Chained By the Alpha (Cleo and Zayn) novel Chapter 2

I don’t know how long has passed, but my body is going numb. Zayn’s lips look a little blue, and even his body heat isn’t doing much to keep us warm now. He now observes me with something that looks like concern in his eyes. I think I imagine it because as soon as it comes, it is gone.

“Are you alright?” he asks. I nod. Though it’s obvious lying because my body is shaking like crazy.

He sighs, his breath fogging the air. “I’m going to shift into my wolf form. I’ll be able to keep you warm better.”

Seriously? Did he think of that now? “I’m glad you finally realized,” I scoff, not that the idea had come to me, either.

Suddenly, he grabs hold of my neck tightly. “Careful there, princess. If it weren’t for the fact that your father pays me for protection, I could fucking care less. But if you must know, our wolves aren’t human, or have you forgotten that? Your scent is driving my wolf mad, so don’t provoke him,” he snarls, pushing me off his lap roughly.

My heart thumps as I look at the man before me, surprised at his sudden behavior change. His eyes flash a shimmering black that burns to a bright silver.

“Wait!” I blurt, now worried his wolf will kill me. I’m Alpha blood, and his wolf is an Alpha. What if he thinks I’m a threat to him and mauls me?

“What, Cleo?” he growls.

“Maybe you shouldn’t shift? It was one thing for him to heal me while you had control, but you are giving him full control,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes and his bones start snapping.

“At least tell me his name!” I blurt.

“Zarek,” Zayn tells me, and I swallow when he quickly shifts into his massive, black wolf.

He is huge, and his aura only seems to grow stronger in this form. He growls then stalks toward me, and I freeze, pressing against the wall as his wolf sniffs me.

“Don’t eat me,” I cringe as his wolf puts his face so close to mine that our noses are touching. Hesitantly, I reach up and brush the fur on his shoulder.

“Nice, Zarek, good puppy,” I tell him. He huffs at me calling him a puppy. I wonder how much control Zayn even has in this form.

His giant wolf then licks my cheek and drops to the ground beside me. I watch him for a second and see him roll his eyes, making me realize Zayn must have more control than I thought because that is clearly a human trait. He sets his giant paw across my lap and drags me against him, pulling me close. Despite his harsh words earlier, I snuggle into his thick, soft fur, welcoming the renewed warmth of his giant body.

Right now, the important thing is to survive. The warmth gives me hope that perhaps we’ll make it, and someone will find us before I die down here.

I know Dad won’t give up until he’s found me.

Wrapped in Alpha Zayn’s wolf’s warmth, I somehow drift off once again into an uneasy sleep, one filled with rogues, bloodshed, and dead bodies.

It is only when I hear a loud explosion that I’m snapped out of my sleep, making me shoot up, and the Alpha growls. A second explosion blasts more debris into the already tight space, forcing him to shift back.

At that very moment, light seeps into the freezer room, and I turn to see none other than my father standing there in wolf form. Several men are with him, but his eyes are on us, a look of pure rage in those burning eyes of his. A terrifying growl leaves him, echoing off the walls and trembling through me.

“Get off my daughter!” Dad roars, making me stare up into the eyes of Alpha Zayn; his lush, dark locks cover his forehead.

It is then, with pure horror, that I realize not only am I in my skimpy bra, but the Alpha is on top of me, straddling me butt-naked.

“Wait! Dad, it’s not what it looks like!” I scream. My father moves to grab him. Zayn, however, is much quicker. I find myself precariously caught between two Alphas wanting to rip each other to pieces as Zayn pulls me up with him.

But it is too late; Alpha Zayn’s eyes narrow at my father as he stands to face him, with me caught between them.

“She was freezing to death. I was trying to keep her fucking warm,” he spits out in a cold voice that surprises me. Dad doesn’t seem to care and steps closer, pushing the Alpha away from me.

“You may be the Alpha of your pack, but you have no right to touch my daughter!” His voice booms through the room as they square off against each other. Both are huge Alphas full of power and might, though only one could win this battle for supremacy.

The tension in the air is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. My dad and Alpha Zayn are at each other’s throats, both exuding menacing auras, their eyes locked in a challenging stare.

“You’re making out like I am hurting her. I’m not interested in hurting your fucking daughter, Joseph. Now get out of my way!” Zayn snarls furiously.

Dad, however, refuses to bow down to him, and I find myself caught between the pair of them.

“Don’t push your luck with me.” Zayn’s voice is menacingly low as he looks Dad straight in the eyes.

Standing tall between them both seems futile. They are both so much bigger than I am, and their anger is only escalating with each word being spoken.

“She’s my daughter!” Dad roars, his voice echoing through the confined space.

“And you had no right to touch her, regardless of the circumstances!”

“As I said,” Zayn retorts, unyielding, “she was freezing. What was I supposed to do? Let her freeze to death?”

The two Alphas look like they are mere seconds away from lunging at each other when I hesitantly set my hand on Zayn’s bare chest. His heart thumps beneath my palm calmly, and his eyes fall on me.

“Please,” I mouth to him, needing him to back off. I know my father’s temper, and if Zayn doesn’t back off, I know this will turn into a bloodbath. Zayn’s brows furrow briefly, and he grips my hand, moving it off his chest. But he doesn’t let go like I expected he would, even after I turn to my father.

“Can we go, please? It’s cold, Linda and Lydia are probably worried,” I tell my father, knowing his mate is most likely the only person to distract him or stop him from causing a scene.

My father pauses briefly, considering my words at the mention of his mate. “Fine. I will deal with you when I get home. What is wrong with you? How could you allow him to be all over you like that!” he snaps angrily, grabbing my arm. Great! I hoped to use his mate to distract his attention away from Zayn, only to get it pointed right at me.

