Bond Of Defiance

Keep me, Alpha

ANTHONY

I watched her retreating back, spine rigid, boots striking stone like accusations, and felt the smirk slide from my face like melting ice.

I’d meant to provoke her, yes. Meant to push her into finishing the rejection so the choice would be taken from my hands. But the way her aura had flared, the flash of wounded pride in those emerald eyes before she masked it with fury landed heavier than any of her punches.

Knight shifted restlessly inside me, confused and unsettled. My wolf had always been certain: freedom, open skies, no ties. Now he paced in tight circles, whining low, and unsure whether leaving was still the right path. I leaned my forehead against the cool silver bars, letting the burn ground me.

I don’t need this, I don't need the bond.

I had told myself that a thousand times over. Told myself again when I’d initiated the rejection. And still told myself when I watch her storm away.

But every time my mind drifted toward accepting it, toward imagining mornings with her scent in my lungs, nights with her fire in my blood, something deeper tugged back, reminding me who I was.

I am a lone wolf, a drifter by choice, by blood, and by bone.

Power had never tempted me, and responsibility felt like drowning. I’d walked away from Iron Fang at nineteen with nothing but the clothes on my back because the alternative was a slow death by expectation.

Yet two nights ago, when the cell door was unguarded and the compound slept, I had the perfect chance to vanish. I could have been three territories away by dawn. Instead, like a fool, a puppet on the bond’s invisible string I’d scaled the packhouse wall, vaulted onto her balcony, and slipped into her moonlit room.

I’d stood over her sleeping form, my heart hammering, Knight practically vibrating with need. She looked softer in sleep, with hair spilled across the pillow, and her lips parted, the fierce lines of her face smoothed by dreams. She looked vulnerable in a way she’d never allow while awake.

I’d only wanted to sneak a look. Just one last look before I left forever. But my hand had moved on its own, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

Then before I knew it, my lips followed, placing a whisper of a kiss against her skin. She’d stirred, murmured something incoherent, and I melted back into shadow before her eyes fluttered open.

After that, I could have left then, jumped over the balcony, get into the forest, and be gone, but I’d returned to this cell. Slipped back through the bars like a guilty secret.

Sat down and waited for her to come storming in, accuse me, and rage at me. Because some part of me wanted her to.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly and kept repeating the mantra: We need to reject each other. Clean break. And be back to the road.

But the words tasted more hollow with every repetition. And deep down, in the place I rarely looked, I was no longer sure what I wanted anymore. Freedom… or the one woman fierce enough to make me consider staying.

***

Hazel stormed through the corridors like a thundercloud, boots striking the stone hard enough to echo. Relief and fury warred in her chest in equal measure.

Relief, because he hadn’t finished the rejection. The bond still thrummed, intact and infuriatingly alive.

Fury, because how dare a rogue, a nobody drifter, try to reject her first?

'Maybe because we’re not supposed to be rejecting each other at all,' Arya cut in, voice smug with satisfaction. 'We’re supposed to be mating. Thank the Goddess he didn’t finish, or we’d both be curled on the floor in agony right now.'

Hazel snarled aloud, earning startled glances from two passing warriors who quickly found somewhere else to be.

The door to the strategy room burst open under her palm. She barely registered Isabelle already inside, maps spread across the table from her border-patrol debrief.

Isabelle straightened instantly, blue eyes sharpening. “Everything okay?” She’d felt the surge of alpha aura from halfway across the compound; every wolf had.

“That crackhead in the dungeon needs another beating,” Hazel bit out, the words exploding like she’d been holding them behind her teeth the entire walk upstairs.

Isabelle arched a brow, amusement flickering behind her carefully neutral expression. “Why? What did he do this time?”

Hazel paced, arms folded tight. “He tried to reject me. Offered it up like he was doing me a favor. Said he’d go first, then asked for my full name like it was the weather report.”

Isabelle couldn’t quite hide the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She turned it into a cough. From the moment Hazel had locked Anthony in the dungeon, his name had rarely left her lips. He was too smug. Too calm. His hair too messy, his eyes too gray, his shoulders too broad, his voice too rough, every detail catalogued and complained about in exhaustive, obsessive detail. Isabelle and Jason had exchanged knowing looks days ago: their unshakable alpha was drowning in the bond and refusing to admit she was even wet.

“He really just… offered to reject you?” Isabelle asked, voice carefully even.

“Like it was the practical solution,” Hazel snapped. “As if I’m some inconvenience he’s politely removing from his schedule.”

Arya huffed, almost laughing. 'He’s terrified of how much he wants us. That’s why he’s running so hard.'

