Chapter 2: The Alpha of Blackthorn Ridge
550 Words
The first thing Elara noticed was that it wasn’t cold anymore.
The second thing?
She was not alone.
She shot upright—instantly regretting it. Her head spun, and her ribs screamed in protest.
A deep voice rumbled from across the room.
“Careful. You cracked something.”
She blinked, squinting at the firelight flickering off stone walls. A fireplace, a couch, a small kitchen. The scent of pine, smoke… and something heady and masculine.
And then—him.
He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, shirtless like some kind of problem the gods had personally designed to test her.
Brown hair fell in loose waves just past his ears. His tanned chest bore several scars—each one like a story she didn’t ask for but already wanted to know.
But it was his eyes that caught her.
Sapphire.
Unnatural.
Alive.
Her wolf stirred. Silently. Cautiously. Like someone who recognized a king but didn’t want to bow.
“Where am I?” she rasped.
“My cabin,” he said simply. “Blackthorn Ridge territory.”
“Am I your prisoner?”
He raised a brow. “Wouldn’t be a very good prison if I let you wear my shirt and sleep in my bed.”
She looked down—and froze.
She was in his shirt. Large, soft, worn thin with age. And clearly the only thing between her and the fur throw.
Heat flushed through her cheeks. “Did you undress me?”
“I got you out of a soaking shirt and pants that smelled like blood and ash,” he said, deadpan. “You can thank me or keep growling. I don’t really care.”
Elara scowled. “You don’t smell like an Alpha.”
He smirked. “And you don’t smell like someone who’s been eating or sleeping.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “You’re really bad at small talk.”
“I don’t do small talk.”
Silence stretched between them. The fire crackled. Her fever had broken—but something inside still simmered.
“How long was I out?” she asked.
“Two days. You were delirious. Kept mumbling about someone named Jaxon.”
Elara flinched.
His gaze sharpened.
“I didn’t pry,” he said. “But if he’s the one who dumped you in a forest half-dead and let rogues sniff you out, I’ll gut him myself.”
She blinked. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he said too quickly. Then added, “But my wolf does.”
Her chest tightened.
“You’re not my mate,” she said immediately.
“Didn’t say I was.”
He pushed off the wall and walked over to her. Not quickly. Not threateningly. Just… confidently.
Too confidently.
He stopped beside the bed, looking down at her.
“I don’t need a mate,” Elara whispered, heart pounding.
He crouched.
“Well,” he murmured, voice like smoke and silk, “lucky for you, I’m not asking for your heart.”
His eyes locked with hers.
“I’m asking you to get better.”
He stood again and turned away, walking toward the kitchen.
“But when you are,” he added, “we’ll talk about the way your scent drives me wild.”
- Writer