I glance at Zayn, who presses his lips in a line but nods to me; he doesn’t look impressed about letting my father walk away with his life. He squeezes my hand and lets me go just as my father yanks me toward the exit where debris has been cleared away, not that there is much left of the place. Then I see the source of the explosion; the huge gas tanks for hot water and kitchens.

“We’re leaving,” my father snaps as I limp along behind him. My leg burns violently as I try to keep up with my father.

As I’m led out, I spot Lydia standing next to Alpha Samuel’s car. She’s in the company of Samuel and two of his men. Samuel is her biological father. He’s on the phone, and I catch the tail end of the conversation.

“Yes, Linda, Lydia is fine, and so is Joseph. Oh, and Cleo is safe, but you should come right away.”

Dad doesn’t even look at Samuel as he pushes me toward the car. “Get in,” he orders.

“Dad—”

“Get in!” His voice is a roar, his eyes still flashing from the argument with Zayn. He then turns back to Samuel and Lydia. You’d think those two would hate each other since Linda left Samuel for my father when they met at an Council meeting a few years back. Samuel seemed to accept it almost immediately. My mother, however, wasn’t so inviting to Linda. Eventually, she came to terms with it; it is not like she had a choice. Linda and my father are fated mates. Yes, indeed, you can also reject your mates and choose your own. Some people choose mates and then abandon them for their true mates when they appear. True mates are always stronger than chosen ones, and they can override a chosen mate bond if the true mate marks them, as happened with my mother. When my mother caught my father cheating, it was because Linda marked him; it severed her bond to him instantly.

I glance back at the building and see Zayn emerge from the wreckage, immediately taking charge. He’s barking orders at various members of his pack, directing them to tend to those who are injured. The man is fully in Alpha mode, but something in his eyes tells me the confrontation with my father isn’t over.

My stepmother, Linda, shows up, rushing past me to embrace Lydia.

“Oh, my poor baby! Are you okay?” she gushes, and I roll my eyes.

The words turn my stomach. “Poor baby?” I mutter under my breath. Linda always worried about her daughter and never anybody else.

What about the people who are actually hurt?

Ignoring the scene, I walk over to Dad’s car, pulling on the door handle, only to find it locked. Dad and Samuel are in a heated discussion a few yards away. And I try to listen.

“Wait, what happened?” Linda demands, looking at Samuel. But my father is the one who answers her.

“Samuel isn’t providing the pack protection we pay for each month; Alpha Zayn provides it!”

Samuel shrugs, trying to explain himself to his ex-wife and his friend. “My hands are tied. I am short of men for my own border patrols with all the recent attacks, and I wasn’t going to leave my daughter unprotected, Joseph!”

“But him! No, I won’t allow it… I don’t want him anywhere near my pack.” I turn my attention away, rubbing my arms, trying to warm them.

The cold is starting to seep back into my bones, making me regret the loss of Zayn’s warmth. Before I can dwell on the thought, someone drapes a blanket over my shoulders.

I turn around to find Zayn standing there, now wearing a pair of shorts.

“You looked cold,” he says gruffly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

“Doesn’t your father ever get sick of yelling at people?” he mutters, and I chuckle.

“Apparently not,” I sigh, knowing I will have to listen to him rant all the way home.

“Are you going to leave my pack defenseless?” I ask, chewing my lip, and he scratches his chin. “I will work out something with your father. Don’t you worry about it,” he says, and I am about to ask another question when I hear my name being called.

“Cleo!” Another voice calls out, and I look over to see Deacon rushing toward me from the club next door. The relief on his face is evident as he wraps me in a hug, nearly squeezing the life out of me.

“Thank God, you’re okay! I’ve been trying to reach you. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I glance back at Zayn, remembering he took my phone only to catch him glaring at Deacon. I clear my throat, wondering what has gotten into him. He looks at me and then seems to come to his senses but then snaps at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I left your phone in my pants, which were destroyed while I was saving you!”

I blink at him, not expecting such a harsh reply.

Honestly, I wasn’t going to ask him at all because I knew there was no way he had my phone now. Not after the constant shifting and fighting.

“You must be Alpha Zayn. I’ve heard about you. I’m Deacon, Cleo’s mate,” Deacon says, holding out his hand to Zayn. Zayn, however, growls at his gesture.

“I highly doubt that, she isn’t even old enough to recognize her mate yet,” Zayn rumbles, but Deacon is oblivious to his anger.

“Well, not yet, obviously. We plan to mate and mark each other once she is of age,” Deacon adds, and Zayn’s gaze flicks to me. His eyes flicker, and I take a step back from him, bumping into Deacon at the feral look he gives me.

“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

I suddenly don’t know how to answer the question. Was it a question? Why is he so angry?

The interaction is thankfully interrupted by the sound of my name being called again. “Cleo!”

This time, it’s Dad. “I thought I told you to get in the car!” he commands. “Deacon, hands off!” my father snaps at him as he approaches us. I pull on the handle to show him the car is locked.

“I wasn’t disobeying. Last I checked, Dad, I’m a werewolf, not a ghost; I can’t walk through solid objects,” I retort.

He glares at me but then hits the button on the fob. “We’ll see if you’re so smart when we get home and you find yourself grounded.”

“I’m nineteen!” I growl at him. I was so excited the first time I growled. I remember it fondly. Roughly a year ago, Lydia and I were fighting (what else is new?). I startled both of us when I did it. However, Dad seems unimpressed with me using it against him right now.

“Under my roof, it doesn’t matter if you’re five or fifty. What I say goes!” he snaps, opening his door and climbing in. I see Lydia smirking as she walks to her mother’s car, and Deacon quickly hugs me.

