Page 50 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)

Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer brutality that awaited us as we venture back into pack territory.

Approaching the pack gate, a thick haze of smoke from the decimated buildings engulfs us, causing my stomach to plummet to my toes in dread.

Zayn’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight, his knuckles turn bone white, his jaw clenched as we race around the corner toward his territory.

With screeching tires, he brings the car to an abrupt halt in front of the ravaged pack house, and we both leap out, our eyes scanning the destruction.

The sight of twisted debris and charred wood is overwhelming, a haunting reminder of the savagery that has taken place here.

“Zayn!” Andrea’s voice, filled with both relief and anguish, pierces through the eerie silence as Zayn searches for where her voice came from.

We run through piles of debris and charred wood, searching madly for any sign of life, until we finally find her - coughing and wincing in pain.

Andrea’s weary eyes meet Zayn’s as he scoops her up gently in his arms, cradling her fragile form against his chest. Without wasting a moment, he carries her back to his car, her gasps filling the air.

Before she can utter a single word, Zayn’s voice trembles with concern as he demands answers. “Where’s Vance?”

“I don’t know,” Andrea manages to whisper through ragged breaths.

“He was helping guide everyone to the bunkers beneath the packhouse. We… we were ambushed, the doors wouldn’t lock to the bunkers, the power was cut, I had to remain outside to manually lock it.

He was covering me… he…” She stops and scans around her searching for him, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air as we absorb the enormity of the situation and judging by the state of her, she had to have been caught in the fray.

A faint whimper resonates nearby. Zayn rushes toward the sound, and I race to catch up. We find his brother. It wasn’t Vance who emitted that pitiful sound; it was a rogue—one Vance has apprehended and is now dragging back to the packhouse.

“Vance,” he rumbles, voice rough and full of distress. “You okay?” He runs his hands over Vance’s body, feeling for any injuries; he’s covered in blood but none of it appears to be his.

“I caught one, the rest fled, our men have driven them east,” he tells us.

“Well take him down to the basement,” he says calmly, yet there’s an edge to his voice that makes it clear he doesn’t want any arguments. The rogue wails. “Please, I will tell you anything, you don’t need to torture it out of me.”Zayn pauses and looks at Vance. “How many?” he asks Vance.

Vance’s response offers a glimmer of reassurance amidst the chaos. “None. They mainly made a mess, set fire to a few houses, and injured a handful of men. No deaths.”

The man stares at Zayn pleadingly, his face is cut from Vance’s claws, his hair is bloody and matted, and his blue eyes shimmer with fear, a reflection of the terror consuming him.

Through sobs that echo with remorse, the man’s words stumble forth.

“No, not kill. Only scare you,” he manages to choke out.

“It was a warning. He said we only had to scare you all.” His admission hangs in the air, confusing me.

Who ordered them to attack? It could be anyone with Zayn being at war with half the city.

Zayn’s piercing gaze fixates on the mysterious man for a fleeting moment, demanding answers. The air crackles with tension as he demands, “Who?”

The man, his voice trembling with fear, pleads for mercy.

“I don’t know! I was merely given orders.

We were never told his name, only that he is from the small pack on the other side of the city—the one with the snotty blonde woman.

” Silence follows, each syllable of his admission resonating with a deep sense of unease.

Small pack. My father’s pack. The realization hits me like a thunderbolt, and I exchange a wary glance with Zayn. The gravity of the situation dawns upon us both simultaneously.

“Your father!” Zayn’s voice is laced with raw anger. I only feel disbelief. I bite my lip, mirroring his thoughts.

“Please, that is all I know,” the rogue begs, his voice quivering under the weight of his fear. Andrea steps forward, her touch gentle as she rests her hand on Zayn’s arm.

“Zayn, we are not monsters,” she reminds him, her voice carrying a note of compassion as she glances at the rogue man, not with hatred but pity.The look on Zayn’s face betrays an internal struggle, torn between his instincts and the desire to maintain his humanity.

“What reason does he have to lie?” Andrea adds firmly, her eyes searching Zayn’s troubled furious expression.

Zayn’s response is swift and cutting. “Depends on what he was offered for doing this,” he snaps back, his words laced with a bitter skepticism.

The man interjects hurriedly, his voice tinged with desperation.