Hazel ignored her wolf, dropping into a chair with enough force to make the legs scrape. “I was going to reject him this morning. I had it planned, walk down, say the words, end it clean. And then he beats me to it.”

Isabelle finally let the smile break through, small but genuine. “Sounds like the bond’s making both of you idiots.”

Hazel glared, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” Isabelle agreed, leaning against the table. “You’re just stubborn as hell. And for what it’s worth… he didn’t finish the rejection either. That means something.”

Hazel’s fingers drummed on the armrest, restless. “It means he’s toying with me.”

“Or,” Isabelle said softly, “it means he couldn’t go through with it any more than you could.”

Silence settled, heavy and thoughtful.

Hazel stared at the map on the table without seeing it, jaw tight.

She hated that Isabelle might be right. Hated more that a rogue from an enemy bloodline had gotten so far under her skin that she couldn’t decide whether to kill him, claim him, or simply never let him leave.

Down in the dungeon, Anthony sat on the cot again, elbows on knees, staring at the stone floor. He’d almost said the words. Almost severed it. But when he’d looked into those blazing emerald eyes, the rejection had lodged in his throat like a bone.

Knight was furious, pacing, snarling, refusing to speak to him. Anthony rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted his freedom. Instead, he was still here, still caged. And the bars didn’t feel like they were keeping him in. They felt like they were keeping him safe from himself.

Three Days.

Seventy-two hours of Hazel avoiding the eastern watchtower like it carried plague. Seventy-two hours of the bond gnawing at her, restless, insistent, a constant low thrum under her skin that made sleep shallow and temper short.

She threw herself into pack work with ferocious focus: border maps, alliance letters, training schedules. Anything to keep her mind occupied and her feet pointed away from the dungeon stairs. But the bond didn’t care about distractions.

It painted his scent across every room she entered. Turned every shadow into the outline of broad shoulders. Made Arya pace and whine until Hazel’s head ached.

She sent Jason to every council meeting, every patrol inspection, every minor dispute. “I’m handling strategic planning,” she told him, and he didn’t argue, though his knowing look said enough.

By the third evening, she was fraying at the edges. She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t escape the memory of his voice offering rejection like a gift. So she made a decision.

“Release the prisoner,” she told the dungeon captain that night, voice flat and final. “Clean clothes, a meal, and escort him to my office at dawn. Two guards outside the door, no chains.”

The captain blinked but obeyed. Dawn broke cold and clear. Anthony was brought up the main stairs, hair still damp from a forced shower, wearing simple black trousers and a gray shirt that actually fit. The bruises from her fists were long gone. He looked… annoyingly well-rested, gray eyes sharp, that half-smirk tucked away for once.

The guards deposited him inside her office and pulled the doors shut behind him.

Hazel stood behind her wide oak desk, arms folded, dressed in severe black leathers that made her look every inch the untouchable alpha. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, catching the raven sheen of her hair and the hard glitter in her emerald eyes.

The bond roared to life the instant the door closed, hot, and electric, pulling them toward each other like magnets.

Arya lunged forward inside her. 'Mate is here. Finally.'

Hazel locked her knees and stayed put. Anthony didn’t move either. He stood just inside the threshold, hands loose at his sides, studying her with quiet intensity.

Three days of silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

Then she spoke, her voice low and edged. “You wanted a clean break. I’m giving you one.”

She stepped around the desk, stopping five feet away, close enough for his scent to flood her senses, far enough to keep control.

“You’re free to leave. No pursuit. No debt for the food you stole. Walk out that door, cross my borders, and you’ll never hear from Silver Crest again.” Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching her face.

“That simple?” His voice was rough from disuse, low enough to vibrate along her skin.

“That simple.” A beat of silence. He didn’t move toward the door.

Hazel’s heart kicked hard against her ribs. “Or,” she continued, the words scraping her throat like gravel, “you stay. Work off your trespass, training yards, patrols, whatever I assign. Under guard until I say otherwise. No rank, no privileges and no promises.”

She met his gaze, unflinching.

“But if you stay, we deal with this.” She gestured between them, acknowledging the bond for the first time aloud. “No more games, no more half-rejections, And definitely no more sneaking into my room at night."

Anthony’s lips twitched, the ghost of that infuriating smirk. “You knew about that.”

“I’m not an i***t,” she said dryly.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that looked almost vulnerable. “I came here planning to leave. Had the rejection ready, words lined up. But every time I try…” He shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. “I can’t finish them. And I’m starting to think you can’t either.”

Hazel’s jaw tightened. He was right, and she hated how easily he saw through her armor.

“So what do you want, Anthony Broderick?” she asked quietly. “Because I’m tired of pretending I can outrun this forever.”