“New club opens up tomorrow,” he whispers.

“I’m grounded, didn’t you hear?” I ask him.

“Never stopped you before.” He pecks me on the lips, but I push him away, worried Dad may have seen. Deacon gives me a wink. He holds up two hands, indicating with his fingers to meet him at 7 PM. I nod before turning to climb in the car, where I know I’ll have to endure my father’s wrath, only to spot Zayn storming away.

The entire drive home, I listen to my father rant about how the rogue attack was all Alpha Zayn’s fault, and that the Council meeting should never have been held in the same place every month.

This brings my thoughts back to border patrols; if my father isn’t allowing Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders, we’ll be sitting ducks.

“Are you not going to allow Alpha Zayn’s men to patrol our borders?” I ask him, and he glances at me.

“He is not coming near our pack,” he snaps, and I shake my head.

“We don’t have enough people to watch the borders, especially near the forest edge. We need him!” I snap back. The house lights reflect in the windshield of my father’s SUV as we arrive home. It’s a large two-story house on the outskirts of the city, yet the suburb it is in is huge.

My father’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need him, and you will not tell me what I can and cannot do, Cleo.”

My father’s face is scarlet red, his eyes are bulging, and his fists are balled.

“Yes, we do,” I mutter.

“No, we don’t. And you do not question me on this. You are not Alpha, and you do not make decisions for our pack!”

I press my lips in a line. He is being ridiculous. All this because his ego is hurt over god knows what. Apparently, that is reason enough to put the entire pack at risk.

I climb out of the car and quickly make my way to the front door, wanting to get away from my father. I was so close to getting a chance to voice my opinion, but he just shut me down as usual. I take a deep breath in and out, trying not to let his words get to me.

However, when I reach the door, I stop in surprise. It’s not just my father here; the pack doctor is waiting for us, too.

“Cleo, dear, your father, he mindlinked me. He said you’re hurt?” He looks me over, and his eyes widen at my leg before he pushes me into the house.

“It’s stopped bleeding now. I’m fine,” I tell him. Doc shakes his head, leading me into the kitchen.

“Sit!” he tells me, and I move toward the table, pulling out a chair obligingly. Doc grabs scissors, cutting my pants to get to my leg when my father walks in. He glances at my leg, his face paling with worry.

“Seriously, Joseph, you should have taken her straight to the hospital; if she were human, she would be dead with how much blood she has lost.”

My father fumbles for a response. “I didn’t realize it was that bad. She never said anything,” he blubbers out, and Doc shakes his head.

“How is the pain?” he asks, and I shrug, not wanting to give Dad more reason to be angry, though his temper seems to dim a little. A few moments later, Lydia and Linda arrive home. Lydia is talking excitedly about the ball next door. I roll my eyes. Seriously? How much more selfish could she get? We have more pressing issues, and she is gushing about some poor soul she’ll use until she has no use for him.

My father cuts them both a glare as they enter the kitchen. Linda looks at me, and her eyes take in my injured leg before the fake blubbering waterworks start. Linda’s highpitched squeal of horror sounds like that of a dying cat. She rushes over, pretending not to be the conniving bitch I know she is. I swat her fussing hands away as she tries to embrace me.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, not interested in putting up with her theatrics and her crocodile tears.

“Linda, I need to stitch her up,” Doc says as I hiss in pain when the needle pierces my skin.

He presses gauze against the wound while pulling the thread through, stitching me back together again until, finally, it’s done. He then moves onto my arm where there is another cut that needs stitches, too. Even though they are painful for a moment, Doc’s experienced hands work fast enough to get them done quickly so that it’s not too bad. “Take these, and they’ll help with the pain. Try to stay off your leg for a few days.” “Thanks, Doc,” I say, standing and accepting the medication.

“Bring her by next week, and I will remove the stitches provided she doesn’t reopen it. No training, and she needs to try not to tear them open again,” Doc tells my father. I take that as my excuse to head to the bathroom.

Climbing the stairs, I hiss with every step, feeling the stitches tugging slightly. Once on the landing, I retrieve a towel from the linen cupboard and move toward the bathroom.

Once inside, I strip off and hobble to the shower. As I wash, the soap burns my skin, yet it feels good to get all the gunk and grime off me. As soon as I am clean, I grab the pill box Doc gave me and read the instructions. Popping two pills in my mouth, I swallow them down with water before heading to my bedroom.

I gingerly crawl into bed, and my stitches tug at my skin as I move about. I pull the blanket over myself and grimace as a sharp pain shoots up my leg. The pain is almost unbearable. I remember the talk with my father and his refusal to allow Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders.

Despite the pain medication, I toss and turn. My mind revolves around rogue attacks, specifically the day I found my mother dead in the kitchen. It makes me wonder why my father would risk us again like that, knowing the damage more attacks can cause.

Restless, I stare at the ceiling, which seems to be oscillating, the drugs finally kicking in.

My eyelids droop, and my thoughts float away.

Maybe it’s time to take things into my own hands. As the room fades, I remind myself to speak with Alpha Zayn; I have to try to convince him to keep his men along our borders somehow, but what can I offer him in return? Before I can decide, the pain meds take hold completely. Despite tonight’s events and the worry that is plaguing me, I drift off into a deep sleep where nothing can touch me, not even my father’s orders or Linda’s plotting schemes. She may make out I’m hers, but I remember the way she treated my mother. Sometimes I get a smug satisfaction knowing that no matter how long my mother has been gone, every day she still has to see her face through me.

The next day

I wake early the following morning to find my leg throbbing in pain. I’m sweating, no doubt from a fever. Pulling the blankets away, I hiss when the sheet sticks to my leg. The wound must have leaked while I was asleep. With a groan, I rise from my bed and take a few moments to gather myself, welcoming the cool air.

