CHAPTER 2 - THE ALPHAS MISTAKE
You aren't her, Ethan whispers, his grip tightening on my jaw as his stormy gray eyes flash a predatory, terrifying gold.
The heat bleeding from his fingertips is scalding, a stark contrast to the absolute ice freezing my veins.
He breathes me in, his chest expanding against mine, his nostrils flaring as if he is trying to pull my very soul out through my skin.
The word he just uttered rings in the dead silence of the stone hall, heavy, ancient, and loaded with a terrifying permanence.
Mate.
I don't know what that means in their sick twisted world, but the sheer primal weight of it makes my stomach drop.
I twist my head, trying to break his hold, but his fingers are a vice, anchoring me right where he wants me.
His thumb brushes the edge of my lower lip, and a sudden, violent spark of electricity shoots straight down my spine.
It isn't a gentle buzz; it feels like a physical shock, a burning wire that leaves my breath trapped in my throat.
Let go of me, I choke out, my voice cracking despite the desperate wall of anger I'm trying to build. I don't care what kind of psycho cult game you're playing. Get your hands off my face.
Ethan flinches as if I've struck him, his hand dropping so fast you'd think my skin had turned to silver.
He stumbles back two full steps, his hand clamping over his own heart as he stares at me.
The gold in his eyes is fighting a losing battle against the stormy gray, swirling like a localized hurricane.
He looks horrified. Not just surprised, but deeply, fundamentally disgusted by the revelation that just shattered his reality.
Marcus moves instantly, bridging the distance between us with a fluid, unnatural speed that makes my eyes strain to follow. He grabs Ethan by the shoulder, his grip white-knuckled as he forces his cousin to look away from me.
Ethan, look at me. Snap out of it, Marcus commands, his voice dropping an octave into something that feels like an invisible weight pressing down on the room.
The air grows noticeably thicker, making it hard to take a full breath.
Look at her face. Look at her clothes. That isn't the Nightshade courier.
Ethan shakes his head, a dark, bitter laugh escaping his lips. He rubs a hand over his face, erasing the vulnerability I caught a glimpse of, replacing it with a mask of pure, unadulterated malice. The alcohol on his breath cuts through the cedarwood scent, but it can't drown it out completely.
My wolf knows what she is, Marcus, Ethan growls, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that shakes the floorboards under my sneakers. She’s a human. A fragile, useless human.
Hey, I'm right here, I snap, my defense mechanism kicking into overdrive because if I don't use my tongue as a weapon right now, I'm going to start screaming and never stop.
And for the record, I'm not useless. I have a 3.
8 GPA, and I don't break into people's cars and kidnap them because I'm having a bad hair day.
So if you two oversized Vikings are done debating my biology, I'd appreciate a ride back to campus.
Marcus ignores me entirely, his amber eyes locked onto Ethan with a growing, cold fury.
You were drunk. Again. You took the tip from a third-rate informant, you didn't wait for my scout team, and you grabbed a civilian off a university campus.
Do you have any idea what the Council will do if this gets out?
The treaty with the humans is already hanging by a thread.
She saw us, Ethan counters, his eyes flicking back to me, his gaze tracking the pulse point fluttering frantically at the base of my throat. She smelled the blood on me. She heard the growl. She knows, Marcus.
I don't know anything, I lie, my voice rising as I take a step toward the heavy wooden door, only for Marcus to shift his body slightly, blocking my path without even trying.
I don't know what you're talking about. You're just a bunch of guys who take too many supplements and live in a weirdly expensive cabin.
I won't say a word to the police. Just let me leave.
Marcus finally looks down at me, and the pity in his amber eyes is far more terrifying than Ethan's rage. It's the look a judge gives a condemned prisoner.
I'm sorry, Chloe, Marcus says, using my name for the first time, sending a fresh chill down my spine. But my cousin's stupidity has just sealed your fate. You aren't leaving this compound.
What? No. You can't do that, I say, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The walls of the beautiful timber hall feel like they're closing in, turning into a high-security prison.
This is kidnapping. It's federal. People are going to look for me.
My mother calls me every single morning at seven.
When I don't answer, she’s going to call the campus security, and they'll find my car with my keys missing.
We will handle the human trail, Marcus says coldly, turning his back on me to face Ethan.
This is your mess. The Alpha heir is supposed to protect the pack's secrecy, not drag human variables into our private quarters.
If your father finds out that you brought a human mate into this house—especially after what Cynthia did to you—he will strip you of your title before the next full moon.
The name Cynthia hits the room like a grenade.
Ethan’s entire posture changes. The reckless, slouching bad boy disappears, replaced by a rigid, lethal statue. The air around him shimmers with a sudden, suffocating heat. His jaw clenches so hard I can hear the bone pop from where I'm standing.
Do not speak her name to me, Ethan warns, his voice dropping into a register that isn't human at all. It is a beastly, rumbling threat that makes the glass in the windows rattle.
