BOUND BY CONTRACT, CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA

The night reeked of blood and burning. Screams split the forest air, desperate and raw, mingling with the snarls of wolves and the crash of flames consuming everything Ember Hale had ever known. The Hale pack’s settlement, once alive with laughter and the sound of pups running free, was reduced to chaos—houses caving in under fire, warriors lying broken in the dirt, and the metallic tang of spilled blood seeping into the earth. Ember stumbled through the wreckage, lungs burning, her sword slick in her hands. Her once-white dress was torn and stained, ash sticking to her sweat-drenched skin. “Mother!” she screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the c*****e. Her mother was gone. Her father—Alpha Hale—had been cut down before her eyes only moments ago, his head rolling across the dirt as a rogue’s claws tore him apart. The image was seared into her soul, leaving her stomach twisted in horror, rage, and disbelief. But there was no time to grieve. There was no time to stop. Another rogue lunged, red-eyed and foaming, reeking of death. Ember spun, her sword slicing across its chest. The creature howled, staggering back, and she pressed forward with a snarl, her wolf clawing beneath her skin, begging to shift. But she couldn’t. She was already weakening, her strength slipping with every wound. Her shoulder burned from a claw strike, her ankle throbbed where she’d twisted it on uneven ground. Still, she fought. She would not die on her knees. A child screamed nearby, piercing through the chaos. Ember turned, chest heaving, spotting a little girl pinned beneath debris. She ran, kicking aside a fallen beam, hauling the child into her arms. The girl’s face was streaked with tears and soot. “It’s okay,” Ember whispered fiercely, clutching her close. “I’ve got you—” But before she could take another step, a massive hand yanked her by the hair, dragging her back. She shrieked, releasing the girl as she clawed at the grip on her scalp. “Got a fighter here!” a rogue warrior bellowed, reeking of sweat and iron. His grip tightened until her scalp burned. “Let me go, you bastard!” Ember spat, twisting her sword upward. The blade nicked his jaw, but his fist slammed into her ribs, cracking bone and sending her sprawling to the ground. The sword clattered from her hands. Her breath whooshed out in pain, the world spinning. She tried to scramble up, but another kick drove her down. Her cheek pressed into the dirt, the taste of ash and blood filling her mouth. Around her, the sounds of her pack’s death echoed—wolves crying out in agony, the sickening crunch of bones, the endless screams. She was the last. The last Hale standing. And she was losing. Hands bound her wrists behind her back. A rope was looped around her throat like a leash. Ember struggled, teeth bared, but every attempt earned her another strike, another bruise. “Alpha Lucian will want this one,” one of the rogues muttered. “Pretty little survivor. He’ll break her spirit soon enough.” At that name, Ember’s blood turned to ice. Alpha Lucian Thorne . The Alpha King of the North. The most feared man in all the territories. His name was whispered like a curse, a monster clothed in human skin. The stories said he had no mate, no heart, and no mercy. If these men were delivering her to him… she might as well be dead already. “Kill me,” Ember hissed, voice hoarse, hatred lacing her words. “Do it now.” The rogue only laughed, yanking the rope tighter around her throat. “You’ll wish for death soon enough.” The child she had tried to save was gone now, carried off into the smoke. Ember’s heart cracked, but she forced herself not to cry. She would not give them the satisfaction. They dragged her through what remained of her pack’s lands. Ash fell from the sky like snow, coating her hair and lashes. She tripped over the corpses of her kin, her neighbors, the people she had sworn to protect. Their blood soaked into her torn dress as she stumbled over them, but the rogues didn’t slow, didn’t look back. Hours blurred together. She lost track of time, of distance, of anything beyond the rope digging into her neck and the ache in her battered body. By the time they reached the towering gates of the Northern Court, Ember’s lips were cracked, her eyes bloodshot, her throat raw from swallowing screams. The palace loomed like a predator itself—black stone spires reaching into the night sky, banners snapping in the wind, the scent of iron and smoke lingering in the air. They hauled her through the gates, past warriors who looked at her with disdain, and deeper into the fortress that housed the Alpha King. The halls were lined with torches that cast cruel shadows, and the marble floors echoed with every drag of her boots. Finally, they shoved her forward into a vast throne room. The space was cavernous, lined with towering pillars and gleaming obsidian walls. At the far end, upon a raised platform of black stone, sat the throne. And upon that throne, he waited. Lucian Thorne. He was nothing like the whispers. He was worse. Broad-shouldered, dressed in dark leather and fur, his presence radiated power so strong it made the air itself heavy. His hair was black as midnight, his jaw sharp, his body coiled with restrained violence. But it was his eyes—silver, cold, merciless—that froze Ember where she stood. He leaned forward slightly, watching as the rogues dragged her closer, until finally they threw her down like a discarded offering at his feet. Ember hit the marble hard, her knees bruising, her palms scraping against the stone. She lifted her head, strands of blood-matted hair falling into her eyes, and met his gaze with a hatred that burned hotter than fire. Alpha King Lucian tilted his head, studying her as though she were prey. And Ember Hale, the last survivor of her fallen pack, realized she wasn’t standing before a man at all. She was standing before the wolf who had just claimed her fate.