Owned and Claimed by the Ruthless Alpha's

Chapter 2: The Razor’s Edge

Six a.m. came with the subtlety of a heart attack.

I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Xander Blackwood’s grey eyes, cold and calculating, stripping away my humanity until I was nothing but a chess piece.

I stood outside the double mahogany doors of the Alpha’s private suite. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them behind my back, took a breath that rattled in my lungs, and knocked.

"Enter."

The voice was a low rumble, vibration rather than sound.

I pushed the door open. The suite was massive, a study in modern coldness—black leather, chrome, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty forest. But I didn’t look at the view. I looked at him.

Xander was sitting in a high-backed leather chair in the center of the room. He was shirtless.

My breath hitched, unauthorized and traitorous. He was a landscape of violence. Scars—some jagged and old, others pink and fresh—mapped his torso, cutting across hard, defined muscle. He didn't look up as I entered. He was sharpening a straight razor against a leather strop. Shuck. Shuck. Shuck. The rhythmic sound was hypnotic and terrifying.

"You’re thirty seconds late," Xander said, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. A bead of blood welled up, bright crimson against his skin.

"I got lost," I lied. "The corridors—"

"Lying is a bad habit, Natalie. One I will break you of." He gestured to the towel and basin of steaming water on the side table. "Shave me."

I froze. "What?"

His eyes snapped to mine. They were devoid of warmth. "My aide attends to my personal grooming. Unless you’d prefer to go back to the kitchens? I hear the grease traps need cleaning."

I walked over to the table, my legs feeling like lead. I picked up the hot towel and the razor. My hands trembled visibly. This was a test. A twisted, psychological power play. He was putting a lethal weapon in the hand of a woman who had every reason to hate him, daring me to flinch.

I draped the hot towel over his jaw. He leaned his head back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. His pulse beat steadily beneath the skin—slow, unbothered.

"Don't nick me," he murmured. "I bleed heavily."

I lathered the soap, the scent of sandalwood filling my nose, suffocating me. I stepped between his spread legs to get a better angle, the proximity setting my nerves on fire. I could feel the heat radiating off his thighs.

I brought the razor to his neck.

"Why me?" I whispered, scraping the blade carefully along his jawline. "There are a dozen women in this pack who would kill to be standing here."

"Tasha, for instance?" Xander asked dryly.

"Yes. Tasha."

"Tasha bores me. She is ambitious, but she lacks... collateral." His eyes opened, fixing on me as the blade hovered over his carotid artery. "You, on the other hand, have nowhere to run. That makes you loyal by default."

"That makes me a prisoner," I corrected.

"Semantics."

Suddenly, the door banged open.

"Xander, darling, I heard—"

The woman who breezed in stopped dead. Tasha. The Beta’s daughter. She was stunning in a predatory way, wearing a silk robe that left nothing to the imagination. Her eyes widened as she took in the tableau: me, standing between the Alpha’s legs, holding a razor to his throat.

Her face twisted into a mask of pure venom.

"What is she doing here?" Tasha screeched, pointing a manicured finger at me. "The hybrid rat? Touching you?"

Xander didn't move. He didn't push me away. He simply closed his eyes again. "Finish the left side, Natalie. You missed a spot."

Tasha stormed forward, grabbing my arm and yanking me back. The razor slipped.

Slice.

A thin line of red appeared on Xander’s jaw.

The room temperature dropped twenty degrees in a second.

Xander stood up. He didn't rush. He unfolded his height like a dark god rising from a throne. He wiped the blood from his jaw with his thumb, looked at it, and then looked at Tasha.

"Get out," he said. His voice was quiet. Deadly.

"Xander, look at what she did!" Tasha cried, digging her nails into my arm hard enough to draw blood. "She cut you! She’s clumsy, filthy—"

Xander moved faster than my eyes could track. One hand wrapped around Tasha’s throat, not squeezing, but holding her in place. The other hand grabbed my wrist—the one Tasha was clawing—and yanked me free from her grip.

He shoved me behind him. It wasn't a protective gesture; it was possessive. Like a dragon hoarding gold.

"She cut me because you interrupted my morning," Xander said, staring down at Tasha. "Natalie is my aide. She is under my direct protection. If you touch her again, Tasha, I will forget your father’s rank and have you thrown in the cells for damaging Pack property."

Tasha gasped, her face pale. "Property? She’s a mutant."

"She is mine," Xander snarled, the Alpha tone vibrating the glass of the windows. "Get. Out."

Tasha fled, sobbing.

I stood there, rubbing my bleeding arm, staring at Xander’s back. He turned to me. I expected an apology. Or asking if I was okay.

"You let your guard down," he said coldly, inspecting the cut on his jaw in the mirror. "Next time she grabs you, break her fingers. I don't tolerate weakness in my staff."

