Chained By the Alpha (Cleo and Zayn) novel Chapter 17

• Cleo •

It took us forty-five minutes for the rogue to lead us to the place they have turned into their own campground—deep into the forest, down an almost concealed hiking trail. The path is narrow and overgrown, with branches whipping at our faces and underbrush snagging at our clothes as we push through the dense foliage. I clutch Zayn’s hand tightly, my heart hammering as we make our way deeper into the wilderness.

Finally, the rogue stopped and gestured toward a fallen tree, indicating we should climb over it. We followed his lead, stepping carefully over the thick trunk and emerging from the tree line into a small clearing. The sight that greeted us was both shocking and heart-wrenching.

A group of men, women, and children, all dressed in tattered clothing, are scattered around the clearing. Some are huddled around small fires. Others are sharpening their knives or tending to their meager possessions. Everywhere I look, there are signs of struggle and desperation—their makeshift tents are falling apart, the firewood is scarce, and there is a distinct smell of unwashed bodies and rot.

As we move closer to the group, I notice the hollow look in their eyes, the weariness that seems to weigh down every movement. This is a wasteland of despair, hidden from the world’s eyes. And yet, here they are, surviving against all odds, a ragtag community of outcasts and rogues.

I clutch Zayn’s hand even tighter, feeling a surge of sympathy for these lost souls.

How did they end up here, and what have they endured to stay alive in this harsh environment? I can’t imagine the struggles they have faced; it is unfathomable to me that people have been forced to live this way.

The heavy scent of despair saturates the air, wrapping us in a suffocating embrace as Zayn and I cautiously enter the rogue commune. My heart constricts painfully at the sight of dilapidated tents and ramshackle shelters, hastily assembled with desperation etched into every cobbled-together area. My green eyes are wide with a mixture of horror and empathy as my gaze sweeps over the faces of those surrounding us— emaciated figures, their gaze hollow and haunted, mere shadows of wolves clinging to threadbare hope.

Silenced by the overwhelming scene before us, words evade me as I take in the dire living conditions. The ground beneath our feet yields uneasily, akin to swampland, a stark contrast to the city just within reach. The abrupt realization that while we live luxuriously in warmth and comfort, this makeshift community operates with nothing and is forced on the fringes of society shakes me to my core. The very earth seems to cry out in silent protest against such injustice.

“Zayn,” I murmur, my voice trembling with raw emotion. Zayn’s bewildered gaze meets mine, joined by Vance and his men, all struck speechless by the stark variance laid bare before them. Despite being in close proximity to the bustling city, here lies forgotten families living off scraps of what our city discards. Our own kind turns a blind eye to their plight, condemning them to endure inhumane conditions exposed to the elements while trying to care for children.

Amidst this desolation, children flit about with carefree abandon, their laughter piercing through the veil of suffering like fragile rays of sunlight through storm clouds. Their innocence is untouched by the harsh reality that envelopes them—the legacy of neglect passed down through generations within my mother’s old pack, making me realize these kids don’t know any different than how they live now. It saddens me.

Blake waves us forward, urging us toward the center where a group of women are cleaning fish that have been caught. There are hardly any men in sight, those who remain immediately stand as we approach. Zayn raises his hands in a placating gesture, as if he wants to convey to the men he means no one here harm.

Blake rushes ahead, eager to explain why we are there. The men who linger are cautious, aware they cannot stop Zayn’s men who already outnumber what’s left of the men here. “Zayn, they’re not a threat,” I whisper, and he nods slowly, understanding my concern.

“I know,” Zayn replies, motioning for his men to stand down and come over. Vance is the first to join him, he has the same horrified expression I do, as muddy children rush around.

“They’re barely surviving,” I whisper, my heart aching at the sight of the desperate people.

Zayn’s jaw clenches, and the silver of his eyes darkens to a stormy hue as he surveys the place. “This shouldn’t exist,” he growls. The Alpha power in his voice makes the air vibrate around us. I’m sickened that my father would cast out so many, knowing the dangers of rogues—actual rogues—and if all these people hadn’t stuck together when they did, they’d probably be just as crazed as the rest of the rogues. They’ve somehow formed a pack of the packless.