“Food, he offered us food, the lands are bare this time of the season, nothing left.” My eyes drift over the rogue taking in his emaciated frame.

It also makes me think back to the rogue attacks in the city over the past year—how they’ve gotten worse.

Are things really getting that bad outside the city borders? That desperation is sending them in?

Despite everything I have been taught about rogues—wild and uncontrollable creatures—this man before us appears no different from any other. His appearance is marred by dirt and blood, but his eyes hold a flicker of humanity that defies the stereotypes I’ve been raised to believe.

“Zayn, I think he’s telling the truth,” I whisper and his gaze cuts to me.

“They attacked our pack,” he reminds me.

“We killed no one, no one!” The man sobs and I swallow the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

“They’re starving; you can’t say you wouldn’t have done the same if in his place, especially if you haven’t been in his situation.”

“How can you say that? Your mother was killed by rogues,” he reminds me as if I have forgotten.

“That was different, Zayn, and you know it. This would be different if they killed people but they haven’t; everyone got to the bunkers, and our men pushed them back.

Like he said, no deaths. I thought they were attacking, they could have easily killed me and didn’t.

I was outnumbered once I lost Vance,” Andrea says, glancing at the man.

Zayn averts his gaze, jaw clenching tightly as he considers this. His eyes flick back to the pathetic man before him, who is now shaking in fear, awaiting his fate. I chew my bottom lip trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.

Zayn, however, chooses not to answer Andrea. Instead, he waves one of his men over as they head forward out of the tree line, having driven the rogues out.

“Send out teams to scout the northern borders. Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, increase training sessions with our warriors, and send word to Alpha Greyson of our newest addition please,” he says as he still has a death grip on my hand. I stare up at him in question, remaining silent.

“I don’t want any slip-ups if your father sends more our way,” he says gruffly before turning away, rubbing a hand over his face. The pack member rushes off..

“What about him?” Vance asks. I glance at the rogue.

“Take him inside, I want to be sure before we let him go,” Zayn states and my stomach sinks.

“Zayn?” Vance and Andrea ask simultaneously.

“I want to be sure.” Zayn states leaving no room for argument.

Zayn’s fury at the attack is obvious when Vance and Andrea hesitate; neither of them looks like they want to punish or torture this rogue for information, however Zayn is blinded by his anger. Vance hesitates a second too long, and Zayn moves toward the rogue man, who whimpers and begs again.

Zayn’s grip on the rogue’s arm is ironclad, his knuckles white with tension as he drags him inside the pack house.

The air is thick with Zayn’s menacing aura, and the scent of the rogue’s fear, which emanates from his pores in a thick musk scent.

“Zayn, stop,” I plead, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. “He’s scared, look at him.

Please don’t hurt him, he’s too scared to lie to you! ”

“And that is precisely why he would lie, Cleo! Especially knowing what he says decides if he lives or dies!” I shake my head, racing to catch up to him.

The rogue’s eyes flicker to me, wide and brimming with a raw desperation that clenches my heart. He’s not much older than I am, his face gaunt, dirt smudging his skin like a second layer.

“Please, Zayn,” I urge, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on Zayn’s tattooed forearm, feeling the thrum of power beneath the surface of his skin as his skin ripples. His aura blasts me, and I gasp, my hand dropping, and I nearly do too before he realizes what he did.

“Cleo!” he blurts, letting the man go, who staggers and stumbles onto his knees at the abruptness of Zayn no longer dragging his weight.

“I didn’t mean that,” he murmurs, reaching for me.

I slap his hands away, only for him to lift his hand to the rogue.

“Look what you made me do!” he snarls, about to backhand the poor man, when I move, stepping in front of him. Zayn only just pulls back in time.

“No, you’re letting your anger rule you, stand down, Zayn, or I am leaving!” I growl at him, before covering my mouth with my hands at what I did. Zayn startles at the sound, too.

“Cleo, he…” Zayn starts, pausing as I glare at him.

“Leave him, hunger makes you do crazy things.” I grab the rogue man’s arm and I help him up. He looks at Zayn warily, yet doesn’t move a muscle, using me like a shield. Zayn growls at his hand clutching the back of my shirt. Turning, I push the man toward the kitchen instead of the basement.

“Cleo!” Zayn snarls. “What are you doing?”

“Feeding him!”