Page 55 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)

· Zayn ·

The thumping bass of the club vibrates through me as I push my way through the sea of bodies. The club’s neon lights are a pulsating heartbeat. My wolf, Zarek, snarls beneath my skin, restless, yearning to go back to our mate.

“Zayn!” Vance’s voice cuts through the noise as I reach the bar and order a drink.

His dark hair is a stark contrast against the shimmering backdrop of our club.

I nod at him, signaling to talk in private.

I down the drink in one go, feeling the burn trail down my throat, and the girl behind the bar slides me another one, before I head toward the VIP section upstairs, where my office is.

We weave through the crowd to the quieter back office, the scent of musk and alcohol clinging to the air. Once the door shuts, the sound muffles into a distant throb.

“You alright? You look furious,” Vance says, leaning against the desk. The dim light casts shadows across his concerned face. “What happened?”

I sink into a chair. The weight of my restraint is heavy on my shoulders. “Cleo and I had a fight.” He crosses his arms. “I want her to see the bond for herself. To feel it, to recognize it, without me forcing it upon her.”

Vance raises an eyebrow. “You’re running out of time, Zayn. And she’ll know once she has her wolf, anyway. Why not just tell her? Let the mate bond do its work.” I drink my glass of whiskey.

“Is this about tradition because no one follows tradition anymore? I know Mom liked the idea, but it is unrealistic.” He probes, refilling my glass.

“Partly.” I take a smaller sip this time, letting the whiskey linger on my tongue. “It’s more about respect. Cleo’s been sheltered, kept away from pack politics and wars. She views the world with a purity that’s… rare.”

“Rare or naive?” Vance interjects.

“Both,” I concede. “Which is precisely why I want her to come to me out of love, not obligation or some predestined fate. I want to wait until she accepts the bond because she feels it, truly feels it.”

“You don’t seem convinced. Since when do you care about waiting?

I’m sorry, brother, it sounds more like you’re trying to protect your virtue, not hers,” he laughs.

“Which the entire city knows that’s been gone for a while.

” I chuckle because he’s right, maybe that is why I want to do things differently with Cleo.

If I had known I would find my mate this early in my life, I would have waited for her, too.

“To the rest of the city, it looks like I kidnapped her and turned her against her father, and I’m not stupid.

She questions that herself,” I say, worry edging my voice.

“Her 20th birthday is close. It’s a rite of passage for she-wolves.

She needs to feel the connection organically.

I don’t want her or the cities thinking I claimed her because I sired her, that I forced a mate bond. ”

“She would still recognize her mate if it weren’t you. I don’t get it, a mate bond will always overpower a chosen bond, marked or not.”

I lean back, rolling the empty glass between my hands.

“I know that, I…” I put my head in my hands.

“She has already let me mark her, yet still believes I am rejecting her by not sleeping with her.” Looking at Vance, I see it clearly on his face that he does not understand my reasoning. Now I am starting to doubt it myself.

“Alright, Alpha,” Vance concedes with a sigh. “Just be careful. If your wolf takes over...”

“Zarek is restless, but he understands.” I stand, the scar on my flank pulling slightly—a reminder of battles fought and those yet to come.

“I need to do right by her. By both of us. I want her to mark me when we reach that part, to complete the bond fully; I don’t want to spoil it for her.

It’s how it should be, and I know she won’t mark me until she has her wolf. ”

“Good luck convincing him to be patient until her birthday.”

“He’ll manage,” I say, yet the certainty doesn’t quite make it to my ears.

“Come on, you can drink, and I’ll drop you home afterward. At least then I won’t have to worry about Zarek going crazy on her if you’ve passed out.”

“I have meetings tomorrow. I’ll have a few more, then I should head back.”He nods, sliding the bottle of whiskey over to me.

· · ·

CLEO

THE CLATTER of pots and pans echoes through the empty kitchen as I rummage for the right skillet.

The sharp scent of rosemary and thyme fills the air, a fragrant attempt to mask the tension that still lingers from the fight with Zayn.