He took one slow, deliberate step closer.

“I want…” His voice dropped, raw and unguarded. “I want to know if the fierce wolf who beat me bloody and locked me in silver is the same one I kissed on the forehead while she slept.”

Heat surged to her cheeks.

“I want,” he continued, another step, “to find out if the alpha who rules an entire pack alone wouldn't mind someone who only wants to laze in her shadow, warm her bed, and enjoy being utterly, and shamelessly kept.”

One final step.

He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough for the bond to sing between them, bright and fierce and impossible to ignore.

“And I want to stop running long enough to see if freedom tastes sweeter when there’s someone worth coming home to at the end of the road.”

His eyes never left hers.

“But only if you want it too, Hazel Lyon. Your choice, your rules.” The office was silent except for their breathing.

Hazel stared at him without rage or denial clouding her vision. And for the first time in three days, Arya finally stilled, waiting.

Her voice, when it came, was steady.

“Lock the door, Anthony.”

He reached back without looking and pushed it, the click of the latch sounded louder than any vow.

Anthony stayed near the door, tensed, as if waiting for her to change her mind and order him out. But she didn’t. Neither of them moved to leave. Hazel stood with her back to the desk, arms still folded like armor, emerald eyes locked on Anthony. He remained near the door, hands loose at his sides, watching her with that quiet intensity that had unraveled her from the first day.

The bond filled the room, warm, and urgent. It pressed against her ribs, whispered along her skin, and made the air feel too thin.

Arya was silent and hopeful. Hazel’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “You said my choice. My rules.”

Anthony nodded once. “Always.”

She took a slow step forward. Then another.

Until only a breath separated them.

Up close, he was taller than she remembered, broad shoulders filling the space, the faint scent of lemongrass and rain wrapping around her like a promise. His gray eyes searched hers, steady but unguarded, the smirk gone entirely.

Hazel reached up, sliding her hands up his chest, over the soft fabric of his shirt, until her fingers curled at the nape of his neck.

Anthony’s breath hitched. His hands rose to her waist, hesitant at first, then settling with quiet certainty, thumbs tracing the line of her hips through leather.

She rose on her toes, heart hammering so hard she was certain he could hear it.

Their first kiss wasn’t soft. It was three days of denial, of fury, of sleepless nights and unspoken want crashing together in a single, desperate press of lips.

Hazel kissed him like a claim, fierce, and demanding, pouring every ounce of the control she’d clung to into taking what she finally allowed herself to want.

Anthony’s hands came up instantly, one sliding into her hair, the other settling at the small of her back, pulling her against him. He kissed her back with the same restrained power he’d shown in every fight: not taking, not dominating, just matching her, giving her everything she demanded and more.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her. She felt it everywhere. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, tugging him closer. His mouth opened under hers, hot and deliberate, tasting faintly of the coffee the guards had given him that morning and something deeper, wild, male, and hers.

The bond sang, bright, triumphant, and complete.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Hazel’s voice was rough.

“That wasn’t a rejection.”

Anthony’s lips curved against her skin, the first real smile she’d ever seen from him, small, crooked, devastating.

“No,” he murmured. “It wasn’t.”

He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, eyes dark.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

Hazel’s heart stuttered. She kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of surrender on both sides.

Outside the office door, the two guards exchanged a wide-eyed glance, ears burning at the low sounds filtering through the wood. Inside, the unbreakable alpha and the drifter who’d never wanted roots finally stopped fighting the pull.

And for the first time in years, Hazel Lyon let herself want something...someone without fear.

The bond settled, warm and certain. The news spread through Silver Crest like wildfire: the rogue in the dungeon had been released. Not just released, escorted to the alpha’s private office. Alone.

By midday, the whispers had teeth.

Benjamin Wilford, alpha of Willow Moon, heard it first from one of his spies still embedded near the border. He’d spent days licking his wounds after the failed gala-night raid, nursing bruised pride and plotting the next move to undermine Hazel Lyon. The female alpha who had humiliated him, crushed his warriors, and worst of all, continued to thrive without a mate at her side.

Now word came that she’d taken one. A rogue, a nobody.

And not just any rogue, but an Iron Fang stray with Broderick blood.

Benjamin’s lip curled as he read the report in his war room, claws digging grooves into the oak table.

Iron Fang and Willow Moon had no open war, but old grudges ran deep. Richard Broderick had once broken Benjamin’s father's jaw in a territorial skirmish twenty years ago. The memory still burned.

And now his son, Anthony, the one who’d vanished rather than claim power was warming Hazel Lyon’s bed?

Benjamin laughed, low and bitter.

