Fated to Fall

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Ritual of Claiming

The stone walls of Draven’s private chamber seemed to close in around Virella, as if the very air had thickened, heavy with expectation. The room was dimly lit by flickering candlelight, casting eerie shadows that danced across the cold, unforgiving stone.

Virella stood at the center, her hands trembling at her sides despite her attempts to steady herself. The air was thick with incense—strange herbs and oils designed for the ritual, burning in bowls at the corners of the room, their scent both intoxicating and suffocating.

Draven, standing by the ceremonial altar, looked every bit the Sovereign. His eyes gleamed with an unreadable expression, his posture regal and commanding, as if he held absolute power over not just the pack, but her, as well.

“I told you this would happen,” he said coldly, stepping closer to her, his voice rough yet firm. “Tonight, we will be bound. As the law of our pack dictates, we claim each other in the eyes of all. No more resistance.”

Virella’s breath hitched, the weight of her situation pressing down on her chest like a thousand stones. She was trapped in this unholy tradition, in a ritual she never agreed to. Forced to be tied to this man—Draven—the Alpha King who ruled with iron fists.

"I don’t want this," she whispered through clenched teeth. "I never wanted this."

He didn’t reply at first, only moved behind her, his presence heavy. She could feel his breath, warm against the back of her neck. The ritual had already begun. The faint hum of chanting echoed from outside the chamber, the pack’s elders ready to witness their binding.

"You have no choice," Draven’s voice was a low growl, his hand touching her shoulder as if to steady her. "The bond between us is a law, a necessity for the survival of the pack. You will bear my son, as is our fate."

Virella wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out, to break free, but her body felt like it had been imprisoned by invisible chains. The room seemed to spin around her. She couldn’t move—couldn’t think clearly. All she could feel was the suffocating weight of the moment. Was this her punishment? She had rejected everything about this life, yet here she was—forced to comply.

She closed her eyes, trying to block everything out, but then she felt Draven’s fingers brush her cheek, turning her face toward his. His eyes, cold and calculated, locked onto hers.

“You will be mine tonight. Not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of the entire pack.

"The ritual must be sealed with a kiss.” an elder announced.

Virella’s stomach twisted. She felt bile rise in her throat. She couldn’t stop it.

“No,” she whispered, turning her head away from him as he leaned in. “I won’t let you.”

Draven’s grip on her jaw tightened, his other hand reaching for the ropes that were meant to tie her wrists to the bedpost. His voice remained unwavering, even as she fought against his touch.

“You don’t get to choose anymore,” he said in a low, commanding tone. “This is your fate. You will accept me, whether you want to or not.”

With a swift, unyielding motion, Draven secured her wrists to the bedposts, her body restrained and vulnerable before him. The room was thick with tension, and Virella’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath shallow, each desperate thought torn apart by the weight of what was happening.

She closed her eyes again, refusing to look at him. If she could block out everything, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.

But Draven wasn’t done.

He took her chin in his hand, his touch as cold and firm as the stone walls around them. He held her face, forcing her to look into his silver eyes. His breath came in sharp, steady bursts.

“I’m not asking you for permission,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. We are bound. Tonight, you will understand that.”

Before she could turn away again, before she could voice another protest, Draven’s lips were on hers.

It was a kiss that wasn’t born of tenderness, but of power. Cold, commanding, and final. The force behind it sent a shiver through Virella’s entire body. She wanted to pull away, wanted to scream, but her body—her mind—betrayed her. His lips were unyielding, taking the kiss deeper, sealing their claim in front of the elders, the pack, and, most importantly, in front of themselves.

Virella’s chest tightened, her heart aching with the cruel irony of it all. Was this her punishment from the heavens? She had rejected the bond, rejected everything he represented, and now she was trapped. Tied to a man who didn’t care for her, who saw her only as a means to his end.

Draven pulled back, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her with a chilling intensity. “Now, it’s done. No more defiance.”

Virella lay on the bed, tied and helpless, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. She could hear Draven move around the room, the sound of his boots on the stone floor heavy and deliberate.

The ritual was complete. She had been claimed in front of the pack. But the anguish in her heart was unbearable.

As the night grew deeper, and Draven lay beside her in silence, Virella turned away, her back to him. Tears welled up, though she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

But her body shook with the silent sobs she tried to stifle. She was broken. She was trapped. Her soul cried out for freedom, for escape, for a life that was truly hers. She could feel the walls closing in on her, but she couldn’t escape. Not now.

Later that night, Draven stood by the door, watching her with his unreadable gaze. He had no words for her. The bond was sealed, the pack would expect him to stay, to carry on the legacy. Yet as he watched Virella, trembling alone in the dark, he hesitated.

Virella’s sobs, though faint, reached him. And for a moment, something stirred inside him—something he hadn’t expected. He turned away, the cold resolve of his duty as Sovereign too strong to deny.

But Draven didn’t stay with her. He left the room quietly, stepping out into the cold night air, and slept beneath the stars. The stone floor beneath him was uncomfortable, but it seemed fitting for the man he had become—cold, ruthless, and alone."