My hands shake a little as I place the pan on the stove, the flame springing to life with a click and whoosh.

I’m not the best cook—I know that—but it’s the gesture that counts, right?

A peace offering in the form of a cooked meal since that is the only thing I can possibly offer him.

The silence in our home is suffocating, each tick of the clock stretching the distance between us.

Zayn could walk through that door at any moment, or he might stay away until morning.

There’s no telling when he’ll return, and I feel worse knowing he left his own house to get away from me.

My fingers fumble with a tomato, slicing it more clumsily than I’d like to admit. I wish I could slice away the regret just as easily, peel back the layers of our last conversation, and start fresh.

The sizzle of garlic in the pan is a small victory as I toss in the chopped vegetables. I hover over the stove, stirring with more vigor than necessary.

I let out a deep breath, as the steam dances upward, mingling with the fading daylight. My thoughts drift to Zayn, his touch, a lingering promise of raw passion and untamed desire, always leaves me aching for more and also distracts me from the task at hand.

The sizzle of the pan escalates too quickly, the pan catching on fire, the scent of charred meat and vegetables replacing the rich aroma I had intended, and I race to shut the stove off and try to rescue the steaks; the flames rise higher.

I drop it in the sink, turning the tap on.

My heart sinks as I peek into the skillet—my attempt at a perfect steak, now an overcooked slab, blackened beyond recognition.

With a frustrated groan, I slide it into the trash.

Grabbing a tea towel, I open the sliding door off the side of the kitchen that leads outside and try to waft the smoke outside, hoping not to set off the fire alarms.

Thankfully, they don’t go off, but now I am left with attempting to find something else to cook.

“Damn it,” I mutter, scouring the freezer for anything else suitable, it’s mostly roasts, which need to be thawed, or meats I don’t recognize, but they certainly aren’t steak.

Wait—the basement.

I remember there’s another freezer down there, probably stocked with something salvageable, and I make a beeline for the door leading downstairs.

Mid-step, my phone buzzes alive with Zayn’s ringtone—a flutter of relief that has butterflies swarming my belly, knowing he can’t hate me if he is calling. I fumble for the device, answering the call with a quick swipe.

“Hey,” I breathe out, anticipation knotting my stomach.

“Cleo.” Zayn’s voice is a soothing balm laced with regret. “I…I’m sorry about earlier. That shouldn’t have happened.”

My chest warms at his words, and I quickly apologize. “It’s okay. I’m making dinner—as a truce?”

“Truce accepted,” he says, a soft chuckle vibrating through the line. “I’m on my way home. Vance is driving me. Apparently, he doesn’t want me driving since I had a few drinks.”

“You’re drunk?” I ask him while feeling for the light on the wall.

“No, but he insisted. Just… don’t set the place on fire while you’re at it.”

I laugh despite my culinary mishap moments ago. “No promises,” I reply, playful yet sincere. “But I’ll try for your sake.”

“Good,” he murmurs, and I can hear the smile in his voice, those silver eyes surely glinting with mirth. “I’ll be home soon; we are just pulling up at the gates now.”

As I find the light switch, I step onto the cool concrete steps of the basement, and I focus on the task at hand.

“So, what are you cooking?” Zayn asks.

“I have no idea yet,” I laugh.

The chill of the basement wraps around me like a cold embrace as I make my way to the old freezer tucked in the corner. The scent of damp earth mingles with the anticipation of Zayn’s return, igniting a fire within me that contrasts sharply with the frigid air.

Boxes are stacked on top of the freezer, and I quickly remove them, setting them down.

“Hang on a second; I need to set the phone down,” I murmur to Zayn, a smile playing on my lips.

My fingers wrap around the freezer’s handle, and I pull it open with a decisive tug.

“Just put me on speaker; at least then I will hear the fire alarm go off.” I laugh softly into the emptiness, thinking of Zayn’s playful warning.

The icy breath from the freezer hits my face as I peer inside, searching for something to salvage this dinner disaster.