My thoughts immediately turn to Alpha Zayn, and an idea begins to form about how I can get to his pack. Hopefully, he’ll speak with me. Despite our bickering, it seemed like he cared about me enough.

I look over to check the time on my alarm clock. The red numbers on it shine dimly into the dark room. The barely rising sun through the blinds shows the room in an eerie, bloodied-like glow. The digital numbers blink, 6:18 AM. I lay back down, trying to get back to sleep, knowing it is far too early to catch a bus into the city. If only I had a car.

I should have my car. But Lydia backed into it the other day.

Cursing Lydia and my legs, I rise and grab the pain medication and my robe hanging on the door. Wrapping it around myself, I move toward the door and open it.

The house is dark, so I descend the stairs quietly, heading for the kitchen.

I grab a glass of water and take two of my pills when I spot my father’s car keys sitting next to the fruit bowl. I chew my lip, debating whether I should. I am grounded, after all. Yet, Deacon’s words flit through my mind. ‘Since when has that stopped you?’ I know this is my chance. If I can make it to Alpha Zayn’s pack before anyone notices I’m gone, then maybe he will meet with me and listen to what I have to say before more people get hurt.

Snatching the keys, I pull my robe off before glancing down at my pajamas. Great, I curse, I’m sure this will be a really convincing outfit. Moving as quickly as possible, I move toward the door, where I spot Lydia’s jacket. I pull it on. I know climbing the stairs back to my room will risk waking my father when the stairs creak. This is my only chance, so I take it, wearing my fuzzy hot pink shorts with bunnies on them. On the bright side, I probably won’t have to get out of the car; I just need to ask the patrols to get Alpha Zayn.

The drive is long, my leg is throbbing painfully, and I’ve broken out in another sweat. It takes twenty minutes to reach the city and another twenty before I eventually arrive at Alpha Zayn’s Pack on the outskirts of the city, which is a massive gated community. As soon as I pull up out front, the car is surrounded by several wolves, their eyes sharp and suspicious. I wind the window down when one of them taps on it.

“What are you doing here?” one of them demands.

I take a deep breath before speaking up. “I’m Cleo, Alpha Joseph’s daughter,” I explain. “I need to speak with Alpha Zayn.” He glances at one of the other men, who shrugs, and I watch his eyes glaze over as he uses the mindlink.

After waiting a few moments, he tells me Alpha Zayn is on his way down. I nod, leaning back in the chair and resting. My skin is hot, and I feel sweat beading and rolling down the back of my neck. My hands are clammy, and I groan, feeling the pain meds kick in.

Shit, and I have to try to drive home like this. Now, this entire thing doesn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. How could I be so stupid? I don’t know how long I am waiting, but I jump when I hear my name.

“Cleo!” comes a husky, deep voice. I turn to find Zayn leaning in the window. He presses a hand to my forehead. “What are you doing here?” I shake myself, wondering if I’m dreaming.

“Cleo?” Alpha Zayn growls before opening my door. “You have a fever. Did your father not take you to a pack doctor?” he asks.

“I’m fine. It’s just the pain meds,” I tell him, coming to my senses.

“Slide over into the other seat,” he says, motioning toward the car. I stare at him. “It wasn’t a question. Slide over, now!” he orders, and I press my lips in a line. I am here for his help. I won’t get it if I start arguing with him.

Alpha Zayn starts my father’s car, and I briefly wonder how I will explain his scent to my father. Oh well, that is the least of my worries. The glow of the dash illuminates the Alpha’s face, his face a picture of confusion as he stares at me with his steely gaze. He’s handsome and as clean as ever, quite the contrast to my sick, sweaty, bleeding self. His scent envelops me, vanilla and sandalwood. It’s intoxicating, and my racing heart slows a little as his scent calms me.

The huge gates open, and Zayn drives me through the gated community to his pack house, which is huge. He pulls up near the front door on the circular driveway. “You live here?” I ask, peering out in awe.

Landscaped gardens surround his pack house, made of stone and wood which appear to stretch for miles. “Yes, I do, unless I have to stay in the city for work,” he confirms, and I follow him out of the car, wincing in pain as my leg protests.

Zayn looks down at my leg. A trickle of blood runs down the inside of my thigh. I groan, about to reach back into the car to look for a tissue when suddenly, my legs go out from under me. I shriek, grabbing hold of his shoulders before coming face to face with Alpha Zayn.

“You never should have come out here,” he grumbles before stalking toward the house.

“I’m fine, put me down,” I snap at him when he jostles me, grabbing a handful of my bare ass peeking out from under my booty shorts.

“Keep thrashing, and I will toss you over my shoulder,” he warns. So I stop, glaring at him instead. However, he doesn’t seem to mind my death stare; instead, I see the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his lips, which makes my blood boil.

“What’s wrong with you?” I demand as he carries me through the front door.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, his lips curving into a smirk.

“You show up at my pack house and wake me up wearing fuzzy booty shorts and bunny slippers, with a fever, looking ready to drop dead in my driveway, and now you’re bleeding all over me. What is wrong with you, Cleo?”

I flush, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I look. “You didn’t have to bring me here, I was fine outside your gates!” I snap.

“Well, you’re here now,” Alpha Zayn says, setting me down on a couch in the living room. “Let’s see to that leg of yours,” he chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, feeling irritation rising in my chest.

“You,” he chuckles, “I can’t decide if you’re brave or just plain foolish.” “I’m not foolish,” I say, scowling at him.

