Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
My dream releases me with a gasp, fragments of blood and moonlight still dancing behind my eyes. I blink awake, disoriented, my body heavy and warm against unfamiliar furs. Then memory crashes over me—the Claiming ceremony, Kieran’s death, Ryker’s teeth in my throat.
My hand flies to the claiming mark, finding it hot and tender under my fingers. The bond thrums with foreign power, his strength burning through my veins. It makes me feel both more and less myself, as though his wildness is seeping into my bones, reshaping me from the inside out.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I take in my surroundings. This is nothing like the bedrooms I’d known in my old pack—there’s no sterile symmetry or forced elegance. This is a true den carved into the heart of a mountain.
For a beat, I wonder if Ryker’s pack has rejected modern comforts altogether—until I spy the lights tucked into a recess strip in the stone ceiling.
Sitting up slowly, I glance around, taking in the luxe finishes.
Built into one wall, a state-of-the-art coffee machine perches next to a mini bar stocked with glass decanters—whiskey, scotch, something amber and old.
There’s even a touchscreen tablet mounted into the wall near the bed.
But the rest of it? All wild.
A massive fireplace dominates the room casting dancing shadows across walls lined with weapons—knives, swords, and what looks like ancient battle axes. Each is well crafted and lovingly maintained.
The massive bed I’m lying in is a nest of luxurious furs and pillows that still hold Ryker’s scent—earth and stone and predator.
I shiver as I gather them to me, breathing in his addictive aroma, grounding myself in his feral and masculine and terrifying scent.
“Welcome back.”
His voice sends shivers down my spine, and I twist toward the sound.
Ryker stands in the stone archway, utterly relaxed and completely naked.
Dried blood maps dark lines over his chest, his arms, his thighs—savage brushstrokes across his skin.
The firelight makes his scars shimmer, turning him into an ancient and untamed beast. He’s a god of war, pulled from myth and dropped into my bedchamber.
Nudity is nothing in pack life. I’ve seen a hundred male wolves shift and stand bare in the open.
But this?
There is nothing casual about Ryker’s nakedness.
My eyes betray me, roaming his towering frame—his broad shoulders, the cut of his muscles, the sharp lines of his abdomen that lead down. My breath hitches, heat coiling low in my belly. He’s well-endowed—thick, heavy, and utterly unapologetic about it.
I’ve never cared to look before. Never wanted to. But now?
I can’t not look.
He is heat and danger made flesh. Everything about him radiates power—sex and violence braided so tightly together I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. My heart hammers in my chest, torn between fear and a feeling far more dangerous.
“I...” I clutch the furs to my chest, though they do little to hide my curves from his predatory gaze. “How did you know I was waking?”
“I felt it.” He pushes off from the archway, moving toward me with fluid grace. “Through the claiming mark. I feel all my pack. Can you not?”
I shake my head.
“You will. Your power calls to mine now, little seer.”
My heart thunders as he approaches. He moves like his wolf even in human form, all contained violence and lethal intent. But there’s something else in his gaze too—a hunger that makes heat pool in my belly despite my fear.
“Tell me what you dreamed.” It isn’t a request.
“I...” The vision is already fragmenting in my mind, slipping away like water through cupped hands, but one image remains clear. “Blood on stone. Wolves fighting in darkness. But I couldn’t tell if they were attacking or defending.”
His laugh is dark silk against my nerves. “Both, my little mate. Always both.” He reaches the edge of the bed, looming over me. “The Grand Alpha will come for you. And my pack will paint these stones with the blood of anyone who tries to take what’s mine.”
The possessive growl in his voice makes me shiver. “I won’t be able to help you fight. I can’t even shift—”
“No.” His hand shoots out, gripping my chin with surprising gentleness despite the speed of the movement.
“But you can see. And that’s worth more than teeth and claws.
” His thumb brushes my lower lip, sending sparks of sensation down my spine.
“Your gift will let us know where they’ll strike.
When they’ll come. How they’ll try to break us. ”
I shake my head, pulling away from his touch. “It doesn’t work like that. At least, not for me.”
“But it will.” He tangles his hand in my hair, not painfully, but with enough pressure to command my attention. “We will train you.”
“And if I refuse to use it for you?”
His smile is all fang, a predator’s warning. “Then I’ll have the mate I claimed.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs.
I stare at him, unable to speak. Mate—the word is ancient, sacred, terrifying. My heart thunders against my ribs, the pulse in my neck fluttering like a trapped bird. My body is trembling, but not just with fear.
With want.
I force myself to meet his gaze, refusing to be cowed despite the feelings coursing through me.
He’s staring at me with that dark, searing intensity that strips me bare.
I can feel the truth of his words in the heat between us, in the way his thumb brushes against my lip like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
In the way his voice is still sharp, still dominant, but softer now; threaded with something close to reverence.
He doesn’t see a mistake.
He sees his mate.
Gods help me, part of me wants to belong to someone who sees me like Ryker does.
But I can’t allow myself to believe we can be more when I know exactly how much of a disappointment I am.
“I was born broken. My own mother couldn’t look at me after my first failed shift.
” I look away, shame tightening my throat.
“Do you know what it’s like to feel your wolf pacing under your skin and never be able to reach her?
To hear her howl and know you’ll never run with her?
” I wrap my arms around myself, retreating inward. “I’m not a wolf. I’m a mistake.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with tension.
Then Ryker moves, one hand rises, not to grip, but to cup my jaw with surprising gentleness.
“You’re not broken, Kitara. Your pack was just too small-minded to understand you.”
