Page 25 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)

“Relax, Cleo. I’m just teasing, we’ll figure it out,” he says, reaching out to trail a finger down my arm. The sensation repulses me, and I flinch away from his touch.

“Please don’t do that,” I snap, unable to maintain my composure any longer. My heart races in my chest, and I feel a wave of heat rush through me as frustration and disgust collide within me.

“Boyd, we need—” My words falter as I try to formulate a response, before I can continue, strong arms encircle my waist, pulling me away from Boyd and spinning me around.

I find myself face-to-face with Zayn, his gray eyes blazing with intensity.

His presence instantly transforms the atmosphere, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Hey, baby,” he purrs, his voice low and seductive. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m momentarily frozen, shocked by his sudden appearance and the way he’s acting.

Boyd’s expression shifts from irritation to horror as he takes in the scene before him. “Wait, he’s your boyfriend?” he stammers, his composure slipping.

Zayn ignores him. “Sorry, I’m late,” he murmurs, his arm tightening around my waist possessively as he pulls me closer. I stare at him like he’s grown two heads. What does he think he’s doing?

The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of my dress, igniting a fire within me I struggle to control. My face flames, knowing Boyd is watching this display. It’s the complete opposite of the shudder I feel at Boyd’s touch.

Zayn’s eyes hold mine, some unsaid message in them, when he leans closer, burying his face in my neck. He groans, his hand sliding down my back to grab my ass. My heart races, threatening to burst from my chest as Zayn takes control of the situation in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Zayn,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Play along,” he whispers below my ear, and I barely hear him over the loud music.

He pulls back, brushing his nose against mine gently, and then his hand grips my chin, tilting my face up to his.

I can feel the heat radiating off his body and the scent of his cologne mingling with his natural addictive scent.

It’s intoxicating, and I find myself unable to look away from his piercing gray eyes.

And then, without warning, his lips are on mine.

The kiss is searing, electric, like a bolt of lightning straight to my core. His tongue teases my lower lip seeking entrance, snapping out of my shock at his actions, I grant it willingly, letting myself get lost in the feel of his tongue brushing softly against mine.

When he pulls away, all I can do is stare at him.

“Does that answer your question?” Zayn asks Boyd, who looks utterly baffled.

“Y-yeah,” Boyd stammers, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I guess it does.”

“Good,” Zayn replies, his eyes never leaving mine. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

Boyd hesitates for a moment, then nods, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd. The tension in the room seems to dissipate with his departure, yet my own internal turmoil only grows.

My chest tightens with a strange mix of relief and anger. I feel like a pawn in some twisted game, with Zayn and my father making moves I can’t predict.

“Zayn,” I seethe, my hands balling into fists as I shove his broad chest. “What the fuck?”

His eyes flash dangerously, a storm brewing behind those silver-gray eyes.

“He won’t challenge me for you, Cleo.” There’s a bite to his voice that sends shivers down my spine.

“I made an executive decision. Or if you’d like,” he adds, his lips curling into a feral grin, “I can tell him you’re ripe for the picking. ”

My heart thumps, torn between fury and something else entirely – a dangerous spark of desire. It scares me how attracted I am to this unpredictable Alpha, even as his words set my blood boiling.

“Fuck you,” I spit, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly. “This isn’t some game you can control. This is my life!”

“Believe me, love,” Zayn murmurs, stepping closer until his body brushes against mine. The scent of his cologne threatens to overwhelm my senses, a heady blend of sandalwood and smoke. “I know exactly what’s at stake.”

“Then why would you do that?” I whisper yell, feeling the first tendrils of doubt creeping in. Zayn’s impulsive actions are going to throw me in hot water once again with my father. This will definitely get back to him.

“Because I can’t stand the thought of that prick laying claim to you,” he growls, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me flush against him. My breath catches at the intimate contact, my body betraying me by arching into his touch.

“Zayn,” I breathe, struggling to maintain my anger as I push against his chest.

“Unless you want Boyd coming over and staking his claim against you, you’ll stop pushing me away, Cleo,” he growls in warning before dropping his head lower. “He’s right there. No lovers’ quarrels, you’ll make him think he stands a chance,” Zayn whispers, then grins deviously as he leans closer.