“Really? Breaking your father’s punishment and coming here on your own to an Alpha’s pack, an Alpha you barely know?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What if I don’t let you leave?” he taunts, and I stare down at him. He looks at me, his lips curving into a smile when his eyes flicker.

“You won’t hurt me. You’re not that stupid; it would start a war,” I tell him.

“My pack is the largest in the country. Do you think I fear war?”

I chew my lip nervously. Him saying that really puts things into perspective as to how foolish this indeed is.

“Or your old man of a father? Pfft,” he snorts. “Never let your kidnapper take you to a second location,” he growls, and my eyes widen in horror at his words, having heard that once on a crime documentary. I curse myself again. Am I his willing victim? When I palm him in the face, he grabs my arm, trapping me, so I bite him as hard as I can.

“Ouch, what the fuck, you damn cannibal! Chill, I am just playing; if I wanted to hurt you, I would have killed you when we were trapped in the freezer!” he snaps at me. I let his arm go, pulling away to see I made him bleed. He looks at his arm and rumbles.

“You took a chunk out of me! I should bite you back!” he growls.

“Who says something like that and expects someone not to react to it?” I spit back at him. He growls and glares at me. “You’re impossible,” I mutter under my breath.

Now, finally peering around, I see the packhouse is just as impressive on the inside as it is on the outside, with soaring ceilings and ornate furnishings.

A huge fireplace sits in the center of one wall, and a huge flat screen sits on another. “Stay here. I will get something to patch your leg,” he tells me, wandering off.

When he returns, he gestures for me to lift my leg. I do so reluctantly, realizing relieving the pain is worth sacrificing my pride. He examines the wound on my thigh. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he cleans the wound and applies a bandage. “There,” he says when he’s finished. “See, you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” I say in a small voice, feeling extremely awkward.

“Now, what brings you here?” Alpha Zayn asks, taking a seat next to me. His eyes are intense as they lock onto mine, sending shivers down my spine.

I take a deep breath. “I know you hate my father,” I start, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “But my father is making decisions that are hurting our pack, and he won’t listen to anyone.”

“I don’t get what this has to do with me,” he asks. Zayn watches me carefully before sighing. “This is about your border patrols, isn’t it?” he says, and I chew my lip.

“Your father refused my men on his borders. There isn’t much I can do,” he tells me.

“He’s angry, please. You can’t remove your men; we’ll be sitting ducks out there, and my father is too stubborn to listen,” I admit.

“I have no alliance with your father. My hands are tied; the last thing I need right now is the human factions getting involved if a war breaks out because your father attacks one of my men.”

“Please, I know you don’t have an alliance with my father, but my father has one with Samuel. Can’t you find a workaround?”

Zayn runs his fingers through his perfectly styled hair in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that. There needs to be contracts in place, and I was only filling in for Samuel; that was what the meeting was for, to build alliances. Your father shot down every offer.”

“My father’s pack has been attacked by rogue wolves twice now,” I protest, but he only watches me with those intense gray eyes. “Can’t I make an agreement with you?” I ask him, and he tilts his head to the side.

“You’re not the Alpha. Your father is.”

“Only for now, until I get my wolf. I want to make an agreement with you to keep your men along our borders to prevent any more attacks.”

Alpha Zayn’s gaze narrows, and he leans back on the couch. “And what would I get out of this agreement?”

Ugh, I groan internally. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask this.

“What do you want?” I ask nervously, and his eyes flicker to his wolf fleetingly.

“I’m not fucking you if that is what you are thinking!” I retort.

He scoffs. “I have no intention of forcing you to fuck me,” he snarls.

“Then what do you want?”

“Nothing you can give me, clearly. Do you even have a job?” he asks, and my face heats.

“No, I am still in college.” I defend myself.

He pauses for a second. “Nightshade City College?” he asks, and I nod. “I’ll think it over; I will get back to you. What is your house number?”

I shake my head. “You can’t call home, and if my father finds out I am here, he will kill me.”

“And exactly how do you intend to explain my scent in his car or your whereabouts this morning?” he asks. I sigh because I know I am so busted.

“Fine!” he says abruptly, getting to his feet and over to the hall stand in the foyer.

He retrieves something before coming back to me. He holds it out to me.

“Use this until you get another one,” he says, holding out his phone to me.

“I can’t take your phone,” I tell him.

“Cleo, take it. How else am I supposed to get in contact with you if I can’t call your house phone?”

I shake my head.

“So damn stubborn, you get that from him, you know that! How are we supposed to make a deal if you stay this stubborn!” he growls before moving toward the door.

“Stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To get you a phone,” he says, leaving before I can protest.

Laying back on the couch, I try to think of an excuse to give my father for his scent being in the car. Yet, I come up with absolutely nothing. Feeling defeated, I know I will be in trouble once I get home and lie down on the couch. Wow, I really should’ve thought this through a bit more. Maybe I can blame it on the pain meds? My entire body is aching like I’ve run a marathon. I tug at my top, feeling it sticking to the sweat covering every inch of my body.

I must have dozed off though because I wake to a hand touching my forehead. I lurch awake, coming face to face with Zayn. “Take these,” he rumbles, handing me some pills. I stare at him.

“I am not taking those. What even are they?” I ask him.

He tosses me a box, and I find they are antibiotics. “They should help rid any infection from your leg, and if they don’t, you might need to see your pack doctor. Rogue bites are full of poisonous bacteria,” he informs me like I don’t already know that.

Reluctantly, I take them when he passes me a phone.

“Seriously, I can’t accept that. When you said phone, I thought it was a cheapo one, not… this!” I stare at the brand-new iPhone. He shakes his head, looking annoyed.

“Just take it and shut up about it,” he says, refusing to take it when I try to hand it back.

“I will call you in a couple of days,” I tell him, setting the phone down.