We continue to observe the scene. The desperation they feel is palpable, and it’s clear they have banded together to survive in a world where many struggle to do so. The image of the women cleaning fish, the children rushing around, and the men standing guard is one I won’t soon forget. It hits me harder knowing that my father declared me a rogue, and didn’t care if this was the sort of life I lived. If it weren’t for Zayn, I could very well be in their place.

We can’t turn our backs on them now, the challenge of helping them reintegrate into society while ensuring they don’t become a danger to others will be a difficult one as they adjust.

“How many people are here, Blake?” Zayn asks, and he turns around. Only now does he have a child in his arms. She clings to the shirt Zayn gave him, the sweater she wears swallowing her small frame.

“This is Piper, my sister.” I raise my brows, and I glance at Zayn, who seems to come to the same conclusion; if our roles were reversed, we would have all done the same thing, especially when staring into the eyes of a child. Piper appears to be about nine years old; her blonde hair is matted with mud, grass, and twigs.

“Roughly seventy of us are here.”

“All from Alpha Joseph’s pack?” Zayn asks. Blake shrugs, looking at one of the other men.

A man with salt and pepper hair comes closer; he’d have to be the oldest here. “No, some of us are from Alpha Samuel and Alpha Dane’s pack; very few, the majority are from Joseph’s,” he answers.

I tilt my head to the side, staring at the man in front of me. He appears to be in his fifties, with deep wrinkles etched into his face. His eyes are piercing blue. There is something about him that seems familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“You look like your mother, Cleo,” he tells me, and I worry they will hate me for what my father did to them.

“We’ve been biding our time on returning when you’d have your pack,” he tells me, and I chew my lip.

“You’re from my mother’s old pack?”

He nods. “I was one of her Betas, Beta Noah,” he answers, and my heart breaks. That means he was one of the people closest to her whom she trusted—trusted to keep her safe. Recognition smashes like a ton of bricks. How had I not wondered what happened to him?

“You saved me that day,” I tell him.

He smiles sadly. “She’d never have forgiven me if I saved her over you,” he nods once, and tears prick the corners of my eyes as I nod. Yet, I wonder if he’d change his mind now after living like this for so long.

I glance at Zayn. “Please, we can’t leave them here.”

“We aren’t. I have nowhere to place them; my pack is already overcrowded, but I will call Greyson,” he tells me, wandering off and pulling his phone from his pocket. I move toward Blake.

“Oh, right, I will take you to my mother.”

I shake my head. “No need to, we believe you. Tell her to pack what she needs.”

Blake blinks at me.

“Zayn is organizing to take you all back with us. He’s calling Alpha Greyson.”

“Alpha Greyson?” The man steps forward, Beta Noah. I turn to him, nodding.

“You don’t like Alpha Greyson?” I ask.

“No, we do. Your mother was his mate. We were all supposed to be merging packs when they got together until your father’s mate intervened.”

“What?” I gasp in shock.

“Alpha Greyson was your mother’s true mate, not your father; she was going to merge packs, and we would have become one pack. Linda kicked off about that; she didn’t want that. Your mother agreed to let him and Linda keep her pack and only take those of us who wanted to leave with her and take you,” Beta Noah tells me.

“How many are from the original pack?”

“Most of us, but we never had a chance to merge. The same day she signed the pack over to your father, Linda had her killed. Those who refused to submit were cast out, which is all of us.”

I catch snippets of urgency in Zayn’s tone as he speaks with Alpha Greyson. There’s no time for pleasantries, not when lives hang in the balance.

Minutes stretch into an eternity until Greyson’s SUV kicks up dust on the horizon. When he steps out, his expression turns somber, mirroring our own shock as he takes in the squalor before him.

Zayn and he shake hands, and Greyson looks over at me.

“Please tell me you can take them.”

“We have enough space and housing, but I will need to screen them,” he murmurs. Zayn goes to say something, when Greyson looks at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take them all; I know your pack is overcrowded since you took in that last pack.” Greyson tells him, and I glance at Zayn, he doesn’t elaborate on what Alpha Greyson mentioned.

I’ll have to ask him about it later.

