His To Claim

Chapter 8: The Heat Between Storms

Her POV — LUNA

The pack house felt colder than the biting wind outside, even with the fire roaring in the hearth.

I stood in the center of the room, bare arms trembling—not from cold, but from fury.

Eyes locked on me. Whispers rolling like thunder.

“Alpha’s mate…” some sneered. “Doesn’t belong here.”

But I did.

I stepped forward, hands clenched, heart pounding.

“I fought for my place,” I said, voice low and sharp. “And I earned it.”

They didn’t believe me.

I saw the doubt in their eyes, the way they glanced at Ryan—waiting for him to speak.

But this wasn’t just about him.

It was about me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, needing to prove I was more than just his property.

“You want a show?” I snapped. “I’ll give you one.”

Without thinking, I reached down and ripped open my shirt—scars raw and bleeding beneath the skin.

“This,” I said, voice shaking but fierce, “is my war badge.”

They were silent.

Because they knew.

Because every scar told a story.

A story of survival.

Of pain.

Of power.

His POV — RYAN

I watched her—the way she bled without shame, the way her fire lit up the room like a damn explosion.

They didn’t understand what it meant to be marked by war. To be forged in fire and come out burning.

I stepped forward, voice deep and steady.

“She’s not just my mate,” I said. “She’s the Alpha this pack needs.”

Laughter broke out—low and cruel.

I ignored it.

Because when I grabbed her hand and pulled her close, the heat between us was undeniable.

I pressed my lips to her neck, biting gently, marking her back—not just with teeth, but with a promise.

“My blood runs with hers,” I growled. “And if anyone tries to break what we’ve built—they’ll have to get through me first.”

I felt her shiver under my touch—not from fear, but from want.

We weren’t done proving ourselves.

Not yet.

I didn’t wait.

I lifted her against the wall, hips grinding hard.

Her breath hitched, lips parted in a silent plea.

I kissed her fiercely—devouring, possessive—fingers trailing down her spine, pulling her closer.

She pressed into me, nails digging into my chest, body trembling with need.

I broke away for just a second.

“Show me you’re mine,” I demanded.

Her eyes flashed fire.

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

And then she claimed me.

Our bodies collided like a storm—urgent, raw, and desperate.

She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper as I lost myself in the slick heat of her.

Every touch, every gasp, every shudder was a battle cry.

I needed her. Not just to survive—but to live.

When she came, it was wild and loud, tearing through the room like a tempest.

I followed, screaming her name, gripping her like she was the only thing keeping me tethered.

When the storm passed, the pack was silent.

They had seen.

They had felt.

No one would doubt us again.