Bound In Blood To The Forbidden Alpha: Opening Chapters 1-5

Darius POV

Mud up to my ankles. Blood in it too.

Nightfang moved around me in silence—trained, mean, waiting on my word.

Silverstrike’s border was ahead. Tonight it falls.

Their Alpha thought he could keep selling wolves to vampires and witches and the Council would look away. Selling my wolves once, before I tore his chain apart. He took kin from his own pack, from mine, from whoever he could grab, and sold them like meat. That ends now.

“Beta, left flank,” I barked. Kaelen gave a quick nod and vanished into smoke.

Lightning split the sky. Burned fur hit my nose. I shifted on the move—bones cracking, claws tearing free. Used to hurt. Now it just meant I was home.

The first guard came teeth-first. I caught his throat, slammed him into the wall, kept moving. Another from behind—bad choice. I spun, claws across his chest. He dropped before he hit mud.

Vorren growled in my skull, deep and eager. He’s close.

I know.

We pushed deeper. Silverstrike wolves fought like they still had honor. They didn’t. Not after what their Alpha did. Nightfang came from the ones he sold and the ones who survived it. That’s who we are—the unwanted, the feared, the wolves who bite back.

The Alpha’s den waited at the end of the hall. I kicked the doors open.

He stood there—broad, older, gold eyes, silver blade in hand like that’d help. “Fenwick,” he sneered. “You come to play hero now?”

“I came to finish what you started.”

He lunged. Good.

We hit hard—claws, fists, blood. He was slower, soft from hiding behind the deals he made. I was built on rage. I caught his wrist, twisted till bone snapped, slammed him toward the firepit.

“You sold wolves,” I said. “Our kind. My kind.”

“Better them than the rest of us.”

“Wrong answer.”

I shifted mid-swing. Claws through chest, clean to the heart. He dropped.

Silence. The kind that follows every kill. The kind where the world stops to see what you’ve done. I never stop long.

Then the scent hit.

Not blood. Not smoke. Wildflowers, soft under the storm.

I turned. A little girl stood in the doorway—barefoot, drowning in a nightgown, maybe nine. Silver eyes bright even in the dark. Staring at the body on the floor.

Vorren slammed into me. Mate.

No.

Ours.

The scent clung, pure and wrong in a room full of death.

Kaelen came in behind her, froze. “Alpha?”

“She’s his kid,” I said, voice rough. “Get her out. Feed her. Keep her away from this.”

“She’s—”

“Now, Kaelen.”

He crouched, spoke soft, led her out. She followed, small steps, head down. At the door she turned back—silver eyes steady.

Vorren purred. Strong little thing.

“Not a word,” I muttered.

The wolf went quiet, but the itch stayed under my skin.

I wiped blood from my mouth and looked at the corpse. Silverstrike’s Alpha, the trader of wolves. Dead at last. Nightfang would have its name, and every pack would remember what happens when you sell your own.

So why the hell did I still smell wildflowers?

Outside, rain hammered the trucks. Kaelen waited, the girl wrapped in his cloak, that single white streak bright in her soaked hair. She looked up when I passed. Didn’t flinch.

Vorren whispered, She knows you.

I didn’t answer. Just climbed in, slammed the door, and let the engine drown him out.

But it didn’t kill the scent.

It never would.

Nysa POV

Thirteen years since Nightfang burned through our walls and Darius Fenwick put his claws through my father’s chest.

Thirteen years since Kaelen—his Beta—hauled me out of the smoke and told me to keep my eyes shut.

I didn’t.

Now my brother wears the Alpha mark of a pack everyone calls cursed. Silverstrike rebuilt, but not the same. Half our wolves are gone—sold, killed, or too scared to come back. Ronan acts like the Council respects us again. I let him pretend. Someone has to.

Bonfires eat the sky, smoke rolling so thick it stings my eyes. The Luna Moon Gathering always looks holy in stories—moonlight, drums, the Elders blessing the bloodlines. Up close it’s heat, sweat, and packs pretending to like each other for one night.

Myra elbows me, grinning like this is a party. “You’re supposed to look honored, Nys.”

“I’m honored that it’s almost over.”

She laughs, shaking her head, all bright and untouched. I wish I still had that kind of shine.

Ronan stands a few feet away, back straight, scanning the crowd like he’s guarding a throne instead of a fire pit. He’s only twenty-eight but looks older—too many fights, too many losses. His hand twitches every time the Nightfang wolves move.