“Thank you, Alpha Greyson,” I breathe out, relief flooding through me, though it can’t wash away the sorrow etched into the faces around us.

“Let’s get those buses arranged,” Zayn commands his men who move to help pull down tents. Greyson nods, already dialing numbers and issuing orders with the authority that comes from years of leadership.

The commotion stirs the commune, drawing curious, wary faces from their shelters. Eyes wide with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, they watch as salvation rolls in on wheels—buses that promise warmth, safety, and a future.

“Come on,” Zayn yells out, his voice louder than I anticipated, carrying across the broken ground. “There’s room for everyone. You’re safe now.”

“Is this real?” Blake steps forward, skepticism written in the lines of his face. “Will you really take us in?”

“Not us, Alpha Greyson. We haven’t the room, but every last one of you is coming back to the city until you’re all housed and settled within Alpha Greyson’s pack,” Zayn affirms, stepping beside me, his presence commanding attention and inspiring trust. “Get your things,” I tell them, my tone gentle yet insistent. “It’s time to go home.” And they move, slowly at first, then with growing urgency as reality sinks in.

They’re leaving this place behind. They’re being offered a new start.

“Thank you,” they whisper, their voices a haunting melody that will stay with me forever.

As the buses pull away, we stand hand in hand, until they disappear from view before helping the rest of Zayn’s men clean up the last parts of the makeshift tent city so nature will take back over and, eventually, the place will be undisturbed. In the quiet that follows, Zayn pulls me close, and I lose myself in the heat of his embrace, in the wild, intoxicating scent that is purely him.

“Come on, let’s get home; I’m starting to feel like a swamp monster,” I say, my voice muffled against his chest, my body humming with a current that only he can elicit.

Zayn pulls something from my hair. “You look like one, too,” he laughs, his lips pressing against my temple. We both snatch up a black bag, stuffing it in the dumpster that sits on the edge of the road leading to the old hiking trail.

• • •

I almost groan, stepping under the shower spray; my skin feels icky, and dried mud covers nearly every inch of me. Steam curls around us like a living thing, heat clinging to our skin as the shower drowns out the rest of the world. Zayn’s eyes glint in the steam-filled bathroom, reflecting the light like precious metal. In their depths, I see the untamed, fiery energy of his wolf, Zarek, just beneath the surface. The muscles of his arms flex as he moves, his strong hands carefully tracing the curves of my body as he helps to clean off the mud.

“Zayn,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the rush of water, yet the worry laced in that one word is evident. Guilt gnaws at me, I feel bad knowing my mother’s people were forced to live like that for years because of Linda and my father.

“Yes, we’ll go check the rogues at Alpha Greyson’s tomorrow. You don’t need to feel guilty, Cleo. You didn’t do this to them.” I nod, but his words don’t make me feel any better.

He leans in, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Stop, Cleo. You were a child. Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m not; I know that. I just wonder how I forgot about Noah; I never questioned anything, never noticed my own people were missing.”

“You were a grieving child, and no one wants to think the worst of their family or believe their family is capable of such a thing.”

I sigh, turning to rinse the shampoo from my hair.

Zayn’s lips crash against mine, and I sputter under the water. He laughs, pulling me closer, his face going into my neck. “Hm, I can help you take your mind off it, though,” he purrs. I push on his chest, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

“Can’t you see that every time you pull away, it makes me feel unwanted!” Tears blur my vision, but pride keeps them from falling. “Every time you stop, it feels like you regret even touching me!”

“Stop saying that,” Zayn growls, and for a moment, Zarek, his wolf, seems to flicker behind those silver eyes. “You are not a regret. You could never be a regret.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re using me?” The accusation hangs heavy between us, a suffocating cloud of doubt. “Is this just revenge against my father? Because if it is, I swear—”

“Revenge?” He steps back as if struck, hurt flashing across his features before they harden like stone. “Do you seriously think I would go this far for revenge?”

“Wouldn’t you? As soon as things get serious, you retreat, like I’m some sort of… mistake you’re trying to correct.” My voice cracks, revealing the fear beneath the anger.

“Being with you is the one thing I’m certain of,” he insists, yet his posture wavers, betraying his words. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making it one. There is nothing wrong with waiting; the last couple of weeks have been hard enough with the drama with your father without me having to fight you on this, too.” Zayn tells me.

