Claimed by the Alpha: A Forbidden Desire

The frequency of the blood screaming through my veins was what the local pack wanted, not my heart.

I knew I was being followed without having to turn around. It wasn't a chill that alerted me, but a thick, oppressive pressure at the base of my skull. It was the heavy, suffocating burden of being a victim. Most people in Los Angeles perceived the mountain forests of Blackwood Vale as a picturesque haven, but I knew better. In this wilderness, the shadows grew teeth.

Little girl, run. Run until your lungs are reduced to ash.

The telepathic taunt struck the back of my mind like a physical blow, a low, ravenous growl vibrating through my teeth. They were close. The elders used to whisper that if you could hear the Pack’s voices, you were already a ghost.

I was not going to be a ghost. Not after I’d spent twelve years constructing a stronghold of a life in the city, scrubbing the wild smell from my skin until I smelt like high-end perfume and the cold, expensive lies of Alexander Vance.

I sprang forward, the earthy scent of decay filling my nostrils as my boots skidded on the wet moss. Each breath felt like a shard of ice in my chest. Beneath the silk lining of my designer coat, my skin crawled with the suppressed power I had spent a decade drowning in medication. I wasn't just Isabella Hayes, the "Seraphina" they once knew, the obedient trophy wife. I was a woman with a secret that could start a war.

If Alexander’s men caught me, I would be a medical experiment. If the Pack caught me, I was a broodmare for a forbidden bloodline they thought they’d exterminated decades ago.

Exile would be a mercy.

A twig cracked, sharp and violent, echoing through the still air like a gunshot. I didn't turn. You’ve already lost the second you look back.

The thorns tore at my coat and scratched my porcelain cheeks as I crashed through a wall of brambles, but the pain was distant compared to the frantic drumming of my heart. My vision started to blur, with black dots dancing at the edges. My human body, weakened by years of suppressants, was failing me. The predators were closing in.

Then, the ground betrayed me.

My foot snagged on a massive, exposed root slick with rot. I fell hard. The impact blasted the air from my lungs, and for a terrifying moment, the world went silent. My mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood and dirt. My fingers clawed at the mud, trying to find purchase, but the moonlight was suddenly eclipsed by a massive, absolute shadow.

I froze. I stopped breathing. I prepared for the sensation of teeth at my throat,, the end of a life spent in hiding.

"Are you running from the dark, Isabella? Or are you the reason the darkness is so hungry?"

It wasn't a wolf’s voice. It was a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in my very bone marrow, hewn from stone and moonlight. It carried the serene, terrifying authority of a god, not the frenzied hunger of the pack behind me.

I forced my eyes open.

A man who looked as though he had been sculpted from obsidian stood over me. He leaned against an old oak struck by lightning, his arms folded across a broad chest that seemed capable of withstanding the weight of the night. His dark tactical gear stretched taut over his shoulders, radiating a lethal, controlled power. But it was his eyes that immobilised me, molten gold pools burned with a predatory fire that matched my heart's frantic pulse.

"I’m, I’m just a hiker." I whispered, my voice a pathetic thread of sound.

He didn't walk; he stalked. Every motion was smooth, silent, and horrifyingly precise. He knelt beside me, and the fine hairs on my arms stood up as a static current charged the air between us. He exuded a dry warmth scented with cedar and rain, a scent that suddenly, violently, ripped through twelve years of repressed memories.

Cedar and rain.

"Hikers don’t smell like silver suppressants and ancient secrets, little wolf," he whispered.

His rough fingers brushed the pulse point in my throat. The contact was an electric jolt, a searing fire that I hadn't felt in a decade. My body, treacherous and weak, leaned into his touch even as my mind screamed for me to flee.

"Who are you?" I choked out.

His thumb traced the line of my jaw with a terrifying tenderness. "I’m the man the Council sends when they want the shadows to stop talking."

Before I could reply, a howl shattered the silence, a battle cry much closer than the last. His eyes shifted from gold to a deep, glowing orange. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of the approaching pack.

"They're coming," he said, his jaw tightening. "And if they find you with me, it won't end quickly. You’ll regret ever leaving the city."

He moved before I could give consent, scooping me up with a strength that made me feel weightless. My head hit the hard plate of his chest, and it felt like leaning against a mountain. As we disappeared into the dense undergrowth, the moonlight caught the edge of a silver badge pinned to his vest.

My heart faltered. A Silver Enforcer. The Council’s elite executioners.

The realization hit me harder than the fall. He wasn't here to save me from the Pack. He was the very darkness I had spent my life fleeing. He was the hunter, and I was the prey he had decided to claim for himself.

"Don't even try to run," he growled into my ear, his grip becoming almost painful. "Out here, I'm the only thing that matters."

As the trees blurred past us, I looked up at the sharp line of his jaw and the golden eyes that haunted my dreams. I recognized the jagged scar on his hand. I recognized the way he held me like something precious and broken.

This wasn't just an assassin. It was Kaelen. The boy who had promised to save me twelve years ago was the man who had now been sent to end me.

Behind us, the wolves let out a final, frustrated cry, but it was nothing compared to the terror blooming in my chest. I hadn't escaped the hunt. I had just walked into the arms of the deadliest predator of all.