Bound To The North

Chapter 5 (Alpha POV)

I sit behind my desk, the glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the papers strewn in front of me. Every file, every note, every report about Lyla Vale lies open, cataloged, analyzed.

Stacks of files litter the desk, spilling over onto the floor. Leather-bound notebooks, old parchment, typed reports — every detail of her life, her training, her family, meticulously recorded. Each sheet is a weapon of knowledge, a tool to be wielded carefully.

I lean back in the chair, eyes scanning the lines I’ve memorized long ago. Lyla Vale — daughter of Alpha Dorian Vale, trained to survive, to fight, to resist. Not just a girl. Not just an heir. A weapon forged in the fires of discipline and control.

Her father’s methods were precise. Combat drills, wolf control exercises, endurance training, heat and cold acclimation. Psychological conditioning to test limits, exploit weaknesses, and push instinct into obedience. Every lesson recorded, every reaction noted. Every success and failure cataloged.

And yet, here she is.

She survived the chains. She survived the snow. She survived the flight across half the country. And she defied me. Every step, every word, every movement was measured, deliberate — proof that she is not just strong, she is clever. Dangerous.

I pick up a folder detailing her hand-to-hand combat training. Every entry is meticulous: strikes, counters, pivots, throws. She learns fast. Faster than most. Faster than I expected. My jaw tightens.

I set it down and reach for another: psychological and behavioral reports. Notes from mentors and instructors. Comments underlined in red: “She does not obey authority blindly.” “Resists control unless convinced.” “Sharp, perceptive, instinctively protective.”

Yes. That checks out. She resisted me today. And she will resist again. And again.

I tap a pen against the edge of the desk. My wolf stirs — a low, insistent pulse echoing her bond in me. That bond… it is volatile, unpredictable. If her first shift comes before she is ready, before I can control the environment, it could destroy everything.

I exhale, pressing my hand to the papers. I’ve accounted for most variables. Contingencies for frostbite. For rage. For her wolf, fully awake and unwilling. But there is one thing I cannot calculate: her unpredictability.

A note in the margins catches my eye: “She thrives under duress — fear sharpens her reflexes, adrenaline amplifies her power.”

I lean back, eyes closing briefly. She is fire. And fire cannot be tamed with chains or blindfolds. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

A folder on family history, pack alliances, and political debts slides to the floor. I pick it up, scanning quickly. Her father’s influence stretches far — but so does her own potential. She carries the weight of her bloodline with her, and every instinct, every lesson, every fight she has endured has made her lethal.

I make notes along the margins:

• First night: room with heated floors, locked from the inside. One guard outside. No surprises.

• Bond: monitor fluctuations, pulses, and resistance. Watch for early flare.

• Wolf: track signs of full awakening. Prepare contingency for shift onset.

I pause, pen hovering. She is mine, in name only. And if I miscalculate… survival will be the least of her concerns.

I push the papers aside, standing. The study feels suddenly too small, too confining. The snow outside presses against the walls of the keep, bitter and endless. She has survived it once. She could survive it again — and every time she does, she grows.

And I cannot afford for her to grow stronger than I can control.

Not yet.