“Relax,” I mutter. “It’s neutral ground.”

“Neutral doesn’t mean safe,” he says without looking at me.

He’s right, but I won’t give him that.

Drums shift. The Elders start chanting, old words that taste like iron in the air. Every Luna of age steps forward; I feel Myra’s fingers brush mine as we line up around the fire. Silver dust, ash, ritual—same as every year. Only difference is tonight I’m the last of Silverstrike’s daughters. The one who has to prove the curse didn’t stick.

The Elder drags a line of ash across my palm. The world narrows. The heat hits hard—pulse, breath, everything. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe.

Nysa.

The voice curls through my head, low, calm, ancient.

Who—?

I am Lyssandra, it says. Your wolf.

Light surges under my skin, silver threading through my veins. Around me other girls drop to their knees, crying or laughing. Myra’s shaking beside me. I should feel joy. All I feel is the weight of someone new inside my bones.

Then Lyssandra’s tone changes—rougher, fierce.

Mate.

The word hits like claws to the chest. I nearly stumble. My head turns before I can stop it.

Across the fire, standing with the Nightfang wolves, is Darius Fenwick.

Older now. Broader. Scars up his arm catching the firelight. Same cold green eyes that looked down at my father’s body.

The bond slams into me so hard I taste blood.

Lyssandra growls, low and sure. Ours.

I choke on a breath. No.

His gaze finds mine across the flames. Flat, unreadable. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he already knew.

He did. Somehow, he did.

Myra’s whisper barely reaches me. “Nys? You’re glowing.”

Great. Fantastic. Glowing while my soul ties itself to the man who destroyed my family.

The drums thunder again. The Elders cheer. The crowd howls for the new Lunas. I stand still, smiling for show, heart beating like it wants out.

When it’s over, Ronan pulls me into a quick hug. “You did good, little sister.”

“Sure. Internal voices and spontaneous fireworks. Perfect night.”

He laughs, proud, blind. Myra’s still crying happy tears. No one notices Darius watching me as the crowd shifts and scatters.

Lyssandra whispers, softer now. He’s ours.

I stare through the smoke at the man who ended my father and feel the bond burn under my skin like a brand I can’t scrape off.

Not ours, I think. Never ours.

The lie tastes bitter, but I hold it anyway.

Darius POV

The Luna Moon Gathering always reeked of pretense—wolves pretending peace, pretending they didn’t want to rip each other apart.

I stood with Nightfang on the far edge of the clearing, where the firelight hit the mud and died. Kaelen was on my left, bored as usual, spinning a dagger between his fingers while the drums thundered.

“Feels like a damn festival,” he muttered. “Half these packs would murder each other tomorrow.”

“They will,” I said.

He smirked. “You say that every year.”

Because it was true every year. I didn’t come here for celebration. I came because the Elders required it and because showing up reminded the others that Nightfang still ruled the Outskirts.

Vorren was restless in the back of my mind, pacing like a caged thing. She’s close.

Don’t start. I’d lived with that voice for nine years—nine years of feeling a bond no one else could sense. I’d buried it under discipline and command.

The drumming changed, slower, heavier. The crowd shifted. The young Lunas filed toward the main fire, all nervous smiles and white robes. And then I saw her.

She stepped into the light beside a blonde girl, head high despite the noise, hair brown with that single white streak that caught the fire. The same streak I’d seen years ago, tangled in blood and smoke.

My chest tightened.

Vorren’s growl rolled through me. Mate.

It wasn’t new. He’d whispered that word nine years ago, when she was a child. I’d spent every day since pretending it wasn’t real.

But tonight… the bond snapped awake. I felt it like a punch under the ribs—her scent slamming into me, sweet and wild, no longer the faint trace of a child but the full heat of a woman grown.

Mate, Vorren repeated, louder this time, a roar shaking through my head. Finally.

Quiet. I locked my jaw and forced my hands to stay loose at my sides.

Across the clearing, Kaelen noticed my shift in stance. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

The fire surged higher. The Elders began the chant, spreading silver dust across the girls’ palms. I couldn’t look away. She tilted her face toward the moon, eyes half closed, lips moving with the words. The air changed around her; it crackled.

Light bled under her skin—thin silver lines racing up her arms. The crowd gasped. Some took a step back. A few whispered “witch” under their breath.

She didn’t notice. She stood there glowing like moonlight had chosen her alone.

Kaelen muttered, “That’s new. You seeing this?”

“I see it.”

