The Alpha’s Bond: Forbidden but Wanted

The Proximity Trap

Bastián announced the trip with the same calm he used for everything else, like moving through half his pack for hours in a sealed vehicle was no more unusual than walking into his own study.

I found out about it at dawn.

One of the younger wolves knocked on the door of the room they had given me, then stood there with his face blank and his posture too stiff. “You are leaving with the Alpha.”

I had barely sat up. “Where?”

“Catalan highlands for territorial negotiation.”

He handed me a black travel coat and waited while I pulled it on. The fabric was heavy, and cut to fit movement instead of status. That alone told me more about the Valdemars than their expensive hall ever had.

“Pack unit only,” he added. “Be ready in ten minutes.”

I gave a single nod, and he left.

I stared at the closed door for a second after he was gone. Territorial negotiation meant one thing in wolf politics: tension with a smile on top. It meant old wounds, new threats, and men trying to size one another without drawing blood in public. It also meant Bastián wanted witnesses he trusted, which was a problem because I was still not sure whether I was being tested, watched, or both.

By the time I reached the transport bay, the rest of the core unit was already there. Two guards stood near the rear vehicle, one at the driver’s side, and another beside Bastián with a tablet in hand. They were all dressed for travel, all quiet, all alert in that Valdemar way that made even silence feel disciplined.

Bastián stood at the center of them.

He looked at me when I approached, then turned back to the man beside him. “We leave now.”

I stopped a few feet away and kept my hands at my sides. The vehicle behind them was long, dark, and armored enough to survive an attack if someone was reckless enough to try one. My stomach tightened when I realized I would be spending hours inside it with him.

Wonderful!

“Salomé,” one of the guards said, acknowledging me with a short nod.

I returned it. “Morning.”

No one smiled.

Of course they didn’t .

Bastián’s eyes found mine again. “You will sit behind me.”

It wasn't a suggestion but an order.

“I had no intention of sitting on your lap,” I said before I could stop myself.

One of the guards coughed.

Bastián didn’t smile, he didn’t react at all, except for the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Good. Try to survive the day without making yourself impossible.”

I lifted my chin. “Try to survive the day without speaking to me like I am a problem.”

His gaze held mine for one beat longer than necessary. Then he turned and stepped into the vehicle.

And that was how the day began.

The inside of the transport was quieter than the estate. Black leather seats lined the sides, a long center aisle left clear for movement, and smoked windows blocked the world outside. It smelled faintly of expensive cleaning oil, steel, and the particular edge of wolf scent that came from a space too often occupied by power.

I took the seat behind Bastián exactly as ordered, while the others settled in around us, but the space still felt too small. Every time the vehicle shifted, his shoulder was just visible in the seat ahead of mine. Every time he spoke to one of the guards, his voice carried back to me with infuriating clarity.

The Bond didn’t help.

It had been a low, steady hum for hours now, not painful but impossible to ignore. It lived under my skin like a locked wire, tightening whenever he moved, whenever his scent drifted toward me, whenever his attention brushed past without landing fully.

I stared out the window and tried not to notice.

“Route is clear,” the driver said after the first stretch. “We stay on the lower pass until the ridge line.”

Bastián looked at the tablet in his hand. “And the Catalan delegates?”

“Waiting on site.”

“Good.”

One of the guards across from me leaned back and crossed his arms. He was younger than the others, with sharp eyes and an expression that suggested he enjoyed noticing things. He looked at me once, then again, like he was trying to decide what kind of trouble I belonged to.

“You always this quiet?” he asked.

I glanced at him. “Only around people who stare too much.”

A faint snort came from the seat beside him.

“Careful,” he said. “That mouth could get you into trouble.”

“It already did.”

That got an actual laugh from him, short and surprised.

Bastián didn’t turn around, but his voice came anyway. “If you two are finished testing each other, keep your attention where it belongs.”

The guard straightened at once.

I looked out the window so no one could see the small satisfaction that tried to form in my face. The road was narrowing as the hills rose higher around us, the trees were thicker now, and the sky hard and bright above them. We were deep enough into Valdemar territory that I could feel the difference in the air.

It should have made me relax but it did the opposite because the Bond grew sharper with every mile.

I shifted once, trying to ease the tension in my thigh, and caught myself too late. Heat flashed under my skin where the mark on my leg sat hidden beneath the fabric. I froze at the first pulse, but the sensation only faded enough to be noticed, not enough to ignore.

My breath caught.

Bastián’s head turned slightly in the seat ahead of me, and I held still.

The vehicle rolled over another bend, and the road tightened into rough stone. The driver adjusted speed, the tires grinding harder against the path. One of the guards cursed under his breath when the transport jolted sharply.

Then came a harder bump.

My body pitched forward before I could brace.

I caught the back of Bastián’s seat, but it was too late. My balance failed, and I stumbled into the space between the seats, one knee hitting the edge of the leather as my shoulder knocked into him.

His hand came up instantly, steadying me by the waist. The contact sent a hard jolt straight through my body.

My thigh flared hot.

Pain and heat shot through the mark under the fabric, sudden and bright enough to make my breath stutter. I sucked in air through my teeth and went rigid in his grip, waking every nerve in my leg.

Bastián’s hand tightened once, then stopped.

His head turned slowly.

His eyes found mine.

Then his gaze dropped straight to my thigh as the Bond surged under my skin, fierce and unmistakable, and the fabric over the mark felt suddenly too thin, too revealing, and too dangerous.

Bastián’s voice came low, roughened by something I didn’t want to name.

“What exactly did you just hide from me?”