Chapter 9
The dawn brought no relief. The fortress still smelt of smoke from last night's torches, and the air vibrated with tension, heavy enough to make my chest ache. Every hallway I passed, every door I closed behind me, felt like a countdown to something—danger, betrayal, or the inevitable collision with the Beast Alpha who refused to release me from the chains fate had imposed.
I was alone—or so I thought.
The pain started subtly at first, like a whisper beneath my skin, in the centre of my back. I froze, shivering. A warning, a tremor, something primal. My fingers brushed against the spot, and I recoiled—there, rising beneath my flesh, was the faint outline of a mark I didn't recognise. Glowing faintly, almost imperceptibly in the dim morning light, it burnt hotter than fire, and a wave of nausea rolled over me.
It was impossible.
The bond with Lucien was strong, undeniable, and unyielding. But this—this mark was something else. Different. Insistent. Personal. It pulsed in tandem with my heartbeat, and every throb echoed a warning in my veins: I wasn't alone, not in the sense I thought I was.
And then it hit me—like a punch to the stomach, cruel and sharp. The mark was tied to him. Not just the bond, not just the Alpha who rejected me, but Lucien. And the fire it burnt wasn't just physical—it was emotional, mental, and primal.
I tried to breathe. Tried to ignore it. Tried to tell myself it was just the bond acting up, a flare of instinctual energy. But instinct doesn't burn. Instinct doesn't twist inside you like acid. This mark… This was a claim.
A claim I hadn't accepted.
I staggered to the window, gripping the stone sill as if it could anchor me to sanity. Beyond the walls, the world was quiet. The border wolves had retreated—or maybe they were lying in wait. And Selene… I couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she had slipped past the defences, unseen, untouchable. She wanted me broken, and the mark, this searing brand that wasn't fully mine, was another weapon in her war.
Lucien.
I didn't have to see him to feel him. The bond flared, violent, angry, impossibly hot. I could feel him pacing the hall beyond my room, each step deliberate and controlled, the growl in his chest vibrating through the walls. He was aware. He always was.
"Stop it," I whispered, touching the mark, my palm trembling. "Stop burning me."
It didn't.
Instead, it pulsed harder, and suddenly, pain shot down my arms, twisted my stomach, and stole my breath. I doubled over, hands pressed to the mark, and the world blurred. And then—oh God—then I felt it: his anger, his jealousy, his dominance, all crashing into me through the bond like a tidal wave.
I screamed, muffled against my own shaking hands.
"You feel it, don't you?" came his voice, low, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. He was close now, outside the door, moving toward me with that slow, inevitable rhythm that made every nerve in my body flare with terror and anticipation. "It's not just me… it's everything you've done to fight me. It burns because you refuse me. Because you think you can stand against me."
I wanted to scream again, but my body refused. The pain made it hard to think. The mark flared with every thought of him, every memory of his golden eyes, every flash of his presence. And yet… I refused. Refused to bow, refused to submit, refused to kneel to an Alpha who rejected me as easily as he rejected the laws of the pack.
I straightened, gasping, blood pounding in my ears. "I don't kneel," I whispered, voice shaking but unwavering. "I will not be yours. Not fully. Not like this. Not to anyone."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Then came the soft, deliberate click of boots against stone. Lucien stepped into the room. His presence was overwhelming, all-consuming. I could smell him—power, dominance, anger—and I hated myself for shivering under it.
The mark flared again, responding to him as if alive, as if it had its own will. Pain lanced through my back and down my legs. I clutched the edges of the bed, teeth gritted, trying to hold back the whimper that threatened to escape.
"You're mine," he said, every syllable like iron striking stone. "Mark or no mark, chain or no chain, defiance or obedience. You belong to me."
"No," I spat, twisting to face him, ignoring the heat, the fire, and the madness radiating from him. "I belong to myself. I choose myself."
His eyes narrowed, golden fires brightening in fury, frustration, and something darker I couldn't name. The bond screamed in response, wrapping around us, pulling, twisting, testing. Pain shot through my chest, and for a second, I thought I might collapse—but I didn't. I couldn't. I had made a choice. I had refused.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body, close enough that my pulse raced in rebellion and fear. "You think that matters?" he hissed, voice low, guttural. "You think choosing yourself makes you stronger? Every step you take against me only tightens the bond. Every act of defiance only makes this mark burn hotter."
I swallowed, fighting the panic clawing at my throat. I didn't know if I could endure this. Pain flared with every heartbeat, every breath, every flicker of emotion between us. My vision blurred. And then… I felt it—control, not just from him, but from the mark itself. Something ancient. Something predatory.
The mark wasn't just a claim. It was a warning.
The fortress trembled suddenly, not from him, not from me, but from something outside. A shadow fell over the window, and instinct screamed at me—wolves at the border again. Larger than before. Organised. Merciless.
And Selene…
I didn't need to see her to know. The mark burnt hotter, searing into my skin like her fingers were dragging across it. She was inside. She was here.
Lucien's eyes snapped to the shadows first, his body moving with lethal precision. Every muscle coiled like a spring ready to strike. He didn't speak; he never needed to. I could feel the rage, the possessiveness, and the uncontrollable need to protect me and to claim me fully, burning through the bond. And still I stood, refusing him.
"They're coming," I whispered, voice trembling, low, and urgent. "Selene… she's inside. And the border wolves… they're massing."
Lucien's jaw tightened, and then, in a motion too fast to track, he moved to me. He pressed a hand against my back where the mark burnt, and heat flared from him into me. Pain and fury and desire collided. The bond screamed, both of us flaring, vibrating in agony and rage.
"Do not touch me!" I shouted, but the words barely carried over the thunderous pulse of the bond.
He didn't stop. He held me, forcing me upright, forcing me to face him, eyes locked onto mine. "You will survive," he growled. "Even if it kills you. Even if it kills me. Because I will not let her have you. Not her. Not anyone."
And then the sound came—a blade scraping stone, deliberate, precise. Not a wolf. Not part of the pack. Selene. She had made it past every defence. She was in the fortress. She was close.
The mark flared hotter than ever, fire beneath my skin, screaming with warning, with prophecy, with primal instinct. I felt it latching to my soul, not just my body, and I knew—whatever this mark truly was, it wasn't just about Lucien.
It was about power.
It was about survival.
It was about war.
And it had only just begun.