“You are unbelievable, it’s a phone. Not a house,” he snaps.

“An expensive phone that’s newer than the one I had,” I tell him. What doesn’t he get? Also, my father would definitely ask questions about how I got it.

“Do you want my help or not?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest, which makes him seem even taller.

“Yes, but…”

He turns away from me, grabbing his keys and mine.

“Now, are you alright to drive home, or am I taking you?” he asks. I jump to my feet.

“I’m fine,” I tell him as a wave of vertigo from standing quickly washes over me. I sway slightly, and he grips my arm, staring at me worriedly.

“I’m driving you,” he states. I go to protest when he grabs me.

“Put me down. What is it with you and being so damn handsy?” I snap.

Zayn rolls his eyes, ignoring my comment. Instead, he carries me, bridal-style, toward the door. I cringe at the sudden proximity, heat rising in my cheeks.

“Can’t you just let me walk?” I say, my voice coming out a bit too high-pitched.

“You can barely stand,” he retorts, not bothering to look at me.

We make our way toward my car parked outside. Only another man is there waiting. His hair is the same color as Zayn’s, but his eyes aren’t as silvery gray as Zayn’s, and his expression is perfectly neutral. However, I do detect a glint of humor in his gaze as he looks at me. His lips are thin, and his jawline is sharp and angular, giving off a serious vibe. I stare at him; he has an uncanny resemblance to Zayn, and I peer up at Zayn.

“My brother, Vance, who’s also my Beta,” he explains, answering my questioning look.

“He’ll follow in my car,” he tells me. I nod, not knowing how I feel about that. Zayn sets me down gently on the passenger seat before walking around to the driver’s side. The car is silent as we drive toward my house, the tension so thick you can almost cut it with a knife.

I keep stealing glances at him from the corner of my eye, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. Aggravating though he may be, there’s no denying he’s handsome. He looks like he’s in deep thought, his expression unreadable.

As we pull into my father’s territory, my anxiety starts to grow. I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to my father, and knowing him, he’ll want answers.

“Pull over here; if my father catches me with you, he’ll kill me,” I blurt.

“Either way, he’ll know I was with you. Your car reeks of my scent,” he states, and panic rises in me as he continues driving. As we come to the main gates, he begins to slowly pull up when two pack warriors wave to us, too. I wind my window down, recognizing my fathers Beta, Mitchel.

“Cleo, your father put out an alert…” Mitchel pauses, his eyes moving to Zayn in the driver’s seat before they dart back to me. “You wanna have a good excuse for being in that man’s presence, Cleo,” Mitchel growls. I growl back, refusing to be scolded like a little girl. Putting up with my father’s wrath is terrible enough; I won’t take it from one of his men. Not when I will be their Alpha one day.

“I don’t need an excuse,” I spit back at Mitchel, my pride stinging. Zayn’s hand lands on my thigh, and I jump, not expecting the sudden contact. He squeezes gently, telling me to calm down.

“Seen her in the city; she was looking for her phone in the wreckage. My brother is in the car behind us. Cleo looked on the verge of passing out. Figured I best drive her home,” Zayn cuts in smoothly, the lie sliding off his tongue with practiced ease. “Is there a problem?”

Mitchel eyes him suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he says before waving us through the gates.

As we drive toward my house, I feel Zayn’s gaze on me.

“Why would I touch something you’ve had your cock-sucking lips on?” I roll my eyes, turning back to my task. I rinse the bottle and refill it with iced coffee when I remember that I left my jacket upstairs. With a growl of annoyance, I head for the stairs and cringe every step. Once back upstairs, I snatch it off the back of my chair next to my desk and head back downstairs.

My hands shake from the pain of moving down the stairs. I ignore it and move to the kitchen. Lydia stands beside the fridge. “Don’t get caught now,” Lydia sneers.

“I’m sure you’ll snitch the first chance you get,” I retort when she hands me my drink bottle.

“Sure will. I can’t keep my reputation so clear with Daddy Dearest without muddying yours.”

I roll my eyes at Lydia, who wears a malicious glint in her eyes. Refusing to pay her any more attention, I loosen the cap on my bottle and take a large gulp, desperate to quench the fire of rage within me.

“Enjoy your night, Cleo,” Lydia sneers, sashaying her hips as she saunters away. “Oh, and Cleo? Don’t get too wasted; you don’t want to be too hungover when your father punishes you for sneaking off!”

I squint at her words. Lydia knows I am not much of a drinker. I am just going there to spend time with Deacon, not get wasted.

Shaking my head, I move for the front door, and there is only one thing that can help me forget the suffocating tension at home—going out and having some fun. I need to get out of here, away from Lydia’s snide comments and my father’s overbearing presence.

As I step outside, the cool evening air hits me, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the house. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me. I can’t let my family’s drama dictate my life. With a burst of defiance, I pull out my phone and dial Deacon’s number.

“Hey, Deacon, are you still at the club? I need a break from this hellhole,” I whisper into the phone.

“Of course, Cleo. I’ve been here for ten minutes waiting for you. I was wondering when you’d show up,” he replies, his warm voice soothing my frayed nerves. “Whose phone are you calling from?” he asks as I unlock my car.

“Ah, new one. I got it today. I’ll see you soon,” I tell him, hanging up.

I climb into my car, the familiar scent of leather and pine air freshener enveloping me. The engine starts with a purr of the motor as I pull out of the driveway.

The drive to the club is quiet, giving me plenty of time to think of a way to build up the courage to tell Deacon about my father’s plans to marry me off. Outside the club, the thumping music vibrates through my body as Deacon and I wait in line to go into the club. The longer I wait, though, the dizzier I get. I grab Deacon’s arm, and he glances at me. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

I nod, it must be vertigo. “Must be from the painkillers,” I answer.