But the laughter dies in my throat, a gasp escaping me instead.

My eyes widen, and my heart hammers against my rib cage—a primal drum of shock and fear.

There, beneath a bag of frozen peas I just moved, lies a body—pale, stiff, unmistakably human.

“Cleo? Are you there?” Zayn asks, and I snatch up the phone.

“Zayn, yeah, I am—” My voice cracks, and he cuts me off. At the same time, I can’t take my eyes off the horror in front of me.

“Hey, I just pulled up. You better not be burning down the kitchen again,” he teases through the phone.

I drop the phone; it clatters on the concrete floor, the sound echoing in the hollow space. My gaze is locked onto the body, onto the familiar features now frosted over. It’s Deacon. My Deacon, who disappeared without a trace, is now found in the most horrific place imaginable.

Why is he here, in Zayn’s basement, frozen and lifeless, hidden in the depths of this chilling chamber?

His once vibrant eyes are now glazed over, his skin a ghostly pallor, besides the blood and bruising that paints his skin.

The frozen stiffness of his limbs tells a haunting tale of his final moments, which seemed brutal because of the amount of blood covering his body like frozen icicles.

Why is he here?

The realization slams into me, leaving no room for doubt.

When I remember Zayn’s callous words over the last couple of months.

How he seemed unfazed by Deacon’s disappearance, sure he didn’t like Deacon, thinking back he did almost seem mocking of it.

This was Zayn’s doing. A dark, twisted betrayal disguised by the man who claimed to want to be my mate.

He knew all along where he was. He knew and even helped me put up missing posters when his body was here all this time.

Zayn’s actions were not only callous, but malicious and deceptive - a deliberate attempt to manipulate me into believing Deacon had run away, despite knowing the truth all along.

My knees buckle, and I collapse beside the phone, my mind racing and my heart splintering.

The world tilts and the shadows of the basement seem to close in around me, suffocating, as the truth claws its way through my shattered illusions.

When I hear the car outside pulling up, I know I need to get out of here.

The weight of betrayal, the gut-wrenching realization I have been deceived by the one person I thought I could trust, threatens to consume me.

Forcing myself to my feet, tears stream down my face as the full weight of my foolishness and the magnitude of Zayn’s betrayal hits me.

I feel like a puppet, manipulated and used by someone I loved and trusted.

My mind swirls with a mix of anger, grief, and disgust. How could I have been so blind?

Lydia was right all along, and I foolishly ignored her warnings.

Now those same warnings echo in my mind, haunting me with the truth I had refused to see.

The realization that Zayn used me, manipulated me, hits me like a tidal wave, leaving me questioning everything he has ever said or done.

The depth of his deception is beyond comprehension, and I wonder what else he has lied about.

My heart clenches with the realization that I may not have truly known him at all.

The foundation of trust we built is shattered, and I’m left wondering what else he has lied about and what other secrets he’s hiding.

All this time, while I’ve wondered where Deacon was, he was right under the very house I have been in and I have fooled around with his murderer all this time. Disgust washes over me.

The evidence was there, I just didn’t want to believe it.

Now, I question everything Zayn has ever told me.

The chill of the basement is nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins as I stare at Deacon’s lifeless form, his face pale and haunting beneath the frost as I slam the freezer door shut, looking for another exit frantically.

Panicked, I realize the only way out is up the stairs right next to the front door.

“Cleo!?” I hear him call out upstairs before hearing the door shut. “Your phone must have cut out,” he yells out before everything falls silent.

As I stand frozen in the basement, my heart pounds like a relentless drumbeat.

The air is heavy with betrayal and my mind races.

Fear grips me as I realize I am trapped, caught in a web of lies and deceit.

Every fiber of my being screams for escape, yet I am paralyzed by the weight of what I have discovered.

The suffocating darkness of the basement mirrors the suffocating grip that Zayn had on my heart, and I wonder if I will ever truly be free from his manipulation.

“Cleo?” There is nervousness in his voice this time, when I hear the door to the basement creak, and I know I’ve been caught.