Marked For The Alpha

4

Selene

I didn't remember being put in the carriage. I didn't remember the ropes or the bars or the rough hands that must have tied me. I only remembered the glow of his golden eyes as he ran towards me and then nothing.

When I finally forced my eyes open, the world swayed in front of me. Dark wood. Metal bars. Rough rope coiled around my wrists.

It didn’t take me long to discover that I was on a cage on wheels.

I tried to lift my hands, but the ropes cut into my skin. My legs were tied too, bound at the ankles with thick cord that dug painfully into my flesh.

How long was I out?

Then memory hit me like a punch to the chest. The wolves. The dead end. The man who stepped between me and certain death. The man who caught me as I fell.

I jerked upright, ignoring the pain screaming through my leg, and looked around frantically.

He was still there though. Riding at the front of the carriage.

His shoulders were broad beneath his torn shirt. His hair was darker in the daylight, almost black, curling slightly at the ends. His back muscles tensed each time the carriage hit a bump. He hadn't hurt me yet, but he hadn't let me go either.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice scratchy. "You."

He didn't turn.

I licked my dry lips. "Who are you?"

He didn’t respond.

"Please," I tried again, louder. "Why did you save me if you were just going to trap me? Where are we going?"

Nothing still. He didn't look back, didn't twitch, didn't acknowledge me. His focus stayed straight ahead, on a path I couldn't see.

I tugged at the ropes desperately, twisting my wrists, pulling until my skin burned. The knots held tight. I kept pulling anyway, fighting them as if I could break through with just panic and willpower.

"Stop."

His voice snapped through the air—low, rough and annoyed.

I froze.

He still didn't look at me, but the sound of his voice alone made my pulse jump.

"It's pointless," he said. "You're not getting out."

"Let me go. Please. I'm not a threat. I wasn't doing anything—"

"You were running through forbidden territory." His tone sharpened. "You're a rogue."

The word felt like a slap. Rogue. Me.

"No—no, I'm not, I—"

"You crossed borders." He flicked the reins, still calm. "In this world, that makes you a rogue."

My chest tightened. "I belong to a Pack. I was just—"

He finally turned his head, just enough for me to see one eye glare back at me. Not gold now. Brown. But no less cold.

"Then you should have stayed there."

I sank back against the wooden wall, heart pounding. He was right. I should have stayed. I should have taken my chances with the guard. At least that death would have been quick. Now I had no idea what he was planning to do to me.

"Where are you taking me?" I whispered.

"To see the Alpha." His jaw clenched. "You're in Stormfang territory now."

I swallowed.

---

The carriage slowed. Voices echoed ahead, deep and gruff. I lifted my head and saw the outline of tall wooden gates carved with symbols I didn't recognise. Warriors stood guard on either side, their scents strong and unfamiliar.

Stormfang. I had heard the name before. A neighbouring pack. Larger than Blackthorn. Meaner, according to the stories.

The man jumped down, landed softly, and swung the door open. He didn't yank me but he grabbed my arm firmly and guided me out. My legs shook beneath me. The ropes around my ankles forced me to shuffle awkwardly.

Warriors stared as I passed. Judging. Disgusted. Curious.

I kept my head down.

The man walked me into a stone building, its interior dim and cold. Torches flickered along the walls. At the far end, a tall figure sat on a carved wooden throne. The Alpha I presumed.

His scent hit first—strong, commanding, heavy with authority. His eyes were ice blue, sharp enough to make my pulse jump. He leaned forward as we approached.

"Well," he drawled, his voice echoing across the hall, "what have you brought for me?"

The man beside me bowed his head. "A rogue, Alpha. Trespassing in our territory. I found her near the eastern border."

The Alpha rose from his seat and walked toward me. He stopped inches away, close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath. His gaze scanned my face, then dropped to my tied hands and dirt-streaked clothes.

"A pretty little rogue." His fingers brushed my cheek. I forced myself not to flinch. "Where did you come from?"

My throat tightened. If I said Blackthorn, I'd die. Trespassers from other packs were executed without question. That's what Darius had told me once, laughing, like it was a joke.

"I don't remember," I whispered.

His eyes narrowed. "You don't remember?"

"I hit my head." My voice shook. "Everything is… fuzzy."

A beat of silence. Then he smirked.

"You're lying." His eyes raked over me again, slower this time. He licked his lips, eyes dropping to my chest. "But you're beautiful. Very beautiful."

My stomach knotted.

"You could be useful," he murmured. "A rogue with a face like this… Tell me, little wolf. How would you like to be my Luna?"

My breath caught. Was he serious? His hand curled under my chin, tilting my face up.

"I'm offering you status," he said. "A place at my side. Just say yes. I'll take care of you. Like I did my late mates."

Late mates. Plural. My blood ran cold.

"No."

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

His expression darkened instantly. The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by something sharp and dangerous.

"No?" He released my chin and stepped back. "You dare refuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I—I can't—"

"Enough." His shout cracked through the hall like a whip. He gestured to two guards by the door. "Throw her in the dungeon. Give her time to rethink her answer."

Rough hands grabbed my arms and dragged me away. I looked back at the man who had brought me here, the one with the golden eyes that had once glowed in the dark. He stood in the shadows, watching. His face unreadable and his arms crossed against his chest.

He didn't intervene. He didn't speak.

He just watched.

---

The guards shoved me into a small cell and slammed the door behind me. Damp stone walls. Rusted bars. A thin layer of straw covering the floor. The lock clicked shut, heavy and final.

I stumbled forward and immediately began searching for a weakness—loose bars, cracks in the stone, anything. I tugged at the metal until my palms throbbed. I pulled at the ropes with my teeth. I kicked the floor, hoping something would break.

"Just stop."

The voice came from the shadows behind me. Deep. Rough. Male.

I froze.

"There's nothing you're trying, want to try, or will try that I haven't tried."

A figure stepped into the faint shaft of light from the corridor. A man. Dirty. Bruised. His clothes were torn, hanging off a frame that had once been strong but was now thin from what looked like weeks of poor food. His eyes were sharp and tired, watching me with something between pity and exhaustion.

"None of it worked," he said. "So just stop before he hears you. You don't want him coming down here. Trust me."

I stared at him, my chest heaving. "Who is ‘he’?”

He stiffened, I could see the fear etch into his features. “The reason why this dungeon was built.”