The Alpha's Prison
1088 Words
The room was too quiet.
Calla sat on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her fingers brushing the mark on her neck over and over again. It had stopped glowing, but the skin still pulsed like something inside her had been branded—not just touched, but claimed.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. The barred window didn’t let in much light, just a sliver of moon silver that painted her in pale guilt. Her head pounded. Her arms ached from the fall. But none of it mattered.
What mattered was the look in Riven’s eyes when he saw that mark—the way it made him change.
He knew something.
And she had every intention of finding out what.
The door creaked open hours later.
Calla stood quickly. The scent hit her first—cedar, smoke, blood. Then Riven’s tall form appeared in the doorway. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Just black pants that hung low on his hips, his chest bare and smeared with dried blood.
Her mouth went dry.
He held a tray in one hand and a folded towel in the other. He walked in without a word, placed the tray on a small table, then tossed the towel on the bed.
"Eat. Clean up."
"You're really into k********g, aren't you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You’d rather I let you bleed out on that bridge?"
"You could’ve taken me to a hospital."
He chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. "No, Calla. I couldn’t."
She stiffened. “How do you know my name?”
He stared at her a moment too long. “I’ve always known.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin.
She turned to the tray. Bread. Stew. A steel goblet filled with water. Her stomach twisted in protest and hunger at once.
“I’m not eating anything you give me.”
He crossed the room in a flash. His hand closed around her wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm. She looked up at him and hated how her breath caught.
“You don’t get to die,” he said, voice low. “Not until I know what you are.”
“I told you. I’m nothing.”
“Wrong,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re Moonblood.”
She yanked her hand away. “What the hell does that even mean?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned in—so close his breath tickled her ear.
“It means you’re mine.”
Her pulse stuttered.
“Go to hell,” she whispered.
He pulled back, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Already there. Welcome home.”
He left without another word.
---
The shower had no lock. The water was ice cold. She scrubbed until her skin turned pink, but the blood under her nails didn’t want to come out. The towel was soft—suspiciously so. The kind only a man like Riven would own.
She dried off quickly, dressed in the folded clothes left on the bed—plain black pants and a white tank top—and curled back into the corner.
Sleep didn’t come easily.
When it did, it came dark.
She ran through the woods—barefoot, naked, unafraid. Her skin shimmered with moonlight. Something massive chased her. Not to kill her. To catch her. To claim her.
Teeth grazed her thigh. Claws tangled in her hair.
She turned to see him—Riven, in wolf form, bleeding gold light from his eyes.
“Mine,” he growled.
She woke up gasping.
---
The next morning, she paced. Tested the window bars. Threw a shoe at the door. Nothing.
Midday, someone else came.
Not Riven. A woman. Tall. Sharp cheekbones. Red hair like coals on fire. She wore black leather and boots and a smirk.
“You’re the new pet,” the woman said, appraising her.
“I’m not a pet.”
“Hm. That’s what they all say. Until they’re panting at his feet.”
“Who are you?”
“Rhea. Beta. Executioner.”
“You kill people for fun?”
Rhea smiled. “Only when they deserve it. You… haven’t earned it yet.”
Calla narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
Rhea stepped closer. “I want you to understand something, little human. This place—this pack—it doesn’t run on kindness. You’re here because the Alpha saw something in you. That mark means you’re not normal. You’re dangerous. If you slip, even once, you won’t get a second chance.”
Calla swallowed. “Why would I slip?”
Rhea reached out and ran a claw down her cheek—not hard, but enough to draw a line of blood.
“Because power does that to people. It wakes things. And from what I hear…” She leaned close. “You’re already halfway gone.”
---
That night, Riven came again.
He didn’t speak.
He walked in, sat in the chair across the room, and watched her.
For hours.
Calla tried to ignore him. Read the book Rhea left on the nightstand. Pretended not to notice the way his gaze followed every move.
Finally, she snapped.
“Do you do this with all your prisoners?”
“No.”
“Just the ones you stalk in your dreams?”
His jaw twitched.
“I see you,” she said, standing. “In my sleep. I see you as a wolf. You chase me.”
He rose, slow and deliberate. “I see you too. But you don’t run.”
She swallowed hard.
“You kneel,” he finished, stepping into her space. “You bare your throat. You beg.”
“You’re sick.”
“You’re the one dreaming it, Calla.”
Their faces were inches apart now. Her breath hitched.
He brushed a knuckle down her collarbone.
“That mark means something ancient woke in you,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re the end of us... or the beginning.”
His lips grazed her ear.
“But I plan to find out.”
She shoved him. He didn’t move.
“I’m not yours,” she hissed.
He tilted his head. “Then why do you smell like me?”
She froze.
He smirked. “Sleep tight, little liar.”
He left, and the door clicked shut.
Calla stood there, heart hammering, skin flushed.
She wasn’t sure if she hated him… or herself more.
But one thing was certain:
She had never felt more alive.
- Writer