"She’s the Beta’s daughter," I argued, shocked.

"I don't care if she's the Queen of England. Clean this up. We have a meeting in the interrogation room."

The interrogation room was deep underground, smelling of damp earth and old iron.

"This is Drago," Xander said, gesturing to the man chained to the chair in the center of the room.

Drago was a mountain of a man, covered in tattoos that marked him as a high-ranking enforcer for the Eastern Pack. Kade Varrick’s pack. His face was beaten, one eye swollen shut, but he was grinning.

"Alpha Blackwood," Drago spat, blood coating his teeth. "You’re looking desperate. Bringing a girl to an interrogation? Running out of heavy hitters?"

"She’s taking notes," Xander said, sitting on the edge of the table, looking bored. "Start talking, Drago. Why were you patrolling my perimeter? Varrick knows the treaty lines."

"Varrick burned the treaty lines this morning," Drago laughed. It was a wet, gurgling sound. "He doesn't want your land, Blackwood. He knows your wards are failing. He knows you’re weak."

Xander stiffened. I kept my head down, scribbling furiously on the notepad, trying to make myself invisible.

Drago’s good eye shifted. It landed on me.

He paused. He sniffed the air, confused. Then, his eyes widened.

"Well, well," Drago whispered. "What do we have here?"

Xander narrowed his eyes. "Look at me, mongrel."

"You don't know, do you?" Drago looked from me to Xander, a look of twisted amusement on his face. "You have her right here, under your nose, and you don't even know what she is."

"She’s a hybrid," Xander dismissed. "Half-human."

"Is she?" Drago leaned forward against the chains. "She smells like Winter. She smells like the Old Blood."

"Shut up," Xander commanded.

"Varrick is coming," Drago sang out, his voice rising in manic glee. "And he’s not coming for the territory, Xander! He’s coming for—"

BOOM.

The world turned white.

The heavy steel door of the interrogation room was blown off its hinges. The concussion blast threw me backward. I hit the concrete wall hard, my vision swimming. Dust and debris filled the air.

Alarms blared. Red emergency lights bathed the room in blood.

"Natalie!"

Xander was there instantly. He didn't ask if I could walk. He scooped me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, holding me tight against his chest.

"We’ve been breached," he growled, stepping over the rubble. Drago was gone—unshackled and vanished in the smoke.

"Put me down!" I coughed, the dust burning my throat. "I can run!"

"You'll die," he retorted.

He kicked the remnants of the door aside and sprinted into the corridor. It was chaos. Guards were running, shouting orders. Smoke billowed from the upper levels.

"They bypassed the perimeter," Xander shouted to a passing guard. "Lock down the East Wing! Get the civilians to the bunker!"

"Alpha! The breach is internal! They were already inside!"

Xander cursed. He ducked into a side passage, a service tunnel that led to the surface. He moved with inhuman speed, his body hard as rock against mine. I could feel the tension in him, the leashed violence.

He kicked open the exit door, and we spilled out into the rainy, grey afternoon of the forest edge.

He finally set me down, pushing me behind a large oak tree. He pinned me there with his body, his hands on the bark on either side of my head. His face was inches from mine, his breathing heavy.

"Stay here," he ordered. "Do not move. Do not breathe. I’m going to kill every single one of them."

"Xander, look," I whispered, pointing toward the tree line.

He turned.

The mist parted.

Standing ten yards away, flanked by a dozen wolves in tactical gear, was a man.

He was beautiful in the way a natural disaster is beautiful. Dark hair, wild and windblown. Eyes that were a startling, unnatural gold. He wore a long black coat that billowed around him like smoke.

Kade Varrick. The Rival King.

He held a detonator in one hand. He tossed it aside casually.

Xander stepped away from the tree, shielding me completely. A low growl ripped from his chest, a sound so primal it made my bones vibrate.

"Varrick," Xander said. "You have a death wish."

Kade didn't look at Xander. He looked past him. He looked directly at me.

Those golden eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, the world stopped. The air crackled with static electricity. My heart hammered against my ribs, not in fear, but in a strange, painful recognition.

Kade smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile like Xander’s. It was a smile of relief. Of hunger.

"Hello, little bird," Kade said, his voice smooth velvet over gravel.

"Get off my land," Xander warned, his claws extending.

Kade took a step forward, ignoring the threat. He pointed a gloved hand at me.

"You can keep the land, Blackwood," Kade said softly. "You can keep your crumbling castle and your pathetic title. I’m just here to collect what’s mine."

I peered around Xander’s arm. "I don't belong to anyone."

Kade laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Oh, Natalie," Kade murmured, his golden eyes glowing with an intense, terrifying light. "You have the scent of my ancestors on your skin. You aren't just a hybrid."

He held out his hand to me.

"You’re my wife."