He presses the back of his hand to my face. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks. I shake my head, knowing it will wear off when I hear her nagging voice.

“Deacon!” Lydia calls, and I groan. Deacon turns just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and lean into him.

“Hey, Lydia, Amber,” he states, and Lydia steps back. Deacon hugs Amber, and she pecks his cheek.

“I thought you were going to be here earlier?” Deacon says, and I cut him a glare.

What does he mean?

“We were until Maya bailed on us,” Amber states, looking disappointed.

“Ah, yeah, Maya and I had a falling out,” Deacon says, and I look at him. He never mentioned having a falling out with Maya, nor did I know he really spoke to her much.

“Her loss, she is far too sensitive sometimes,” Lydia states.

“Well, at least you made it,” Deacon shrugs.

“Wait, you invited them?” I ask him, and he looks at me.

“What, they wanted to go, chill out, Cleo? You know I’m friends with them.

What’s gotten into you?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you asked me to go to the club with you then decided to invite your ex and my bitch stepsister along,” I snap, and my eyes go to Amber. “No offense, Amber,” I tell her. Truthfully, Amber wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t around Lydia.

“Jealousy is a curse,” Amber pipes in, while Deacon tries to defuse the situation.

Deciding to let it go, I turn back to the line. No wonder Lydia was so eager for me to go earlier. She knew it would piss me off when I learned Deacon invited them.

Putting those thoughts aside, I decide, despite this, that I want to enjoy myself. Once inside, I feel a sudden jolt of energy, ready to dance my problems away. But that energy quickly dissipates when I lock eyes with a tall handsome figure across the dimly lit room. Zayn. His silver eyes pierce into mine.

“I need a drink,” I tell Deacon, who nods, leading me to the bar.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Just water,” I tell him.

“Oh, come on, Cleo. Have fun, live a little,” Lydia purrs, coming up behind me. “My treat!” she taunts, flashing her card at me. It’s not like I have a card of my own. My father took mine after Lydia stole it and racked up a huge bill. My father was furious and took it back. Now I get a cash allowance from working for him, which is dwindling fast after Lydia reversed into my car, cracking the radiator and crushing the front end. So I am glad I no longer have to worry about that bill after my father paid it.

“Fine!” Lydia orders us drinks, something called a fruit tingle, it is sickeningly sweet, and I sip mine, not intending to get drunk.

Deacon leads me to the dance floor, yet that lasts all of five minutes before my leg starts throbbing, and I have to sit.

I sit in one of the booths, watching Deacon dance with Lydia, who is shaking her ass all over him, along with Amber, who at least has the decency to keep her distance.

Lydia gives no fuck who she makes uncomfortable.

“Shouldn’t you be home resting?” Zayn demands, his voice a low rumble coming from behind me. I jump, not seeing where he came from.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t my keeper,” I retort, refusing to let him control me like everyone else.

“You’re right, but I saw you by yourself and wanted to check on you,” he tells me.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, and he sighs.

“I can tell; that is why you’ve been glaring at your little boyfriend, who’s dry humping your sister on the dance floor.”

“He’s not dry humping her. They’re friends,” I tell him, and he laughs.

“That’s debatable with the way he has his hands all over her,” he says, shaking his head.

“Like you know anything; they’ve been friends since they were kids.”

“With benefits by the look of it.”

I growl at him. Now he is deliberately trying to get under my skin.

“Just stop. I’ve put up with enough drama today. I don’t need you getting in my head, trying to cause more.”

“Right, I’ll leave you alone. You’re right, I don’t know the little worm well,” he says, setting his glass on the table beside me.

I peer up at him, towering over me when he leans down, so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “But just for the record, I wouldn’t be able to get in your head unless you suspected they were fooling around already.” “They’re just friends,” I repeat, my voice a growl.

“You keep saying that, but if it is true, why has he left you here while he dances with her?” he asks, and his words sting.

His words are true. When I complained about my leg, he didn’t bat an eyelash in my direction, just waved me away.

“Something to think about, Cleo. You can do better. He isn’t worth your time.” “Then who is? You?” I scoff and he shrugs.

“Well, if you were mine, I wouldn’t be caught dead with another woman, let alone have my hands all over one,” he whispers. I swallow, and he smirks before standing back up, and I find Deacon staring in our direction. Suddenly, a bouncer taps Zayn on the shoulders.

“Alpha, a fight has broken out upstairs.”

“Shit, show me,” Zayn says, following him. I shake my head, turning my attention back to the dance floor, where I notice Lydia is gone and Deacon is making his way over to me.

“What did he want?” he asks, and I shrug.

“Wanna get out of here?” I ask him.

“Lydia just went to get us all more drinks.” I huff.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. I point to my leg.

“An hour more, then we’ll go,” he says, and I shoot him a dirty look. “Promise,” he tells me when Lydia hands me a drink. I shake my head.

“Come on, don’t be a party pooper,” she whines.

“I have to drive,” I remind her, and she shrugs.

“Catch a taxi; I can run you back in tomorrow to get your car,” she tells me, holding out the blue-colored drink. Reluctantly, I accept it, sipping it when Amber comes over.

“Deacon, come dance with me!” she whines, giving him pouty lips. She tugs on his arm, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He mouths sorry and lets her pull him back toward the dance floor.

“One hour, Deacon!” I yell out over the music. He blows me a kiss and holds up one finger, indicating an hour.

For the next hour, I try to lose myself in the pulsing beats and flashing lights, but I can’t shake the feeling of Zayn’s gaze on me.

