Page 63 of Bound by Alphas 1: Bound (The Blood Moon Chronicle #3)
I woke to the gentle rumble of tires on a familiar road, my head pillowed against something warm and solid. For a disorienting moment, I thought I was dreaming—one of those nostalgic dreams where I was back home, safe and surrounded by the people I’d spent four years trying to forget.
Then I registered the steady thump of a heartbeat beneath my ear, the weight of an arm around my waist, the scent of cedar and rain that could only belong to one person.
Cade.
Reality crashed back like a wave, washing away the comfortable haze of sleep. I was in a car—Logan’s ridiculously expensive SUV, to be precise—with my head resting against Cade’s chest, practically curled in his lap like a child. Or a pet.
I jerked upright, blinking sleep from my eyes. “Where are we?”
“Almost home,” Cade replied, his hand still resting possessively on my hip. “You slept through most of the drive.”
Home. The word hit like a sucker punch to the gut.
I looked out the window and felt my heart constrict painfully.
The towering evergreens lining the coastal highway were achingly familiar—trees I’d sketched a hundred times, memorized in every season.
The road curved gently to follow the coastline, offering glimpses of steel-gray water between the trunks.
Harborview. The place I’d run from four years ago.
The place I’d sworn never to return to.
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered, more to myself than to them. “I’m going to wake up in my crappy apartment with paint under my fingernails and deadlines to meet.”
“Your apartment wasn’t crappy,” Cade said, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “Just… inadequate.”
“For a five-foot-six fox shifter with a paint habit?” I snorted. “Or for your alpha sensibilities that think anything under three thousand square feet is basically camping?”
“For our mate,” he replied simply, as if that explained everything. In his world, I suppose it did.
I stared out the window, watching as we passed the turnoff to the coastal mansion. “You missed the exit.”
“We’re not going to the beach house,” Logan said, his eyes on the road ahead.
“Then where—” I started, but the words died in my throat as Logan turned onto a narrow, unmarked road that wound deeper into the forest. A road I hadn’t seen in years but recognized instantly.
“No,” I said, sitting up straighter. “No way. Why are we going to the stronghold?”
None of them answered, which was answer enough.
The Sinclair Stronghold was the family’s ancestral seat—a fortress hidden deep in the woods, protected by old magic and newer technology.
I’d lived there briefly after my parents died, before we moved to the coastal mansion.
My memories of the place were fragmented at best—stone walls, hidden passages, rooms that seemed to shift and change when you weren’t looking directly at them.
“Why are we going to the stronghold?” I repeated, an edge of panic creeping into my voice. “What’s wrong with the beach house?”
“The beach house is too exposed,” Cade finally answered, his voice maddeningly calm. “The stronghold is safer.”
“Safer from what?” I demanded, twisting to face him. “What are you protecting me from that requires kidnapping me and taking me to a literal fortress in the woods?”
“We’ll explain everything,” Cade promised, though his tone suggested ‘everything’ was a relative term. “Once we’re inside and secure.”
“I’m not setting foot inside that place until you tell me what’s going on,” I declared, crossing my arms over my chest in what I hoped was a defiant pose rather than a petulant one.
Logan’s chuckle from the driver’s seat suggested I hadn’t quite achieved the effect I was going for. “You don’t have to set foot anywhere. Cade’s perfectly capable of carrying you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I hissed, just as the SUV pulled into a clearing and the stronghold came into view.
It was exactly as I remembered and nothing like I remembered at the same time.
The massive stone structure rose from the forest floor like it had grown there naturally, its gray walls weathered by centuries of Pacific Northwest storms. Turrets and towers reached toward the sky, while thick walls promised safety and security.
It was a bizarre architectural fusion—part Scottish castle, part colonial fortress, part modern compound—that somehow worked despite its contradictions.
Just like the Sinclair brothers themselves.
Logan parked in front of the massive oak doors, and Cade was out of the car before I could formulate an escape plan. He opened my door with a flourish, as if he were a chauffeur rather than my kidnapper.
“After you,” he said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t actually a request.
I stayed firmly in my seat. “I meant what I said. I’m not moving until you tell me why we’re here.”