A year ago, Cynthia shattered you, Marcus presses, stepping right into Ethan’s personal space, refusing to back down.
She rejected the bond for a rival pack's throne, and you've spent the last twelve months trying to drown yourself in cheap whiskey and reckless border fights.
Now, the moon goddess hands you a human?
A creature that will die if a rogue wolf looks at her too hard?
You're compromised, Ethan. Completely and utterly compromised.
I stand there, my mind spinning as I try to piece together the fragments of their insane conversation.
Wolves? Moon goddess? Bond? It sounds like a fantasy novel written by a lunatic, but the physical evidence staring me in the face is impossible to deny.
I watched Ethan's eyes turn gold. I felt the unnatural heat radiating from his skin.
I heard a sound come out of his throat that no human vocal cords could ever produce.
They aren't a cult. They aren't a fraternity.
They're actual monsters.
And according to whatever twisted logic they live by, I'm tied to the worst one in the room.
Ethan steps around Marcus, his eyes locked on me with a terrifying, hyper-focused intensity.
He moves with a predatory grace that makes my breath catch in my throat.
I want to run, but my feet feel glued to the heavy rug.
The distance between us vanishes until he is towering over me, his massive frame blocking out the light from the fireplace.
The scent of cedarwood, winter forest, and sharp, metallic ozone hits me like a wave, making my head spin.
He leans down, his face inches from mine, his stormy gray eyes boring into my hazel ones.
The restraint he is exercising is palpable; I can see the muscles in his neck straining, the veins in his hands bulging against his dark leather jacket.
You think you're a victim here, Chloe? Ethan whispers, his voice a dark, seductive velvety purr that sends a treacherous shiver along my skin.
You have no idea what a nightmare this is for me.
I built a wall around my heart that nothing was supposed to break.
And now, I'm stuck with a fragile, mouthy little human who doesn't even know how to bow her head.
I lift my chin, refusing to let him see how badly my knees are shaking. The forced proximity is overwhelming; I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips, and can see the faint silver scar cutting through the dark stubble on his jaw.
I don't bow to anyone, especially not to a guy who smells like a liquor cabinet and thinks a caveman routine is a substitute for a personality.
I fire back, my voice remarkably steady despite the terror eating me alive.
If I'm such a burden, unlock that door and let me walk out of your life.
We can both pretend tonight never happened.
A dark, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of Ethan’s lips, though his eyes remain cold as ice.
The bond doesn't work that way, sweetheart.
My wolf wants to rip this house apart just to keep you safe, and my mind wants to throw you out into the snow to get rid of the distraction.
But Marcus is right about one thing. You know too much.
He turns away from me, the sudden loss of his body heat leaving me feeling strangely cold, a sensation I immediately resent.
Marcus, lock her in the eastern wing. The high-security suite next to my quarters, Ethan orders, his voice restored to its cold, detached Alpha authority.
No one enters without my permission. No one speaks to her.
She doesn't get a phone, she doesn't get the internet, and she doesn't leave that room.
Ethan, you can't be serious, Marcus says, his amber eyes narrowing. Keeping her next to your bedroom is a liability. The bond will pull at you. You won't be able to sleep, you won't be able to focus on the rogue spy search.
I will ignore it, Ethan snaps, his tone final and unyielding. Humans mean nothing to me. Her skin is weak, her lifespan is a blink of an eye, and she is a mistake the moon goddess made while she was looking the other way. Put her in the room, Marcus. Before I lose what little patience I have left.
Marcus looks at Ethan for a long moment, assessing the rigid line of his cousin's shoulders, before letting out a controlled, tight breath. He turns back to me, extending an arm toward the dark hallway branching off the main hall.
This way, Chloe, Marcus says, his tone polite but entirely unyielding. Don't make me carry you.
I look at Marcus, then pass him to Ethan, who has turned his back to me, his hands gripping the stone mantle of the fireplace as if he is trying to hold himself back from turning around.
The sheer rejection radiating from his posture should hurt, but instead, it fires up a stubborn, burning anger deep in my chest.
They think they can lock me away like a prize or a piece of dangerous contraband.
They think my silence can be bought with stone walls and high security.
But they don't know me. I've survived a lonely childhood, a cutthroat academic environment, and a minimum-wage graveyard shift.
I might not have claws, and I might not have golden eyes, but I have a brain.
And right now, it is the only weapon I have left to survive this den of monsters.
Fine, I say, my voice ringing out clearly through the room as I step past Marcus into the dark hallway. But if there isn't a working bathroom and a decent library in that room, you're going to find out exactly how loud a human can complain.
I don't look back to see his reaction, but as I walk down the cold stone corridor, I can feel Ethan's stormy, gold-flecked gaze burning a hole through my back, a silent promise that my prison sentence is about to become a war of wills.