Bond Of Defiance

Vague Pull

Hazel froze at the edge of the eastern lawn, the evening sun casting long shadows across the grass. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

There, seated cross-legged on the ground beside the open pantry door like he owned the place, was a stranger, a lean, disheveled male wolf shamelessly devouring an entire loaf of bread in massive bites. A half-eaten wheel of cheese lay beside him, along with scattered apples, a torn sack of jerky, and a jug of milk he tipped back without ceremony. Crumbs dusted his threadbare shirt; grease shone on his fingers. He ate with the single-minded desperation of someone who hadn’t seen a proper meal in weeks.

A small crowd of curious pack members had already gathered at a safe distance, whispering and staring. He paid them no mind. Hazel’s wolf, Arya, surged forward in her mind, tail thrashing, claws scraping for release.

'Mate. He is ours.'

The word hit Hazel like a thunderclap, echoing through every empty chamber of her heart she’d long ago boarded shut.

No. She rejected it instinctively. How could the Goddess be this cruel? This filthy, half-starved rogue looked weak, unkempt, ugly in his obvious deprivation. His dark hair was matted, his cheekbones too sharp beneath several days’ stubble, his clothes little more than rags hanging off a frame that spoke of prolonged hunger. If she accepted him, if she even acknowledged the bond, the entire region would laugh. The first female alpha in history, bound to a beggar who couldn’t even steal quietly?

Worse: the faint trace of foreign pack scent clung to him beneath the overwhelming aroma of earth and lemon. Perhaps IronFang pack? Or one of Benjamin’s strays? A spy slipped in during last night’s chaos to sow destruction from within?

Her lip curled in suspicion.

'But he is our mate,' Arya pressed, voice rising into a desperate whine. 'Smell him. Feel it. Ours.'

'Enough', Hazel snapped back inwardly, iron will clamping down on her wolf. 'This could be a trap. Another of Benjamin’s games, send in a pathetic decoy, let the bond do the damage when I lower my guard.'

She drew a slow breath, steadying the tremor in her hands, and stepped forward. The crowd parted silently. Her presence alone was enough to still every whisper.

The stranger finally sensed her. He paused mid-bite, gray eyes, storm-bright and startling against his grimy face, lifting to meet hers. For a heartbeat, something raw and electric passed between them. His shoulders tensed; the bread lowered slowly from his mouth.

He didn’t stand. Didn’t bow. Didn’t speak.

Just stared, wary and unapologetic, as if waiting to see whether she would attack or offer him the rest of the pantry.

Arya whined again, pressing against the inside of Hazel’s skin, begging. Hazel ignored her.

“Name,” she demanded, voice cold enough to frost the summer air.

He swallowed the bite in his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of a dirt-streaked hand, and answered in a low, rough voice that carried surprising strength.

“Anthony.”

One word, no plea, no explanation. Just his name, offered like a challenge.

And with it, the scent of rain-soaked earth and wild lemongrass flooded her senses again, stronger now, undeniably wrapping around her heart like a vine determined to take root whether she allowed it or not.

“You stole from us,” Hazel said, her voice a low, icy blade that cut through the evening air, “and didn’t even bother to run far before gorging yourself. Is that arrogance, believing we’d let you walk away unscathed or simply shameless bravado?”

The stranger, Tony, leaned back against the pantry wall, utterly relaxed under the weight of a dozen hostile stares. For a fleeting second, something dangerously close to amusement flickered in those storm-gray eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he tore off another chunk of bread and lifted it to his mouth.

He chewed with infuriating leisure, letting the silence stretch until frustration crackled in the air around them. Only when he swallowed did he speak, voice rough as gravel and laced with dark honey.

“Maybe I was too hungry to run farther.”

He paused, letting the words settle. His gaze locked onto Hazel’s, bold, unwavering, as the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Or maybe…” He let the words hang, savoring them like the stolen meal. “…I just wanted to get caught.”

The admission landed between them like a spark on dry tinder.

Arya lunged against Hazel’s control, whining with desperate urgency, 'Mate is bold. He's ours. Claim him.'

Hazel’s jaw tightened. Around her, warriors shifted uneasily, hackles rising at the naked provocation. Jason edged forward half a step, fists tight, but Hazel raised one hand, sharp, silent command to stand down.

Her eyes never left Tony’s.