“Is that it? The disgraced Alpha’s daughter, painted a whore for the world to see; suddenly you’re embarrassed.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I never said that.” He rubs his temples and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world rests solely on his shoulders. “Cleo, I am not arguing with you over this; I want to wait. You should want to, too. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You should have your wolf.”

“I’m an adult; I don’t need my wolf to tell me that.”

“According to human laws, not werewolf ones, and the fact you’re arguing with me over this shows your maturity.” His words sting more than if he slapped me. Tears prick my eyes.

He clicks his tongue and curses under his breath, realizing what he said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I…” he reaches for me, and I pull away.

He stands, his muscles tensing, the struggle plain in his posture. “I think… I need to clear my head. I should check on the club and handle some things in the city.”

“Go, then,” I spit out, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to be caught with jailbait.” Not that I am. Legally, I am an adult; it’s just an unspoken law for she-wolves to wait until they have their wolves, a way of ensuring women remain pure while the men can do what they want. He knows it, and I know it. They say it’s law, however it’s not written formally. If I can vote on city stuff and within the pack councils, I am a legal adult. Getting your wolf is kind of like hitting puberty, or in our case, adulthood, in a sense. It’s frowned upon since the exchange of fluids can influence she-wolves just like saliva can force a sire bond when healing. Yet I never sired to Deacon, and now being with Zayn for the last few months, I know my feelings for him are real, so is it so wrong?

“Damn it, Cleo, that’s not fair,” he growls, the sound almost inhuman, his wolf clearly close to the surface.

He turns toward the door, and my hand shoots out to grab his arm, a desperate attempt to get him to stay.

“Zayn, please—”

He spins around with such force, I lose my footing, and it’s not just Zayn who faces me—it’s Zarek, too. His wolf is there, just beneath the surface, with silver eyes blazing with an intensity that nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Let go, Cleo,” he growls, the deep rumble resonating with a power that’s both terrifying and enthralling.

“Zayn…” The word escapes as a gasp, my fingers still clutched around his firm bicep, feeling the tremors of the beast within him.

He shakes his head, a shudder rippling through him, a battle unfolding before my eyes. “I can’t stay. I’m struggling to keep control.”

“Wait.” My plea hangs between us, drenched in desperation.

“No. It’s better if I go. There’s something I need to do, anyway. I need to check on the club after the rogue attack.” His voice is strained, coated with the effort of restraint.

“Take me with you,” I insist, the thought of being left behind adding another layer to the rejection already weighing me down.

“Damn it, Cleo, I need to be away from you for a damn moment.” He pulls away, and the absence of his touch feels like ice spreading through my veins.

“If you want me to leave, just say it.” I spit the words out, anger unfurling.

“That’s not it,” he says, yet the conviction I crave isn’t there. “Right now, I can’t trust myself around you, not with Zarek, this close to the edge. He marks you, there is no going back; I have already marked you. Isn’t that enough until you get your wolf?”

“Fantastic.” Bitterness taints my tone—a cocktail of hurt and defiance. “So I’m to be punished because your wolf can’t handle proximity?”

“Dammit, Cleo, it’s not like that!” Frustration creases his brow. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what? From you?” My laugh is hollow and void of humor. “Or are you protecting yourself from me?”

“Stop twisting my words!” He’s shouting now, the walls echoing with the sound of his annoyance.

“Fine!” The finality in my voice scares even me. “Go check your club. Do what you have to do.” I wave him off, moving toward the bathroom to finish my shower.

“Enough, Cleo. I get your wolf is close to coming forward, and it’s making you unreasonably angry, but I have mine, and you’re pushing his buttons.” It’s a warning wrapped in resignation, and it stings more than any rebuke.

“Just go, Zayn,” I tell him, and he moves toward the walk-in closet to get changed.

He pauses at the door, his silhouette a dark reminder of everything we’re on the brink of losing. Without another word, he walks out, and I’m left with the echo of our heated argument and the fear that this time, he will tell me to leave. The moment I hear the door slam shut downstairs, guilt and humiliation slam into me violently, and I wish I could take back everything I said.