Chapter 3 The Alpha’s Shadow
Alaric doesn’t release my wrist.
He turns, already moving, and my body follows before my mind catches up—drawn by the bond, by the sheer force of him. Wolves part as we pass, eyes tracking us with open curiosity now sharpened by something darker.
Possession.
Speculation.
Fear.
I keep my chin high even as my pulse stutters. If they sense weakness, I won’t last the night.
We leave the main hall through a side corridor lit by low-burning torches. The air grows warmer, heavier with his scent—pine smoke and iron, winter nights and blood. Every step tightens the invisible thread between us, tugging low in my belly, sharp behind my ribs.
He finally stops in front of a door carved with runes I don’t recognize.
“Inside,” he says.
Not loud. Not cruel.
Absolute.
The door closes behind us with a sound that echoes far too loudly.
I realize then that we are alone.
The room is large and sparse, built for function rather than comfort. A massive table dominates the center, scarred by old cuts. A hearth burns along one wall, throwing flickering shadows over weapons mounted like trophies—axes, blades, claws too large to belong to any normal wolf.
This is not a bedroom.
This is a war room.
Alaric releases my wrist at last, but the bond doesn’t loosen. If anything, it pulls harder now that there’s no one else to distract us.
He turns to face me fully.
Up close, the effect is worse.
His eyes are darker now, the amber threaded with something feral, something barely restrained. His jaw is set, his shoulders tight, like he’s holding himself back from doing something irreversible.
I steady my breathing. “If you’re going to kill me,” I say, “do it quickly.”
That earns a flicker of surprise.
“Kill you?” he repeats softly.
I lift one shoulder. “I cut you. Wolves didn’t exactly look thrilled about it.”
A humorless huff leaves him. “If I wanted you dead, Mira Holloway, you would already be bleeding on my floor.”
My stomach twists at the way he says my name—slow, deliberate, as if testing how it feels in his mouth.
He steps closer.
I don’t move.
“Your blood,” he says. “It shouldn’t do that.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Do what?”
“React to me.” His gaze drops briefly to my throat, then to my hands. “Human blood doesn’t wake old magic. It doesn’t ignite bonds that haven’t been seen in centuries.”
The bond pulses at his words, as if offended by the idea of denial.
I force a shrug. “Maybe you’re not as immune as you think.”
A low growl vibrates in his chest—not threatening, not quite. Frustrated.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “That tone will get you in trouble.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged. I feel the poison vial pressing against my ankle, a cold, accusing weight.
He circles me slowly, eyes never leaving my face. Predator assessment. Alpha instinct. Every nerve in my body hums, aware of where he is, how close he is, how easily he could pin me if he chose.
“You walked into my hall during a blood moon,” he says. “You let my blood taste yours. And you expect me to believe you’re just… lost?”
I meet his gaze. “I expected you to kill me on sight.”
That, at least, is true.
Something in his expression shifts—something unreadable. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the steady power rolling off his skin.
“Why did you really come here?” he asks.
My magic coils tight in my chest, instinct screaming at me to lie better, faster.
“I needed protection,” I say. “Pack land is safer than the roads.”
“For humans?” His brow arches. “No. It isn’t.”
I swallow. “For desperate ones.”
The bond tugs again, sharper this time, like it’s punishing me for half-truths. My vision swims for a moment, heat flushing through my veins.
Alaric notices.
His eyes narrow. “You feel that.”
I grit my teeth. “Feel what?”
“Don’t insult me.” His hand lifts, hovering inches from my arm—not touching, not yet. “The bond is active. That means pain, pull, heat. It means you’re aware of me whether you want to be or not.”
My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Congratulations.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re defiant.”
“I’m alive.”
“For now.”
The words should scare me.
Instead, they spark something reckless.
“What happens now?” I ask.
Alaric studies me for a long moment, as if weighing futures only he can see. “Now,” he says slowly, “I decide whether you’re a threat… or an asset.”
“And if I’m neither?”
“Then you’re a liability.”
The word lands like a blade.
He turns away abruptly, moving to the table, bracing his hands against it as if grounding himself. I see it then—the restraint. The way his shoulders tense, his fingers curl, claws threatening beneath skin.
The bond pulls harder, reacting to his agitation. My breath catches, a sharp ache blooming low in my abdomen, heat flooding my veins.
I press my thighs together instinctively.
Alaric inhales sharply.
He straightens, eyes blazing as they snap back to me. “Do not,” he growls, “do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, breathless.
“Whatever you just did.”
I laugh weakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His jaw tightens. “The bond amplifies instinct. Desire. Aggression.” His gaze drags over me again, slower now, darker. “You don’t want to test how much control I have.”
The truth curls in my chest, heavy and bitter.
Neither do you, I think.
Out loud, I say, “If this bond is such a problem, break it.”
The room seems to still.
Alaric’s laugh is short and sharp. “If it were that easy, you wouldn’t be standing here.”
He steps closer again, stopping just short of touching me. His voice drops, rougher now, threaded with something dangerous.
“You belong to my pack while this bond exists. You stay under my watch. You do not leave my lands without my permission.”
My stomach sinks. “You’re imprisoning me.”
“I’m protecting my territory.”
“And me?”
His gaze locks onto mine, intense enough to steal breath. “That remains to be seen.”
The bond pulses once more, deep and hot, like a promise neither of us is ready to name.
Alaric steps back, finally giving me space. “You’ll be given quarters. You’ll be watched.”
I nod, forcing calm into my limbs. “And you?”
His eyes flicker—just for a second—to my ankle.
To where the poison waits.
“I’ll be deciding,” he says, “what to do with a woman who walked into my den under a blood moon… carrying secrets that could destroy us both.”
As the door opens and guards move in, the vial seems to burn against my skin.
Because I already know the answer.
If Alaric Bloodhowl discovers the truth,
the bond won’t save me.
And neither will love.