Gradually, I begin to feel strange. Something is wrong. I get up and make my way toward the bar to ask for some water. My face is tingling, and I hear my words slurring when I speak. The lady at the bar grabs my arm as I sway on my feet, and my surroundings blur. “I’m fine. That drink was stronger than I thought,” I say, shaking her hand off. I have to get out of here. I turn and look for Deacon.

The mish-mash of bodies on the dance floor blurs around me, and the music dims as my hearing moves in and out from loud to soft. My head feels heavy, my tongue thick, and my limbs don’t want to cooperate.

“Deac’, I don’t feel so good,” I mumble, clutching his arm for balance when I find him. “Can you take me home?”

“Sure thing, Cleo. Let’s get you out of here,” he says, leading me through the throng of sweaty bodies.

The world spins around me as Deacon guides me to his car, parked next to mine.

“No, you’ve been drinking,” I tell him.

“Call my father,” I tell him, willing to take his wrath, then wrap ourselves around a pole or kill someone.

“Just let me lie down for a bit,” I tell him, my legs feeling like lead weights.

“Want to lie down in the back until your father gets here? Your car’s too small for that,” he suggests, opening the hatch. Grateful for the offer, I nod weakly, letting him help me into the trunk. As soon as I lie down, my body feels impossibly heavy and unresponsive.

“Deacon, I can’t feel my body,” I try to say. The words come out garbled and distorted as panic creeps in. Instead of offering comfort, Deacon climbs in beside me, closing the hatch and plunging us into darkness.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back from my face. His touch should have been reassuring, it only heightens my unease.

“Did you call my dad?” I ask him, my eyes flutter closed, and he says something I can’t make out.

He leans down and presses his lips against mine, ignoring my feeble attempt to turn away. “Deacon, did you call—” My words are cut off by him gripping my chin forcefully; he invades my mouth with his tongue, his kisses growing more eager and desperate.

“Deacon, what are… no,” I slur, as I try to push him off me.

Ignoring my protests, he lifts my butt up and rips down my leggings and tears open my cami, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. My mind races, searching for an escape, while my body refuses to obey.

The tension in the air is palpable, a dangerous energy that makes my skin crawl. Deacon’s voice is barely recognizable, his words slurred and filled with a malicious intent that I never thought him capable of. The sense of betrayal cuts deep, leaving me feeling cold and hollow inside.

“Deacon,” I whisper weakly. My vision blurs as fear creeps in while I wait to wake up from this nightmare. It has to be a nightmare. Deacon would never. Once again, my eyes flutter shut, though my mind screams for me to wake.

“Stop, Deacon,” I manage to say when I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. The dark haze encircling my mind is suffocating, like a vice grip around my consciousness.

“Don’t be such a prude,” Deacon growls, his voice cruel and unfamiliar. “Two years, Cleo, and we still haven’t fucked. So Lydia gave you a little something to help you relax.”

Deacon pulls my underwear down.

He starts moving my limbs like I am a puppet and he is the puppeteer, and the next second, bright light sears my eyes repeatedly as I fight to remain conscious.

“You better keep your fucking word,” I think I hear, I can’t be sure when the flash goes off again. The ceiling swirls when I see a phone before another flash that blinds me.

I struggle to keep my eyes open, to fight against the darkness that threatens to engulf me. Each flash from the phone is like a physical assault, disorienting and terrifying.

I want to scream, to run, to do anything besides lie here helplessly.

Tears form in my eyes, but my body remains unresponsive to my desperate pleas for it to move, to do anything. My heart pounds in my chest as the gravity of the situation settles upon me, making it even harder to breathe.

“Deacon?” I slur, wanting him to get me out of whatever is going on.

Deacon’s laugh is cruel and mocking, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. “You’re mine,” he slurs, his words dripping with possessiveness. “I’ve waited long enough for this.”

Suddenly, the door of the wagon is ripped open. “What the fuck, man?” I hear a voice say.

“She said no!” someone snarls. My eyelids are now too heavy to open, but whoever it is, his voice carries an authority that sends shivers down my spine. I know that voice from somewhere. I’m sure of it.

My heart races, pounding against my rib cage as if trying to escape the nightmare unfolding around me. I hear the sounds of a scuffle, the grunts and shouts muffled as if coming from underwater.

“Whoa, calm down, man! You can have a go after me,” Deacon retorts. It’s Deacon! My mind tries to zero in on the other voice. It’s a voice of power, of control, and it stirs something within me, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

The sound of a struggle intensifies, the thuds and crashes reverberating through the wagon. An aura so strong vibrates through the air, threatening to choke me with the sheer violence behind it, and I’m powerless to intervene.

My eyes flutter shut again, the effort to keep them open too much for my drugged body.

The darkness is all-consuming now, a suffocating void that seems to stretch on endlessly. I’m lost in it. I feel myself slipping away, the edges of my consciousness fraying and dissolving into nothingness.

Then, suddenly, a burst of light pierces the darkness, followed by a loud crash.

The wagon shakes violently, the sound of rattling glass and groaning metal filling the air.

There’s a final, decisive thud, and then silence. The oppressive weight of the situation lifts slightly, the air no longer thick with the threat of violence. I can sense someone else in the wagon now, a presence that is both comforting and terrifying in its intensity.

Gentle hands lift me, cradling me with a tenderness that is in stark contrast to the brutality of moments ago. Warmth of the person holding me, a sense of safety I cling too desperately.

“You’re safe now,” the voice murmurs, its tone soft and reassuring. “I’ve got you,

Cleo. You’re safe.”

I want to believe those words, to let them wash over me and take away the fear and pain. But the darkness is too strong, pulling me back under with an irresistible force. I surrender to it, letting it envelop me completely, the last remnants of consciousness fading away into oblivion.