I startle at both his touch and the use of my name for the first time. It lands with weight; the way he says it sounds like a caress.
“I don’t want your gift,” he continues, his voice rough. “I want you.”
His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing my words.
The kiss is possession itself—all heat and demand and barely contained violence.
His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head back as his other arm wraps around my waist, dragging me up against his chest. The furs fall away, leaving nothing between us but the blood dried on his skin.
Power surges through the claiming mark, making me gasp against his lips.
He takes advantage, deepening the kiss until I can taste his wildness, his rage, his need to possess every part of me.
My hands come up to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, I’m not sure.
His skin burns beneath my palms, hard muscle and rough scars under my fingertips.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes have shifted, the gold one burning bright, while the red one seems to glow—a sign of how close his beast is to the surface.
“Mine,” he growls against my lips. “You’re mine.”
A sharp scratch at the stone entrance makes Ryker’s head snap up, a snarl building in his chest. I feel his arms tighten around me protectively before a voice calls out.
“Alpha,” the male calls, his eyes averted respectfully. “Forgive the interruption, but the northern scouts have picked up movement. A large group is approaching the border markers. They’re not even trying to hide.”
Ryker’s muscles coil beneath my hands. He doesn’t release me, but his demeanor shifts from passionate to lethal in an instant. “Numbers?”
“At least thirty. Mixed pack signatures. And...” The wolf hesitates. “They’re carrying silver, Alpha. We can smell it on the wind.”
The growl that rumbles through Ryker’s chest is pure predator.
He finally pulls away from me, though his hand lingers on my claiming mark sending pulses of warmth through the bond.
“Get the enforcers in position. No one engages without my command.” His eyes lock onto mine.
“And post four guards outside this den. No one enters except yourself or Lithia.”
“Already done, Alpha.”
“Good. Now get Elias and his unit ready. If they want to play with silver, we’ll remind them why we hunt in darkness.”
The wolf retreats, and Ryker turns back to me.
The heat from moments ago has transformed into something darker, more violent.
“That was Dane. You allow only him or his sister in until I’m back.
Her name is Lithia. She has a scar here.
” He runs a hand down his cheek in demonstration.
“Rest, little seer. You’re safe here.” His thumb traces my lower lip, still swollen from his kiss.
“And when I return, we’ll finish what we started. ”
As he goes to pull away, another vision sucks me under without warning. My eyes roll back as the vision drags me into its depths. My fingers dig into his arm, holding him in place as power surges through our claiming bond.
Through the haze of images, I feel Ryker experiencing it too—the electric current of my gift. Somehow I know that he catches fragments of what I’m seeing—moonlight on silver arrows, wolves moving through hidden tunnels, a trap waiting in the darkness.
“No,” I gasp, my body arching as the vision claws through me. “Not the northern border. It’s a distraction. They’re coming through the old mines. The silver scent... it’s to mask—”
The vision releases me, and I collapse against his chest, my body shaking from the strain. Every muscle aches as though I’ve run for miles. A warmth trickles from my nose, and I touch it to find blood staining my fingertips. This is the familiar aftermath of a forced vision.
“You’re bleeding.” There’s alarm in Ryker’s voice, something I didn’t expect from the savage alpha. His brow furrows as he examines the blood, then he glances toward the door. “Dane!”
The wolf appears instantly. “Alpha?”
“Bring water, cloths, and food. Now.” The command is sharp. He leaves, and Ryker lifts me gently, cradling me against his chest as he moves to sit us on the edge of the bed. “Does this happen every time?” he asks, his voice soft as he cradles my head, holding my hair back.
He reaches over to his bedside table, pulling tissues from the drawer. Gently, he presses it to my nose, capturing the blood flow.
I nod. “The stronger the vision, the worse the outcome.”
“And how did your pack treat this?” There’s a dangerous undertone lurking behind the question.
“They didn’t,” I whisper.
A growl rumbles through his chest, but it’s not directed at me. It’s a sound of pure rage focused elsewhere. “And they called themselves wolves,” he mutters, disgust evident in every word.
Dane returns with remarkable speed, setting a basin of water, clean cloths, and a tray of food near the bed before retreating without a word.
Ryker dips a cloth in the cool water and gently cleans the blood from my face. His touch is surprisingly tender, at odds with the hands that tore out Kieran’s throat just hours ago. He wrings another cloth and folds it, pressing it gently to the back of my neck.
“The cold will help,” he explains, supporting me with one arm while he uses his other hand to hold the compress in place. “My mother used to do this for my sister when her moon cycles were painful.”
The mention of his family startles me. It’s easy to forget that even the most feared alpha has a mother, a childhood, connections beyond violence and power.
“Eat,” he urges, nodding toward the tray once my nose has stopped bleeding. There’s meat—perfectly rare—fresh bread, and what looks like honey. “You need to rebuild your strength.”
“But the tunnels,” I protest weakly. “The ambush—”
“Will be handled,” he assures me, his voice hardening again. “I’ll send scouts to confirm your vision. But you”—he brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering—“need to rest. Your gift drains you too severely to ignore.”
He gently lays me back on the bed, drawing the furs around me with surprising tenderness. “Rest, Kitara. You are safe.”
With one fluid step he shifts, transforming into the giant black wolf. The change is so swift, so graceful, that I barely register the moment human becomes beast. He shakes his massive head, then throws it back in a howl that echoes through the den and into the caves outside.
It’s a call to action. A call to defend.
A call to kill.
As the sound fades, I curl deeper into the furs that smell of him. It’s not safety I feel—not yet.
But for the first time in a long time, I’m hopeful.