Cade sighed, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Finn, we don’t have time for this.”
“Then give me the CliffsNotes version now,” I insisted. “Because otherwise, I’m staying right here.”
The brothers exchanged a look that spoke volumes—a silent conversation happening right in front of me that I couldn’t hear. It was infuriating, being so connected to them and yet so shut out at the same time.
“Fine,” Cade said finally. “You win.”
I blinked, surprised by the easy victory. That should have been my first warning.
Cade reached into the car and scooped me up like I weighed nothing, throwing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry that was becoming distressingly familiar.
“Put me down!” I shouted, pounding my fists against his back. “This is assault! Kidnapping! I’ll have you arrested!”
“By all means,” Cade replied calmly, carrying me toward the stronghold’s entrance. “Call the sheriff. I believe he’s our second cousin twice removed.”
“I hate you,” I seethed, though the words lacked conviction even to my own ears. “I hate you and your stupid alpha strength and your ridiculous control issues and?—”
“Are you done?” Cade asked, not slowing his stride as he approached the massive oak doors, which swung open at his approach. “Or would you like to continue this tantrum while I carry you upstairs?”
“It’s not a tantrum when you’re literally being kidnapped,” I shot back, still struggling despite knowing it was useless. “It’s a completely reasonable response to unreasonable behavior!”
Logan followed behind us, his chuckle only fueling my anger. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snapped, twisting to glare at him over Cade’s shoulder. “Is there a more appropriate reaction to being thrown over someone’s shoulder and carried into a fortress against your will? Please, enlighten me.”
“Grateful acceptance that we’re keeping you safe?” Logan suggested, his tone light but his eyes serious.
“Safe from what?” I demanded for what felt like the hundredth time, but we were already inside the stronghold’s cavernous entrance hall, and neither of them seemed inclined to answer.
Cade didn’t slow down, didn’t give me a chance to take in my surroundings or process the fact that I was back in a place I’d sworn never to return to. He headed straight for the elevator at the far end of the hall, Logan falling into step beside him.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, still squirming in Cade’s grip as we entered the elevator. “I’m not a sack of potatoes, you know.”
“No,” Cade agreed, his tone deceptively mild. “Potatoes are generally less vocal about their displeasure.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but the elevator doors closed, cutting off any chance of escape.
We ascended in tense silence, the only sound my increasingly labored breathing as panic began to set in.
This was really happening. They were really bringing me back, locking me away in their ancestral stronghold, taking away the freedom I’d fought so hard to gain.
When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, Cade strode out without hesitation, still carrying me like I weighed nothing. He crossed a massive open-concept living space that I barely had time to register before he unceremoniously deposited me on what had to be the largest bed I’d ever seen.
I scrambled backward immediately, pressing myself against the headboard as if I could somehow melt into it and disappear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Cade’s expression had changed, the calm control replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes flashed silver—a sign his wolf was close to the surface—as he stared down at me.
“What’s wrong with me?” he repeated. “What’s wrong with me is that my mate ran away four years ago, leaving a hole in our pack and our lives that nothing could fill.
What’s wrong with me is that we’ve spent those four years watching you from a distance, making sure you were safe while respecting your need for independence, even though it tore us apart inside.
What’s wrong with me is that now, when you’re in real danger, you’re fighting us every step of the way instead of trusting that we know what’s best.”
“What’s best for who?” I challenged, sitting up straighter. “For you? For your pack? Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like what’s best for me!”
“We’re trying to protect you!” Logan growled, moving to stand beside Cade at the foot of the bed. His eyes were flashing amber now, his control clearly slipping as well.
“From what?” I shouted, frustration boiling over. “You keep saying that, but you won’t tell me what this mysterious danger is! How am I supposed to trust you when you won’t tell me anything?”
“Because we’re your mates,” Cade said, as if that explained everything. “Because everything we do—everything we’ve ever done—has been to keep you safe.”
“Safe,” I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. “That’s what this has always been about, isn’t it? Poor little Finn, too weak to take care of himself. Too fragile to make his own choices. Too precious to be allowed any real freedom.”
“That’s not fair,” Logan growled, his eyes fully amber now.