Claimed By The Ruthless Alpha

Chapter Five: The Scent of Betrayal

POV Alpha Morgan Vantor

I did not think. I ran.

Her scent still hung in the torn curtains, faint but real, mixed with fear and something metallic that made my chest go tight. Blood.

"Ronan," I shouted, and he was already at my side before the word finished leaving my mouth.

"Alpha, the guards saw nothing. Whoever took her moved through the west wall, past the wards, without setting off a single alarm."

"That is not possible," I said. "Only pack members can pass those wards without triggering them."

Ronan's face went grim. "I know, Alpha."

I turned to Callum, who had followed me through the packhouse, his expression unreadable now, the softness from earlier gone completely.

"Where is she," I said.

"I do not know," Callum said. "I swear it."

"You swore many things tonight," I said. "Most of them lies."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I was already moving past him, following the thin trail of scent through the broken window and into the trees beyond the packhouse walls.

The forest at night looked nothing like it did during the day. Shadows stretched long between the trunks, and the wind carried her scent in broken pieces, scattered like breadcrumbs meant to test how badly I wanted to follow.

I found her an hour later, in a clearing lit by a single torch staked into the ground.

She was on her knees again, the same way she had been when I first found her, except this time her wrists were bound with rope, and a man stood behind her with a knife pressed lightly against her throat.

I knew that face. I had seen it in my own mirror as a boy, standing behind my uncle, watching him raise his hand.

"Uncle Bren," I said slowly, the name tasting like poison. "You are supposed to be dead."

"Disappointed, nephew," Bren said, smiling with teeth too sharp to be friendly. "Your father thought so too, right before I let everyone believe it."

"Let her go," I said, stepping closer.

"Careful," Bren said, pressing the blade harder against Elara's skin. A thin line of red appeared beneath the metal, and she gasped, though she did not cry out.

"You do not want her," I said, forcing my voice steady even as fury clawed inside my chest. "You want me. So take me instead."

"Oh, I already have what I want," Bren said, laughing softly. "You see, nephew, this girl is not a stranger to me. I have known her much longer than you have."

My blood turned to ice.

"What are you talking about," I said.

Elara lifted her eyes to mine, and for the first time since I met her, I saw something break completely behind them.

"He is the man who hurt me," she whispered. "The one with the ring. I did not know he was your uncle. I did not know he was connected to you at all, Morgan. I swear it."

"How touching," Bren said. "The little rogue finally understands the truth."

"What truth," I demanded.

Bren's smile widened, cold and slow, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

"She did not run into your land by accident, nephew," he said. "I sent her there. Everything that has happened since, the fire, the note, the ring on the windowsill, all of it was designed for one single purpose."

"What purpose," I said, my hands shaking with the effort of not lunging forward and tearing his throat out where he stood.

"To make you fall for her," Bren said. "Because a man in love makes mistakes. And mistakes are exactly what I need from you, before I take back everything your father stole from me twenty three years ago."