Marked By the Mateless Alpha

Chapter Three – The Pull of the Bond

The cell felt different after Riven left.

Not quieter—he had taken the noise with him—but heavier, as if the very stones still remembered him.

Elinora sat curled on the narrow bed, knees pressed to her chest, staring at the door. The thin blanket scratched her skin, but she clutched it anyway, as if it could keep the bond at bay.

You’re safe now. At least for tonight.

The lie rang hollow even inside her head.

Because safety didn’t exist here. Not after what had happened in the courtyard.

The silver flame on his chest wasn’t just a mark. She’d felt it surge through her like molten light into ice. It wasn’t a glance or a trick of power—it was something ancient reaching for her. Claiming her.

You feel it too.

The voice inside her was quieter now, but unyielding.

“I don’t,” she muttered into her knees.

A soft laugh slid through her mind like smoke. Liar.

Her palms pressed hard against her eyes. She tried to picture her village, Miri’s small hand clutching hers, the snow at dawn—anything but his voice, his eyes, the way he’d said, You’re mine. Those words had burned as much as the mark.

A gust of wind rattled the tiny window. Cold air licked her ankles. She tucked the blanket tighter, but sleep still came jagged and slow.

When it did, it wasn’t sleep at all.

Shadows slithered through endless corridors, twisting into silver-eyed wolves. Ahead of her walked a man—broad shoulders, silver flame flickering like a heartbeat beneath his tunic. She reached for him. The shadows swallowed them both.

She woke with a cry lodged in her throat, sweat beading on her chilled skin.

The bond is waking us.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Us?”

You and I. You and him. Threads in the same snare.

*****

Elsewhere in the Keep

Riven stood alone in the war room, hands braced on the obsidian table. Maps sprawled beneath his fingers, borders and wilds inked in sharp black lines. His eyes weren’t on them. They kept sliding to the glow beneath his tunic.

The mark burned—not pain, but presence.

He had outlasted rival Alphas, border raids, betrayal from his own court. Yet this—this was different. Fate’s claws, digging deep.

A knock broke his thoughts.

“Enter.”

Lady Sylra stepped inside, a vision of white fur and silver silk. Moonstone combs glittered in her pale hair, but her smile was all blade.

“I heard whispers from the courtyard,” she said. “Tell me they’re nothing.”

“It wasn’t gossip.”

Her smile froze. “The mark?”

He didn’t answer. His silence was enough.

Her fingers curled against the table edge. “You cannot allow this. I’ve been promised to you for two years. Do you understand what a mate bond will do to us—to everything we’ve built?”

Riven’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “She’s an outsider. A tribute girl with no wolf, no rank—just a curse wrapped in rags. End it before—”

“She’s under my protection,” he said, his voice like stone.

Sylra’s lips thinned. “Then you’re a fool.”

She swept out, her perfume lingering in the cold air like a warning.

*****

North Tower

The hours crawled. When food finally arrived—hard bread, a sliver of cheese, a cup of water—Elinora barely tasted it. Her mind circled the Seer’s words like a hawk over carrion.

Kill him and awaken the world… or let him live, and die in his place.

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But every time she remembered his silver eyes, she wondered if killing him would even be possible.

Possible? Child, it would be easy.

She flinched. “Stop calling me child.”

Then stop acting like one.

Wind howled louder outside. From somewhere deep in the Keep, a wolf’s cry answered, low and haunting. Her pulse jumped, the sound resonating under her skin like a drumbeat.

Another sound followed. Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate, climbing the stairs.

Her fingers tightened on the blanket. The door’s lock turned.

Riven stood there—no cloak, no armor this time. Just a dark tunic, sleeves rolled, his forearms corded with strength. The silver mark glowed faintly, a heartbeat in metal.

“We’re going for a walk,” he said.

She blinked. “A walk?”

He stepped inside, the air shrinking around him. “You’re not going to rot in this room. Not yet.”

“Why?” she demanded, trying to steady her voice.

His eyes met hers. The bond pulsed like a drum between them.

“Because I need to know what you are.”

The mark on his chest flared brighter—just as the voice in her head hissed, So do we.