Claimed By The Winter Alpha

Snowed in

~Snow~

When I woke, the first thing I heard was the steady beeping of a heart monitor. For a moment, I didn't open my eyes. I just listened, trying to figure out if I was dead or alive.

Then the pain hit—sharp, burning, radiating from my left shoulder down to my fingertips. I tried to move and immediately regretted it as white-hot agony lanced through my arm.

Still alive. Dead people weren't supposed to feel like this.

"Easy." A deep voice rumbled from somewhere close, rough like gravel but somehow soothing. "You're safe. Don't try to move yet."

My eyes flew open instantly. The first thing I saw was a ceiling that had wooden beams. Warm lighting cast everything in soft amber tones which was nothing was that of the cold resort's chrome. This was somewhere else entirely.

Then I turned my head and saw him.

The man sitting beside my bed was... devastating. That was the only word for it. Sharp jawline that could cut glass. Silver-grey eyes that seemed to catch the light like a wolf's in the dark. Dark hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it for hours. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle.

But it was the intensity in his gaze that stole my breath. He was staring at me like I was the answer to a question he'd been asking his entire life.

Who the hell was he and why was he staring at me that way?

“Who are you?” I croaked, my throat painfully dry

"Killian Storm." His tone was gentle. "But most people call me Storm. You're in the Winter Pack's medical clinic."

I tried to push myself upright, and pain exploded through my shoulder. I gasped, my good hand flying to the wound.

"I told you not to move." Storm reached out, his hand settling on my uninjured shoulder to steady me.

The moment his skin touched mine, something strange happened. The pain didn't disappear, but it... dulled. Like someone had turned down the volume on it.

What the hell?

"You were shot," he said, his hand still on my shoulder. "The bullet went clean through, but you lost a lot of blood. Your body needs time to heal."

The memories came flooding back. Bianca's cold smile, Jackson shifting into his werewolf form and me running through the snow collapsing at the cliff's edge, certain I would die.

I looked down at my arm. Clean white bandages wrapped carefully around where the bullet had torn through. Someone had cleaned the wound.

“How did I…” I started, then stopped looking around. “Where am I?”

“Winter pack territory. About fifteen miles from where I found you.” Storm leaned back slightly, giving me space but not leaving. “You were at the edge of a cliff, bleeding out in a blizzard. I brought you here.”

"You were the white wolf," I said, looking back at him. "The one I saw before I passed out."

"Yes." He didn't look away. "I'm the Alpha of the Winter Pack. The largest pack in the northern territories."

Alpha. The word sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. Jackson had told me enough about pack hierarchy for me to understand what that meant. Alphas were powerful and dangerous. They didn't save random humans out of the goodness of their hearts.

"Why?" I asked staring intently at him. "Why did you save me?”

Storm smiled slightly like he was expecting my question.

“Because you needed saving.” He replied simply.

That wasn't a real answer. But before I could press him, the door opened.

A woman in a white coat entered—slender, with kind eyes and grey hair pulled into a neat bun. She moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.

"Ah, you're awake." Her smile was warm and genuine. "I'm Dr. Celeste. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was shot," I said flatly.

She chuckled. "Good. Pain means your nerves are working properly." She pulled out a penlight and checked my pupils, then pressed two fingers to my wrist to take my pulse. "You're healing remarkably well, all things considered.”

"How long was I unconscious?" I asked.

"About six hours. It's nearly midnight now." Celeste made notes on a tablet. "You're very fortunate Storm found you when he did. Another ten minutes..." She trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

Another ten minutes and I would have frozen to death. Or bled out. Or fallen off that cliff.

I looked at Storm again. He was watching me with that same intense focus, like I might disappear if he looked away.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For saving my life."

He nodded once, but something flickered across his face. Something that looked almost like... relief?

"Who shot you?" The question came out blunt, direct.

I hesitated. Should I tell him? Did I trust this stranger—this alpha—with the truth about what Bianca and Jackson had done?

But what choice did I have? He'd already saved my life. And something about the way he looked at me, the protective edge to his posture, told me he'd already decided to help whether I asked or not.

"My sister," I said finally, the words tasting bitter. "And Jackson, my fiancé. Ex-fiancé." I corrected myself harshly. "They tried to kill me for my inheritance."

Storm's expression darkened. He leaned slightly forward.

“They tried to kill you?” He asked.

“For my inheritance.” I laughed but it came out hollow. “Turns out being an heiress makes you a target.”

I pulled the blanket higher, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was. Injured, far from home, wearing a hospital gown in a werewolf compound. "She promised him half my inheritance. All he had to do was help her stage my death."

Dr. Celeste's hand settled gently on my uninjured shoulder. "I'll give you two some privacy. But Snow—" She paused, her expression kind but firm. "You need rest. No strenuous activity for at least a week, and that wound needs to be checked and re-bandaged daily. Understand?"

"How did you know my name?" I interrupted.

"Your ID was in your coat pocket," Storm said. "Snow Castellano. Architect from Ivory City."

Right. My wallet. I'd forgotten I'd tucked it in my inner pocket that morning. God, was it really just this morning that I'd boarded that plane? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Celeste continued. "The wound is clean, but infection is still a risk. Keep it dry, don't strain it, and come find me immediately if you develop a fever." She looked at Storm. "Make sure she actually rests. Humans don't heal like we do."

"I will," Storm said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Celeste left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the beeping of the monitor and the howling wind outside. I stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.

My sister had betrayed me. My fiancé had been cheating on me for a year. They'd tried to murder me. And now I was trapped in a werewolf compound with an alpha who saved me for reasons I didn't understand.

"Why am I really here?" I asked, turning to look at Storm. "You could have just dropped me at a hospital. Called the police. Let humans deal with human problems."

Storm moved to the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the falling snow outside. He was quiet for a long moment, and I got the sense he was choosing his words carefully.

"Your sister and ex-fiancé think you're dead," he said finally. "If you show up at a hospital, they'll find out. And they'll finish what they started."

The logic was sound. Horrifying, but sound.

"I can't stay here forever," I said, hating how small my voice sounded. "I need to go home. Call my parents. File a police report. Press charges."

"You can't." Storm turned back to face me, and in the low light, his eyes almost seemed to glow. "There's a blizzard. The roads are completely impassable. We're snowed in for at least four days, maybe longer."

Four days.

Four days trapped here. Four days away from home, from my parents, from everything familiar. Four days until I could even begin to pick up the shattered pieces of my life.

And I'd miss Christmas entirely.

"So what am I supposed to do?" The question came out barely above a whisper.

Storm crossed back to the chair and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle.

"You have two choices. You can stay here, let yourself heal, and figure out your next move when the storm passes." He paused. "Or you can try to leave right now. But I should warn you—it's twelve degrees below zero, visibility is near zero, and you'd be lucky to make it a hundred yards before you collapse. It's your choice to make.”