Chapter 5
Claws pressed into my throat, sharp enough to draw beads of blood that slid, hot, into the winter air.
Not Damien’s claws.
The intruder yanked me back against a body that reeked of iron and rot—rogue scent. My wolf snarled inside me, but the bond to Damien snarled louder, a violent tug that almost ripped me from the stranger’s grip.
“Release her,” Damien’s voice cracked the grove like lightning. He hadn’t shouted, but the Alpha command lashed outward, bending the spines of warriors, pulling whimpers from lesser wolves. Everyone bowed. Everyone—except the rogue holding me.
He laughed. Laughed.
“Alpha Blackwood,” the rogue rasped near my ear, his breath sour with bloodlust. “I came to witness your farce of a Severance. Didn’t expect to catch your little half-mate running straight into my arms.”
The Elders hissed. Serena gasped my name, voice choked with terror.
Damien’s power surged, eyes burning molten gold. “You’ve signed your death, wolf. Let her go, and I’ll make it quick.”
The rogue dug his claws deeper into my skin, forcing me to tip my chin toward the sky. “Oh, I’ll let her go. Right after I make sure she’s marked again—by me.”
My stomach twisted. A third bond? Impossible. Suicidal.
The court erupted, shouts and growls shaking snow from the birches. But the rogue didn’t falter. His grip was iron. His intention clear.
And all I could think was: If he marks me, I die.
The bond to Damien thrashed like a beast in chains, tearing through my veins. Heat and command and desperate fury wrapped around me. My knees threatened to buckle under the weight of him. He was inside my bones, whispering, demanding, mine, mine, MINE.
My wolf howled, clawing to submit. To obey. To let Damien’s power break the rogue’s hold through me.
But I couldn’t. If I yielded now, I’d never know if I had the strength to finish the Severance.
“Clara,” Damien growled, voice a blade against my name. “Don’t fight me. Let me in.”
The rogue’s tongue dragged wet across the curve of my throat. “She’s trembling, Alpha. Not from you. From me. Maybe the Goddess made a mistake twice.”
“Liar!” Serena shrieked, lunging forward, but Father held her back.
“Try it,” Damien whispered, deadly calm. His eyes were pure predator. “Bite her, and I’ll paint this grove with your entrails.”
The rogue shifted his grip, claws scraping dangerously close to my artery. “Or maybe I’ll rip her open before you reach me. That would sever your bond too, wouldn’t it?”
My breath hitched. He’s right. If I died, the bond would shatter with me. Severance without survival.
The Elders were shouting incantations, invoking protection wards, but the rogue laughed through them all. His power was wild, feral, the kind that burned holes in law.
And then—he jerked my head to the side, teeth grazing my skin.
Damien moved.
One moment he was across the grove, the next he was a storm breaking. Warriors leapt after him, but he was faster, deadlier. His claws tore through air, and the rogue had just enough time to snarl before Damien’s hand was inside his chest.
Blood sprayed. Warm, metallic, raining red onto the snow.
The rogue’s grip loosened. I stumbled free, clutching my torn throat.
Damien held the body aloft, heart still pulsing in his palm. His face was unreadable, a god of ruin. Then he dropped it, heart and all, at my feet.
The grove went silent. Even the wind died.
“Mine,” Damien said simply, his gaze burning straight through me. “No one else touches what is mine.”
The bond flared—hot, possessive, unrelenting. It burned away every thought except the memory of his teeth in my neck, his voice threading through my veins.
I staggered back, but the bond dragged me forward, like gravity itself had chosen sides. My wolf keened, torn between rage and relief.
Serena’s voice cracked the silence. “Elders—the Severance! This rogue wasn’t part of the rite. It must continue.”
“Yes,” Elder Maeve said, though her eyes lingered on me with pity. “The third trial remains. Choice must be tested, rogue or no.”
The bell tolled again, its sound thick with fate.
The grove’s attention swung back to me. To the blood dripping from my throat. To Damien, still standing in the snow, predator’s grace in every line of him, his hand still wet with the proof of his violence.
He didn’t clean it. Didn’t flinch. His eyes never left mine.
“The rite continues.”
