The Alpha’s Forbidden Claim

Aria’s POV The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. It came down in cold, silver sheets that blurred the trees into ghosts, turning the world outside into a shifting watercolor. The steady drumming against the roof of the car felt almost hypnotic, a dull rhythm that filled the silence between breaths. The mountains loomed ahead, sharp and endless, their peaks swallowed by fog so thick it looked like the sky had sunk to the earth. I pressed my forehead against the car window, watching drops race each other down the glass. Every mile we drove felt like leaving my old life behind—what was left of it, anyway. Each passing shadow reminded me of choices I couldn’t undo, mistakes that clung to me like stains. The cold from the window seeped into my skin, grounding me and numbing the tight ache in my chest. The driver hadn’t spoken since we left the train station. He was a big man, shoulders too wide for his jacket, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored. The only sound was the wipers scraping back and forth and the soft hum of the engine that vibrated gently through my legs. I glanced at the envelope in my lap. Blackthorn Hall—Private Employment Contract. The ink had smudged where my fingers had trembled. My hands looked pale in the dim light, thin from months of stress, from running, from pretending I was fine. The contract felt heavier than paper, more like a last resort, more like a lifeline I wasn’t sure I could trust. A year ago, I was a student. I had plans. A life. A boyfriend who said he loved me. Now I was running away from whispers and pitying eyes. Betrayal doesn’t just break you, it stains you. It lingers long after the world forgets, long after everyone else moves on. I could still hear their voices, the disbelief, the shock, the disappointment. I could still feel the moment everything shattered under my feet. The car jolted as we hit a rough patch. I caught my breath and looked up. The trees grew denser here, their branches like claws scratching at the sky. Darkness pooled between the trunks, thick and ancient. It felt like the forest itself was watching, waiting for us to pass through. “How much farther?” I asked, my voice small in the thick silence. It sounded fragile, like something that could c***k with a single word. “Almost there, miss,” the driver said. His tone was flat, but I caught the faintest hesitation, as if “there” was a place he’d rather not go. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening for a moment. Fog rolled in, curling over the headlights. The world turned gray, each curve of the road vanishing into mist. Then, through the haze, I saw it. Blackthorn Hall. It rose out of the mountains like a memory someone tried to bury. Black stone, high towers, windows glowing faintly against the storm. It wasn’t just a mansion; it was a fortress. A place built to protect or imprison. I couldn’t tell which. The air around it felt colder, heavier, as if the building exhaled the storm itself. The driver stopped by the front steps. “You’ll be met inside,” he said quickly, eyes avoiding mine. He almost looked relieved to be rid of me. Or afraid. I couldn’t decide which unsettled me more. Before I could thank him, he was gone, the car disappearing down the road until only the rain remained, swallowing the sound of the engine. The driveway felt too quiet, too empty without the car. I stood alone, clutching my small suitcase. The air smelled of pine and cold earth. My shoes sank slightly into the wet ground, mud clinging to the soles. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard a howl. It echoed faintly across the trees, carried by the wind. Not human, not close, but unmistakable. “Welcome to Silvermist Territory,” I whispered to myself, trying to sound brave. My voice wavered. The words vanished into the rain before they reached the steps. The heavy doors creaked open. A man stood there. He was tall, at least six foot four, with shoulders that could block the light. Black hair brushed his collar, damp from the rain. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, steady and unreadable, staring down at me as if he were trying to assess whether I would last a day here. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. “Miss Morell,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel softened by velvet. “You’re late.” “I—I’m sorry. The train...” “Doesn’t matter.” His gaze swept over me once, sharp and assessing. “You should come in before the storm worsens.” I followed him inside, my shoes echoing against the marble floor. The air smelled of wood smoke and something darker. Iron, perhaps. Shadows danced along the walls as the doors shut behind me with a heavy thud. The entrance hall was massive, with portraits staring down from the walls. Firelight flickered from sconces, throwing long shadows. The high ceiling made everything feel cold, distant, as if the house had swallowed my footsteps whole. He turned toward me again. “I’m Lucien Vale.” The name hit me like a drop of cold water. The same name from the letter. The employer who paid more than any human job should. The one no one had information about. “You’ll have a room in the east wing,” he continued. “Meals are at dawn and dusk. You’ll tutor Elara in literature, mathematics, and etiquette. You are not to leave the property without my permission. Is that clear?” His voice left no room for argument. “Yes,” I said quietly, though my throat felt tight. He watched me for a moment longer, and I could swear something flickered in his expression. Recognition, maybe, or something deeper. Then it was gone, replaced by an unreadable mask. “Follow me.” We walked through long corridors lined with black stone and high windows. Every step echoed. The house seemed alive, listening. Watching. The deeper we went, the more the temperature seemed to drop, the walls whispering with drafts and distant sounds. At one turn, I caught sight of movement, a figure at the far end of the hall, standing half in shadow. A man with pale blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He nodded once before disappearing around a corner. Lucien noticed my glance. “My brother Cassian. He oversees security. If you see my other brother, Darius, ignore him. He enjoys testing boundaries.” Something in his tone made me uneasy. Not just a warning, an implication. When we reached my room, he opened the door for me. “If you need anything, ring the bell. Someone will come.” “Thank you, Mr. Vale.” “Lucien will do.” I froze at that. His voice had softened slightly, and when his gaze met mine, the world seemed to narrow until there was only the sound of rain and my heartbeat. There was something in his eyes then. Something dangerous, something curious. Something that made my pulse stumble. Then he turned away. “Rest. The house can be… unpredictable after dark.” The door shut behind him. I stood in silence for a long moment, my suitcase still in hand. The room was beautiful—large windows, a fireplace, shelves full of books. But the air felt heavy, as if someone had been here before me. The bed looked untouched, yet the faintest indentation marked the pillow, like someone had sat there recently. I unpacked slowly, trying to ignore the way the shadows seemed to move along the walls. Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windowpanes. When I finally sat by the fire, exhaustion pulled at me. The crackling flames cast warm light across the room, but it didn’t chase away the unease. Yet, just before sleep took me, I heard it, soft footsteps outside my door. Then, a voice, deep and low, whispering something I couldn’t understand. The handle turned. I sat up sharply. The sound stopped. Silence. Then, faintly, a growl echoed down the hall. Deep, feral, and close. It crawled over my skin like cold fingers. My heart slammed in my chest. Whatever lived in this house, it wasn’t just human. And as the fire flickered low, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching me through the keyhole.