“You think she’s—”

“She’s nothing you need to worry about.” My voice came out too flat, too controlled. He didn’t push.

Vorren’s presence pressed harder. Look at her.

I already was. Every curve, every inch of her screamed danger. The little girl I’d once spared was gone; this woman was a challenge carved in flesh.

When her head turned toward me, the noise vanished. Drums, chants, wolves—all gone. Just her eyes locking on mine across the fire. Silver, bright, angry, and for the briefest moment, confused.

She’d felt it. The bond.

Vorren rumbled, satisfied. She knows.

I kept my expression still, the way I’d learned to in battle. But inside, everything twisted. For nine years I’d carried this alone, kept my distance, convinced myself she’d never feel it. Now the gods had a cruel sense of humor.

Kaelen nudged me again. “Why’s the Silverstrike girl staring at you like that?”

I didn’t answer.

When the chant ended, the cheering started. The girls were surrounded by family, the air thick with joy and tears. She didn’t move, though. She was still staring at me, that silver light fading beneath her skin.

I could almost hear what she was thinking—the same disbelief I’d had years ago. The same hatred.

She’ll tell him, Vorren warned. Her brother will know.

Let him. My gaze slid to Ronan Silverstrike standing a few yards from her, his hand on her shoulder, protective and blind. If he knew what I was thinking, he’d rip his own throat out before letting me near her.

But he didn’t know. Not yet.

The crowd began to break apart. Kaelen leaned close. “Whatever that was, boss, you might want to—”

“Drop it.”

He shrugged, slipping back toward the pack.

I stayed a moment longer, watching her laugh at something her friend said, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes. When she glanced back at me again, I let her see nothing—no anger, no shock, just the recognition I couldn’t hide.

She’d looked like sin standing in that light, and I knew then I was finished.

Vorren’s voice dropped to a low growl that felt more like a promise. Nine years. No more waiting.

I turned away from the fire before anyone else could see what was written all over my face.

Nysa POV

The tent smelled like smoke, pine, and too many wolves. I’d barely made it back from the ceremony before Myra shoved a mug of something warm into my hands and collapsed beside me.

“Congratulations, newly awakened,” she said, voice still rough from all the chanting.

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “I’ve got a glowing problem and a headache. Ten out of ten, would do again.”

She snorted into her cup. “You’re supposed to feel blessed, Nys.”

“Right. Blessed. That must be what this is—blinding rage and heartburn.”

Inside my head, Lyssandra laughed softly. You’ll get used to me.

“Oh good,” I muttered, “she talks.”

Myra raised a brow. “She?”

“My wolf.” I rubbed my temples. “Apparently she’s chatty.”

You’re welcome, Lyssa said, far too pleased. It’s about time you listened.

“I was fine before you showed up.”

You were incomplete.

“That’s one word for it.”

He completes us.

I blinked. “Nope. Don’t start.”

Mate.

“Stop it.”

Mate.

“Not happening.”

The pulse in my chest thudded hard, enough that I flinched. Myra caught it immediately. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just… internal wolf nonsense.”

She studied me. “You felt the bond, didn’t you?”

“Felt what?”

“The bond. Don’t play dumb. I saw your face out there.”

“I’m fine.”

“Who is he?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Liar. You’re literally glowing again.”

I looked down—sure enough, faint silver shimmer along my wrist. “Oh for—can I get a refund on whatever magic did this?”

Lyssa purred, smug. He has a name. You know it.

“Don’t.”

Darius.

The name escaped me before I realized I’d said it out loud. Myra’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“What?” I asked quickly.

She smiled way too slow. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Myra—”

“Oh, nothing important,” she said, fighting a grin. “Just wondering how your brother’s going to take the news.”

I groaned. “Please don’t—”

The tent flap opened. “Don’t what?” Ronan stepped inside, still wearing his ceremonial coat.

Myra mouthed oops at me.

Ronan’s gaze went between us. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Nothing,” I said too fast.

Myra smiled like a wolf who’d just scented prey. “Your sister met her mate.”

“Myra!”

“What? He’s your brother. He deserves to know.”

Ronan froze, expression splitting between shock and something that looked dangerously like hope. “You did?”

“I—It’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important! Who is he?”

“It doesn’t—”

“She doesn’t want to tell you,” Myra said, still enjoying herself far too much.

“Myra, I swear to the moon—”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Is it someone from our pack?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

Silence. Myra hesitated, looked at me, saw the panic in my eyes. I shook my head—don’t you dare.

She mouthed sorry.

