CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA KING

4 : Flight and Fury

He stares at me, the mask of the controlled King shattered, his eyes wild with a conflict that mirrors my own. In that split second of his stunned silence, my instincts scream one, clear command: Run.

He thinks I’m a threat. He thinks he can lock me away. The ghost who lived in the shadows for twenty years is gone, and in her place is a cornered animal who will not be caged.

I don’t waste a second. I pivot on my heel and bolt, not back towards the hall filled with my tormentors, but towards the deep, welcoming darkness of the forest.

“Elara!”

His roar is a sound of pure fury and frustration, the sound of a king whose authority has been defied. It spurs me on, adrenaline dumping into my veins like gasoline on a fire. My simple dress tears on a low-hanging branch, but I don’t care. My feet, clad in thin slippers, pound against the damp earth, slipping on wet leaves, finding purchase on exposed roots.

The forest is my home. I know its paths, its tricks, its shadows. But he is a force of nature.

I can hear him behind me, a relentless, crashing storm of pursuit. He doesn’t move with the stealth of a hunter; he moves with the arrogant power of a predator who knows his prey cannot escape. Twigs snap under his weight. The ground seems to tremble with his footfalls.

The bond between us stretches, a taut, agonizing rope. It’s a torment, but it’s also a compass. I can feel him, his direction, his proximity. I can feel the rage pouring off him in waves, and under it, something else—a possessive, desperate need to get his hands on me. It terrifies me and, to my shame, it makes my heart hammer with a sick, thrilling beat.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and my breath catches. He’s closer than I thought, a dark shape of muscle and menace weaving through the trees with terrifying speed.

I push harder, my lungs burning, my legs screaming in protest. I veer left, towards the creek, hoping the sound of the rushing water will mask my own movements. I scramble down a short, rocky embankment and land in a small, moonlit glade. The creek rushes past on one side, and a sheer rock face rises on the other.

A dead end.

I spin around, my back to the cold, babbling water, my chest heaving as I face him. He steps into the glade, blocking the only exit. He doesn’t look tired. He looks furious.

“Stay away from me!” I gasp, my voice ragged.

A humorless, predatory smile touches his lips. “There is nowhere on this continent you could run where I would not find you.”

He lunges.

I scream, a sound of pure defiance, and meet him head-on. I am no match for his strength, but fear and rage give me a wild, desperate energy. As he reaches for me, I duck under his arm and bring my knee up, aiming for his side. He grunts, the blow landing with a solid thud, but it barely slows him.

His hand clamps around my wrist, his grip like an iron manacle. Sparks erupt at the point of contact, a jolt of pure energy that makes me cry out. He yanks me toward him, but I use the momentum, twisting and raking the nails of my free hand across his cheek.

He roars, a sound of pure, primal fury. Three thin lines of blood well up on his cheekbone. The sight of his blood, drawn by my own hand, sends a shocking thrill through me.

That’s the end of him holding back.

In a blur of motion, he slams me backward, my body hitting the rough bark of a massive oak tree with a force that knocks the wind from my lungs. He presses his body against mine, pinning me completely. My legs are trapped by his, my arms locked at my sides by his sheer weight. I am utterly, completely overpowered.

His chest heaves against mine, his face inches from my own. I can see the blood from my scratches beading on his skin, the fury in his silver eyes so hot it could melt steel.

“You will learn to obey,” he growls, his voice a low vibration that I feel in my teeth, in my bones.

And then the fight changes. The violent rage in the air becomes something else, something thicker and far more dangerous. The bond, ignited by the violent, skin-to-skin contact, surges between us, a chaotic flood of raw, uncontrollable need. His scent—storm, sweat, and now the faint, metallic tang of his blood—overwhelms me, short-circuiting my brain. My struggles weaken. My breathing becomes shallow, ragged pants.

His eyes darken, the silver turning to a stormy black as he feels it too. His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, which are parted, trembling. The anger in his expression is warring with a raw, animalistic hunger.

He lowers his head.

My mind screams no, but my body betrays me completely. My head tips back against the bark, my throat arching, offering. A pathetic whimper escapes my lips.

He doesn’t kiss me. He does something far worse.

He presses his face into the curve of my neck, his nose skimming the sensitive skin just below my ear. He inhales, a deep, shuddering breath, as if he’s drinking in my scent, my fear, my unwilling arousal. His breath is a hot brand against my skin. I can feel the faint scrape of his stubble, the terrifying proximity of his teeth.

“Gods,” he groans, the word a tortured sound ripped from his throat. His entire body trembles with the force of his restraint. He is fighting himself, fighting the bond, fighting the primal urge to sink his teeth into my flesh and claim me right here, right now.

One heartbeat. Two. The world narrows to the feeling of his hot breath on my skin, the hard press of his body, the promise of a bite that would shatter me.

With a guttural roar, he rips himself away from my neck. He shoves himself back from the tree, putting a foot of space between us, though he still has my wrists pinned. He is breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut as if he can’t bear to look at me.

When he opens them, the hunger is gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. The King is back, and he has won the war against the beast inside him.

“You had your chance for freedom,” he says, his voice devoid of all emotion. “You proved you cannot be trusted.”

Before I can react, he releases my wrists only to hoist me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The move is so swift and efficient it leaves me breathless. I’m thrown off balance, my cheek pressed against the unyielding muscle of his back, my world turned upside down.

“Let me go!” I scream, pounding my fists uselessly against the wall of his back. “You have no right!”

He ignores my struggles as if I’m a child throwing a tantrum. He begins the long walk back toward the pack house, his steps steady and relentless.

His voice is cold and final as he speaks over his shoulder, each word a nail in the coffin of my freedom.

“You are no longer a guest in my territory, Elara. You are my prisoner.”