed to see them.

By midday, Corren groaned about being hungry. They stopped at a small restaurant tucked between a smithy and a bookshop. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of oats cooked in milk and drizzled with honey.

Draven ate sparingly. He had never cared much for sweets, and honey clung too heavy on his tongue. Corren, however, devoured two bowls with relish, spoon scraping noisily against the clay.

“You are a beast,” Draven said flatly.

Corren grinned, mouth sticky. “You wound me. A man must eat. Besides, what kind of Alpha leaves his share untouched? Wasteful.”

“Take it, then,” Draven said, pushing his bowl fully toward him.

Corren did not need to be told twice.

Later, in the shade of a tavern at the edge of the city, Corren found himself pulled into a heated argument with a table of drunk men. They were debating, loudly and with hand gestures, about the best way to please a woman. Corren’s voice rose above them all, colorful words spilling as he leaned across the table, red-faced from laughter and ale.

Draven sat back in his chair, a mug in hand. He had not drunk much, only enough to keep the tavern keeper happy. He watched the chaos with something like amusement, the faintest curve at his lips.

One of the drunk men banged his fist. “No, no, you fool! It is not the hands. It is the tongue!”

Corren roared, “If you think it’s only that, you have never touched a woman properly in your life!”

The men laughed so hard one fell off his stool. Draven shook his head, sipping from his mug. This was Corren. Loud, crude, loyal. The sort of man who brought noise where Draven brought silence. Perhaps that was why they worked.

Draven could always count on Corren. Their bond went back to boyhood, when Corren’s father first sent him to serve at court, in the days when Draven’s father still ruled as Alpha.

Corren followed Draven around for days before Draven finally talked to him. They've been friends ever since then. Even better, they've been brothers. And it gave Draven joy to see him relaxed and happy.

When the sun dipped and shadows stretched long across the streets, Draven finally stood. He tapped Corren’s shoulder and they walked out.

“It is late.”

Corren looked up, hair mussed, eyes bright. “Are we going home now?”

“We have spent enough time outside, do you not think so?”

“Should I answer truthfully?” Corren grinned.

“No,” Draven said, mounting his horse again. “Let us just go home.”

Corren's laughter followed them into the night as they rode, hooves striking rhythm against the dirt road, the city slowly falling quiet behind them.