CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA KING

6 : The Seer's Sight

The hours bleed into one another, each one a slow, silent torture in this opulent cage. The moon, a cold, indifferent eye, climbs its arc in the sky, its light spilling through the reinforced glass of the balcony doors, painting silver bars across the plush carpet. I tested the doors hours ago, my heart thumping with a wild, foolish hope, only to find them sealed as tightly as the heavy oak door to the hall. Of course they are. A king who hunts and captures his prey doesn’t leave a window open for its escape.

My initial, frantic energy has long since burned away, leaving a hollow, aching exhaustion in its wake. My knuckles are bruised and scraped raw from my futile assault on the door. My throat is hoarse from screaming his name until my voice gave out. Now, I just sit, a small, huddled shape on the edge of a massive bed meant for two, listening to the silence and the frantic, unsteady rhythm of my own heart.

The bond is a low, constant hum beneath my skin, a current of energy that connects me to him, whether I want it to or not. It’s a phantom limb, an ache for a part of my soul that is somewhere else in this house. I can feel his presence, not his thoughts, but the sheer force of him—a restless, agitated storm contained within these same stone walls. And my own wolf, miserable and heartbroken, is inexorably drawn to his, a moth to a flame that has already left her wings scorched and useless.

I hate this feeling. I hate him for inflicting it upon me. Most of all, I hate the weakness in my own blood that still craves the very source of its pain.

A sound in the hallway finally breaks the suffocating silence. Heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching. Not just the guards shifting their weight. Someone is coming.

My head snaps up, my heart leaping into my throat, a frantic bird beating against my ribs.

The lock on my door clicks, the sound unnaturally loud, a final, metallic note of doom. The door swings inward.

Ronan stands there, his massive frame silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. He has shed his formal leathers for simple black trousers and a loose, dark tunic that does little to hide the formidable landscape of muscle on his chest and arms. The three thin scratches on his cheek, my scratches, are stark against his skin—a small, defiant mark I left on a king. His silver eyes find me instantly, and the air in the room crackles, the bond flaring with a painful, familiar heat that I have no power to suppress.

He is not alone.

Leaning heavily on a twisted staff of gnarled, dark wood is a she-wolf so ancient her face is a roadmap of wrinkles, each line telling a story I cannot read. Her fur, what little of it shows at her collar and cuffs, is the color of fresh snow. But it’s her eyes that hold me captive, that steal the breath from my lungs. They are clouded over, a milky, sightless white that seems to see more than any pair of seeing eyes ever could.

The Stormfang Seer.

My blood runs cold. I’ve heard stories of Seers, of course. Creatures of myth and power, their minds touching a world beyond our own, their tongues speaking truths that can build kingdoms or shatter them. What truths will she see when she looks at me?

“What is this?” I ask, my voice a mere tremor. I force myself to my feet, to face them, refusing to cower on the bed like a frightened child. “What do you want now?”

“Answers,” Ronan says, his voice flat, devoid of the emotion that I know is raging beneath the surface. He steps aside, a gesture of respect for the old woman that he has not once shown me. She shuffles slowly into the room, her staff making a soft, rhythmic tapping on the stone floor.

The Seer turns her head in my direction, and her sightless eyes seem to pierce right through my flesh, my bones, into the very core of me. A shiver traces its icy path down my spine.

“The air around you is… loud, child,” the Seer says. Her voice is raspy with age, like dry leaves skittering across stone, yet it holds an unnerving clarity. “It is full of thunder and broken sky. A storm without a sea to rage in.”

She takes another shuffling step toward me, holding out a gnarled, trembling hand. The skin is thin as paper, stretched over bones like twigs. “May I?”

I recoil as if she’d brandished a hot iron, wrapping my arms around myself in a protective gesture. “No. Stay away from me.” The memory of what happened with Seraphina is a flash of terror in my mind—the spark, the surge, the loss of control. I don’t know what this power is, and I will not be a test subject for his royal curiosity.

The Seer stops, her hand still outstretched, her expression unreadable but patient.

Ronan’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a warning I feel in my bones. “Elara. Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I said no,” I repeat, my chin lifting, my voice gaining a sliver of strength from the pure, unadulterated rage I feel toward him. “You can lock me in this room, but you cannot force me to submit to this… this examination. I am not one of your subjects to command.”

His eyes flash with silver fire. For a moment, I see the beast he holds leashed, the raw, untamed fury of an Alpha King whose will has been defied. He takes a step forward, his power flooding the room, a heavy, suffocating pressure that makes my knees want to buckle and my wolf whine in submission.

“You are in my house, under my protection, because you are a potential threat,” he says, his voice dangerously low, each word a carefully placed stone. “You will do as you are told. Now, let her see.”

The words are a command, but they are not yet laced with his full Alpha authority. He is trying to compel me with his presence alone, to bend me to his will. And I, fueled by the injustice of it all, by the memory of his rejection, stand my ground.

“No.”

The word hangs between us, a final, desperate act of rebellion.

His control snaps. The beast is unleashed.

“**Let her,**” he commands.

This time, the words are a weapon. They are infused with the full, irresistible weight of his Alpha power, a force of nature that I am helpless to resist. The command bypasses my mind, my will, my rage, and sinks its teeth directly into the most primal part of my being. My body moves against my own volition. My arms, which had been crossed tightly over my chest, fall to my sides. My hand, trembling with a mixture of fear and fury, extends toward the Seer.

I am a puppet on his strings.

The realization is a fresh, deep wound. The bond is meant to be a sacred connection between equals, a partnership of souls. But he has just used the ultimate tool of dominance against me, forcing my submission, proving that he sees me not as his fated, but as a disobedient dog to be brought to heel. Tears of helpless fury sting my eyes. He has not only imprisoned my body; he has now violated my will.

The Seer’s ancient, wrinkled fingers close around my hand. Her skin is dry as paper, but the moment she touches me, a jolt, hot and sharp as lightning, passes between us.

Her reaction is immediate and violent.

Her milky, sightless eyes fly wide open, and for a terrifying second, they are no longer blind. They blaze with a brilliant, inner light, a swirling vortex of silver and blue energy. A gasp is torn from her lips, and she stumbles backward, ripping her hand away from mine as if she’s been electrocuted. Her staff clatters to the floor, forgotten.

She stares, not at me, but through me, at a truth only she can now see. Ronan is at her side in an instant, his hand steadying her frail arm, his own face a mask of tense urgency.

“Lyra? What is it? What did you see?” he demands, his voice tight.

The Seer turns her head toward him, her glowing eyes wide with a terror so profound it chills me to the very marrow of my bones. Her voice is a choked, horrified whisper, a sound that promises the world is about to break.

“By the Moon Goddess… Alpha… what have you done?”