Perfect.

Jealousy coiled hot and familiar in his gut, not over Hazel herself, though he’d admit, in darker moments, that her power and beauty had always stung. But this was about pride. And about watching the one female he had always wanted, the untouchable alpha, the one who’d rejected every worthy suitor, choose a worthless drifter over real strength.

Over him.

He summoned his inner circle that evening.

“Silver Crest thinks they’ve won,” he said, voice smooth venom. “Their precious alpha finally takes a mate, and it’s a rootless rogue who’d rather wander than lead. A Broderick bastard with no pack, no ambition, no spine. Hazel Lyon has weakened herself in front of the entire region. Shown everyone she’s desperate enough to settle for scraps.”

Garrett, his scarred beta, shifted uncomfortably. “Some reports say the rogue is strong. Took her full-force blows without fighting back.”

Benjamin’s eyes flashed. “Strong enough to play doormat. Strong enough to let a female thrash him in front of her own pack and never raise a hand. That isn’t strength, Garrett, that’s cowardice. And now Hazel Lyon has lashed her legacy to it.”

He leaned forward, claws tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on the oak table, smile sharp as a blade.

“We won’t attack yet. We watch. We spread the word. Let every allied pack hear how the untouchable Hazel Lyon scraped the bottom of the barrel for a mate. Let the old-guard elders, those who still mutter that a female can’t truly lead, see her choice as proof they were right all along.”

Garrett’s brow creased. “And if the rogue turns out to be more than he appears?”

Benjamin’s claws stilled. His grin widened, feral.

“Then we remind him exactly where he came from. Iron Fang blood answers only to real strength. And I will enjoy showing him what that looks like, when I take everything he’s suddenly decided he wants.”

Across the border, in the quiet warmth of Hazel’s office, Anthony traced lazy circles along the inside of her wrist as they sat side by side, patrol reports spread between them.

He let out a theatrical groan. “Remind me again why I’m staring at these?” Five minutes ago they’d been tangled together on the couch, kisses deep and hungry, her fingers in his hair, his hands mapping the curve of her back. Then she’d pulled away, calm as you please, and shoved a stack of reports under his nose.

Hazel didn’t even glance up from the map she was annotating. “Because you waltzed through my borders without a single sentry noticing. If anyone’s fixing that hole, it’s you.”

Anthony leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I’d rather fix something else entirely.”

His gaze dropped pointedly to her mouth.

Hazel arched a brow, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “Laze around doing nothing, your glorious condition for staying."

“Exactly,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “But you’re taking advantage of me here. The least you could do is take responsibility.”

She snorted. “That line only works when women say it like that,"

Anthony placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Maybe I’m a woman.”

Hazel finally looked at him, eyes dancing with exasperation and something warmer. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

He held her stare, the playful mask slipping just enough to let a flicker of raw honesty show through.

“Only the things worth keeping,” he said quietly.

The room went still. Hazel’s breath caught. The bond hummed between them, soft and steady now, no longer a storm but a promise.

Anthony’s thumb brushed over her pulse point, feather-light.

“Like you,” he added, voice barely above a whisper.

Their second kiss was gentle at first, testing, and almost careful, lips brushing once, twice, then Hazel angled her head and deepened it.

The gentleness shattered. Anthony answered instantly, one hand sliding up her spine to cradle the back of her head, the other tightening at her waist as he pulled her against him. The kiss turned hungry, months, no, years, of restraint unraveling in seconds. Teeth grazed, tongues met, breaths mingled in soft, desperate sounds neither tried to hide.

Hazel felt the bond flare bright and hot, wrapping around them like living flame, no longer pulling, simply holding. Claiming.

When they broke apart, it was only far enough to breathe. Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, they stayed locked in the small space they’d finally stopped fighting.

Anthony’s voice came rough, barely above a whisper. “Tell me this is real.”

Hazel opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, storm-gray darkened with want and something softer, and more dangerous.

“It’s real,” she said. “And it’s mine to keep.”

His smile was small, crooked, dashing broke across his face.

“Then keep me, Alpha.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of yes on her lips.

Outside the office, the guards shifted awkwardly, pretending they couldn’t hear the low growl of contentment that rumbled through the door.

Inside, the alpha who had ruled alone for years and the drifter who had never stayed anywhere finally found the one place they both wanted to be.

Together.

The reports lay forgotten on the floor.

Then, he felt the shift before she did, a prickle along the bond, like distant thunder.

Knight stirred, ears pricked. Anthony didn’t mention it. But he knew, rivals were circling. And for the first time in his life, he had something...someone, worth fighting for. Not for power, not for pride, just for her.

Let them come.