Then she said it anyway. “Darius Fenwick.”

The air turned solid.

Ronan’s face went blank, then dark. “What did you just say?”

“She’s mistaken,” I said fast. “It’s some kind of—”

“Tell me she’s lying.”

“I didn’t choose this!”

He took a slow, dangerous step toward me. “He killed our father, Nysa.”

“I know!”

“And you—”

“I didn’t choose it, Ronan! The bond chose me!”

He stared at me for a long, heavy second, jaw working, eyes full of something between rage and heartbreak. “If it’s true,” he said quietly, “I’ll end him myself.”

“You’ll start a war.”

“Then we’ll have one.”

He turned and walked out before I could stop him.

Myra groaned, slumping back on the cot. “Well, that went well.”

I dropped into the nearest chair, head in my hands. “I hate fate.”

Lyssa hummed in my mind, calm as always. He’ll come for us.

“Not if I kill him first.”

Her laugh was soft and cruel. He won’t let you.

Darius POV

The fire hadn’t even burned down before I smelled trouble coming.

Anger has a scent—hot, sharp, impossible to miss—and Ronan Silverstrike reeked of it long before I saw him.

Kaelen stiffened beside me. “Incoming,” he said under his breath.

Ronan shoved through the crowd like a storm, guards at his back. The other Alphas went silent; even the drums faltered. He stopped at the edge of the council circle and pointed straight at me.

“You think you can kill my father and then claim my sister?”

Every head turned. The words hit the clearing like a blow. I didn’t move.

“I didn’t claim anyone,” I said, voice flat.

“The hell you didn’t.” Ronan’s eyes burned. “You stood there and let the bond happen. You knew.”

Kaelen shifted uneasily beside me. “Bond?” he muttered. Then, louder, “What bond—”

“Enough!” an Elder barked. Marris, oldest of them, stepped forward, her silver hair catching the moonlight. “You will not spill blood on sacred ground. The Gathering is under the Goddess’s sight.”

Ronan rounded on her. “Then tell her to unmake it.”

“You cannot unmake the moon,” she said simply. “You may rage against the world, Alpha Silverstrike, but you do not argue with the Goddess. If the bond formed under Her light, then Her will is clear.”

Another Elder added quietly, “The girl belongs to the Nightfang Alpha by right of the mark.”

The crowd broke into whispers—shocked, curious, afraid. That last sentence landed like a stone in my gut.

Because she heard it.

Nysa pushed through the circle of wolves, silver eyes bright against the firelight. Myra was at her shoulder, trying to pull her back, but she came anyway. She stopped halfway between us, barefoot in the dirt, fury radiating off her.

“Belongs?” she snapped. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

The Elders fell silent. Ronan’s hand went to the hilt of the dagger at his belt. Kaelen cursed softly under his breath.

Vorren growled in the back of my mind, low and pleased. She came to us.

Shut up, I answered, but my pulse betrayed me. The scent of her hit hard—wildflowers and night air tangled with anger. My control slipped for one second, just enough for my claws to twitch before I forced them back.

Ronan saw it. He stepped in front of her. “If you touch her, Fenwick—”

I kept my voice calm. “You’ll do what?”

His jaw clenched. “I’ll burn your damned pack to the ground.”

“Then try.”

The crowd gasped. Marris raised a hand. “Enough!”

Ronan glared past her, straight into me. “You knew. You’ve known since that night.”

Kaelen turned toward me slowly, disbelief spreading across his face. “Since Silverstrike?” he whispered.

I didn’t look away from Ronan. “Nine years.”

Kaelen’s voice was low. “And you kept that to yourself.”

“Would you have believed me?”

He didn’t answer. None of them did.

The Elders began herding the crowd back, barking orders to clear the circle. No one wanted to be caught in the middle if Silverstrike and Nightfang exploded.

Nysa didn’t move. She was staring at me again, chest rising fast, the silver faint under her skin. She looked like she wanted to deny the whole world.

Vorren murmured, She fights it.

So did I.

Ronan caught her arm and pulled her back. “We’re leaving.”

She didn’t argue, but her gaze stayed locked on mine until the last second. I could read everything in it—fear, fury, the same confusion that had eaten me alive for years.

When they were gone, Kaelen let out a long breath. “You realize he’ll come for you.”

“He already has.”

“What are you going to do?”

I watched the trail of smoke curling into the night. “What I always do.”

“Which is?”

“Survive.”

Vorren’s voice rumbled, almost satisfied. Not for long.