I am about to mention Deacon, when his lips swallow my words, and he groans.

His fingers twist in my hair as he tilts my head back and nips at my lips with his teeth, forcing them to part.

His tongue brushes mine, and I feel the sire bond kick in as a sound—a cross between a whimper and a moan—escapes me.

Zayn chuckles, kissing me deeper, and my tongue brushes his as I kiss him back.

Breathless, Zayn pulls away, his eyes darting behind me, but I don’t look.

“He’s gone,” he states, his lips hovering just above mine. I bite my lip, and Zayn’s hand moves from my hair, his thumb brushing my lip and pulling it from between my teeth. “You’re not married yet, Cleo. And from what I saw, you didn’t seem too keen on the idea.”

My chest heaves with the weight of my emotions, my heart pounding like a war drum. I can’t make sense of what’s happening within me, however I know I need to get away, at least for a moment.

“Zayn,” I say, my voice strained, “I need to get out of here.”

“Sure, come on, I’ll take you to view those tapes,” he replies, his eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion. He leads me toward the security room, his hand on the small of my back, warm and reassuring.

My mind is racing with confusion over how the sire bond affects my feelings toward Zayn, and the uncertainty of the war I might have inadvertently started.

The suspicion of Zayn’s possible sire bond gnaws at me like a relentless itch, clouding my every thought.

Seeing a waiter with another tray of wine, I snatch a glass and down the contents before holding up a finger for him to wait.

Right now, I need something to drown out this sire bond.

I give him the wine glass back when it’s empty, and I grab another.

“Now you can go,” I tell him, and he nods, walking off while Zayn raises an eyebrow at me.

“Didn’t realize that kissing you requires a drink,” he taunts, grabbing my hand and leading me down a hall.

As we enter the security room, the tension between us is thick, the air heavy with unanswered questions. We sit next to each other, our thighs brushing together, sending jolts of electricity through my body.

“Let’s just focus on finding the footage from last night,” Zayn suggests, his voice low and slightly husky. “Maybe it’ll give us some answers.”

The security room’s dim lighting adds to the heavy atmosphere that seems to press down on me.

· · ·

The soft hum of computers and the faint glow of monitors cast eerie shadows across the walls, their silhouettes distorted and ever shifting. My heart races in my chest, anxiety gnawing at my insides as I try to make sense of the chaos in my mind.

“Any luck?” Zayn asks, his voice low and controlled as he speaks with one of the security guards watching over the screens.

“Not yet, Alpha,” the staff member replies, frustration evident in his tone. “I’ve been trying to locate the footage, but it seems to have vanished.”

“Vanished?” I echo, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “How is that even possible?”

“Technical difficulties,” Zayn explains, though it sounds like a weak excuse. “These things happen sometimes. Let me try,” Zayn tells him, stepping forward and holding his hand out. The security guard rummages around on his desk, which seems to be in messy order.

“Here you go, Alpha,” a technician says, handing Zayn a tablet before stepping back to work on one of the computers and trying to pull the footage up.

The whirring of processors forms a quiet hum as he retreats to his computer station, drenched in ghostly blue light.

Fingers dance swiftly over keys in order to coax up missing fragments from last night’s events, his brow furrowed as he searches for the footage.

“Thanks,” Zayn replies, his tone detached.

I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, however I avoid looking at him, focusing instead on the screens around us.

One by one, they display grainy images of the club’s various rooms and corridors, none seem to capture the moment I so desperately need to see.

“Seems like we’re having some technical difficulties with the footage,” Zayn says, handing the tablet back to the technician. “Keep looking, though.”

“Of course, Alpha,” the man replies, nodding before turning back to his task.

“Technical issues, huh?” I mutter, more to myself than to Zayn. My thoughts keep drifting back to the confrontation with Alpha Dane, and the uncertainty of where Deacon might be.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just worried about Deacon,” I admit. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure he’s fine, probably just cooling off somewhere, chilling out with friends,” he tells me.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “We checked with his friends, they haven’t seen him.”