Chapter 5 The Alpha's Claim

Eirene stood at the edge of the Moonspire's balcony, watching Lycaria pulse beneath the stars. The city seemed to breathe-its silver fires flickering like heartbeats, its towers humming with ancient magic. Far below, the waterfalls whispered through the canyon, feeding the rivers that wound like veins through the land. She should have been exhausted after everything: the shift, the rite, the kiss. But she wasn't. She felt alive-almost too alive, as if her skin no longer held her in, like she was swelling from within with power she barely understood. Every breath tasted of moonlight.

Every heartbeat echoed with more than just blood. And behind it all, beneath it all, Demetrius lingered in her thoughts like a low drumbeat. Their kiss had burned into her. Not just lips or heat-but a connection, terrifying in its depth. She barely knew him, yet somehow, she knew him. And worse-her body trusted him, even when her mind didn't. She hated that. "You should be sleeping," came his voice from behind her. Eirene didn't turn around. "You should stop lurking in doorways." "I'm not lurking," he said calmly. "I'm guarding." "From what? I'm already in a fortress surrounded by magical werewolves." Demetrius stepped closer. "You underestimate how far danger is willing to travel for power like yours." She turned then. "You really think the Moirai Pack would come this deep into your territory?" "I think they've already tried." Eirene blinked. "What?" He handed her a folded cloth-bloodstained, torn at the edge. "The guards found this near the rootline. A scout's scent. They breached the outer mists. If they hadn't been turned around by the Wyrmwood..." Her hands clenched. "They're hunting me." "They believe killing you will end the curse. Others will believe the opposite-that mating you will give them the Moon's Throne." "Romantic." "Violent," he corrected. "Lycaria is stable now-but peace here is a fire in the wind. You're a spark." She paced a few steps, trying to clear her head. "So what? I'm supposed to just hide here until the world figures out how to deal with me?" "No," Demetrius said. "You're supposed to take your place. And make the world answer to you." He moved toward her slowly, deliberately, like he was circling a storm. "You don't realize what your presence means. You're not just prophecy. You're power. Bloodlines will bow. Alphas will kneel. Unless they think you can be taken." She faced him. "And what's your role in all this?" He held her gaze. "To stand beside you. Or die protecting you." Eirene exhaled shakily. "That's... intense." "It's the truth." Silence stretched between them. She could feel it again-that strange pull in her chest. The bond between them. It pulsed whenever they were near, like a thread made of light and heat, tugging her closer. "You keep talking about claiming me," she said finally. "But what does that actually mean?" Demetrius didn't flinch. "It means binding ourselves-blood to blood. It's more than mating. It's soul-marking. We share strength, healing, memory. We become unbreakable." She stared. "And if I don't want to?" "Then I'll protect you without it." "And if I do?" His voice dropped to a near growl. "Then no one will ever touch you. No one will ever challenge you. And I will be yours, completely." The heat in the air changed. It wasn't just tension now. It was promise. "I should say no," she whispered. "I know." "But..." He stepped closer, until only inches remained between them. "But?" Her throat bobbed. "I don't think I can stay away from you." Demetrius's breath hitched. His hand reached up, brushing her cheek, then moving to cradle the back of her neck. When his lips met hers, the bond exploded. This kiss wasn't gentle like before. It was fire. Wild, demanding, possessive. His hands roamed her back, pulling her into him like he couldn't bear a sliver of space between them. And she matched him-kiss for kiss, breath for breath. Her robe slipped from her shoulders. His shirt hit the floor. The bond pulsed hotter, flooding them both. "I need to feel you," she gasped. "You will," he growled. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed made of roots and fur. Their bodies tangled. Every touch was lightning. Every moan a song the Moon itself would remember. It wasn't just sex-it was claiming, even if the ritual wasn't complete. Their bond thrummed through the entire city, echoing in the silver roots of Lycaria. And when it ended, she lay in his arms, heart still pounding. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Because something new had begun. The next morning, Eirene woke to silence. Demetrius was already gone, but the space beside her was still warm. She rose, dressed in simple black leathers someone had left by the door, and followed the winding staircase down into the city. Wolves watched her pass. None spoke. Some bowed. Others backed away in awe. At the base of the Moonspire, she found Demetrius in a circle of warriors, sparring shirtless with a female fighter nearly his equal in size. The two clashed with blades-silver and steel-sweat glistening on their bodies. Eirene leaned against a tree, arms folded, admiring the show. The woman noticed her first and bowed slightly. Demetrius turned. His eyes burned golden the moment they landed on her. And something in Eirene's belly coiled in response. "Care for a match?" he asked. Eirene raised a brow. "What are the rules?" "No shifting. No claws. Just speed and instinct." She stepped into the circle. "You're on." They fought for ten minutes. The crowd grew with every passing second. Eirene moved on instinct-fast, agile, unpredictable. Her blade clashed with his over and over. She was faster than she'd ever been, each move sharpened by the bond and the bloodline rising inside her. But Demetrius was stronger. Older. Trained. In the final moment, he disarmed her, spun her, and pinned her against a tree, chest to chest. "You're holding back," he murmured. "Maybe I like being pinned," she breathed. His pupils flared. The crowd gasped. He let her go-slowly-and she turned to bow. The wolves around them roared in approval. And just like that, the Luna-Born had begun to earn her place. But not all eyes were full of admiration. In the shadows of the stone garden, a figure watched Eirene carefully. A man with a scarred face and eyes the color of winter steel. Xanthos. Demetrius's twin. The one who had been exiled. The one who believed the Luna-Born was the key to everything. And unlike Demetrius-he didn't plan to stand beside her. He planned to own her. And to burn Lycaria to the ground if he had to.