Wanted to get caught. By whom? By anyone… or by her specifically?

The scent of rain-soaked earth and lemon grass flooded her senses again, stronger now, wrapping around her throat like a leash she hadn’t agreed to wear.

She stepped closer, close enough that the heat of his body brushed against the chill of her anger.

“Explain yourself,” she murmured, voice deadly soft, each word precise as a dagger’s edge. “Before I decide whether to feed what’s left of you to the crows… or chain you in silver until you learn how to speak plainly to an alpha.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, evening light igniting the emerald blaze within them. The air thickened with her alpha power, raw, electric, oppressive, forcing several onlookers to stagger back a step.

Tony didn’t flinch. He held her stare, that infuriating half-smirk lingering at the edges of his mouth as if her fury were merely an amusing curiosity.

“Explain yourself,” she repeated, each syllable carved from ice.

He wiped his hands slowly across his torn trousers, deliberate, savoring the way her patience frayed like thread under a claw. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, edged with shadowed intent.

“I needed food. Your pantry was closest. I took it.”

A lazy shrug, as if theft were a minor inconvenience.

“As for getting caught…” His gaze traced her face, eyes, mouth, back to her eyes, unashamed and unflinching. “I’ve been walking a long time. Hungry in more ways than one. Then last night, under that moon, something pulled me here. Hard. Like a hook in the ribs.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping with his next words.

“I followed it across your borders. Didn’t know whose land this was. Didn’t care. Just knew I had to reach the center. So I waited until your warriors were distracted chasing some pups through the woods, slipped past every patrol, and walked straight into the heart of your territory.”

His eyes darkened, the smirk dissolving into something rawer, more dangerous.

“Imagine my surprise when I realized a lone rogue could stroll right in and sit down to a meal without a single challenge.”

The words struck like a slap. Hazel felt the insult sear through her. He was right, brutally, unforgivably right. A nobody had bypassed every layer of security she’d bled to build. If he could do it, any assassin, any rival, could do the same. Her pack’s safety hung on the thread of her reputation, and in one careless morning he’d exposed how fragile it truly was.

Arya whined and clawed inside her, frantic. He was pulled to us. He could feel the bond too. He came for us.

Hazel’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Every instinct screamed danger, spy, rogue, deliberate provocation. Yet the bond thrummed beneath her skin, warm and relentless, a second pulse she couldn’t silence.

Jason shifted beside her, tension vibrating off him. “Alpha—”

She silenced him with a razor-sharp glance, then turned back to Tony.

“You’re telling me,” she said, voice lethally calm, “that you trespassed, stole, and waited here like bait… because of some vague pull?”

Tony’s lips curved again, slow and wolfish.

“Not vague, Alpha."

He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, taller than she’d realized, lean muscle coiled beneath the rags, moving with a predator’s balance that belied his half-starved appearance. The crowd tensed. He ignored them entirely.

“I’m telling you, wherever there's food, I go, walked across three territories and two weeks of empty roads. And it brought me here.”

He stepped closer, close enough that his scent crashed over her in a dizzying wave: rain-soaked earth, wild lemongrass, and something darker, purely male.

“So if you want to skin me, chain me in silver, or feed me to your crows… go ahead.”

His voice softened into a near-growl, laced with mockery. “But you might want to review your borders first. If I’d come with ill intent, you’d all be dead by now.”

The clearing fell deathly silent.

Hazel’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Arya howled in triumph and raw need.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, the words a deadly whisper.

Tony flashed a wide, toothy grin, more baring of fangs than smile.

“I believe I am.”

Something inside Hazel snapped.

Without warning, the unbreakable alpha launched herself at him.

She collided with explosive force, driving him back against the pantry wall in a blur of claws and fury. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Hazel on top, teeth bared, fists flying. The watching pack scattered to a safe distance, eyes wide, as their normally composed leader descended into pure rage.

What infuriated her most, what truly burned, was that Tony wasn’t even fighting back.

He blocked only when necessary, absorbed blows that should have staggered him, and never once struck to hurt. His gray eyes stayed locked on hers, stormy and unreadable, that maddening half-smirk still ghosting his lips even as blood trickled from a split brow.

He was letting her rage. Letting her expend it on him. And worse, deep down, beneath the humiliation and fury, Arya was purring.