Page 77 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)
· Cleo ·
The murmur of voices stir me from my sleep, and I blink away the remnants of sleep, reaching for consciousness with a languorous stretch.
My eyes crack open to the dimly lit room, where the dawn’s early light hasn’t quite yet removed the night’s shadowy clutches.
The bed beside me is empty, and the sheets are cool.
A subtle pang of panic flutters in my chest when I don’t feel Zayn beside me, my mind believing it was all a dream I’d conjured up.
Rolling onto my side, I realize I am not in my room but his; I squint through the half-open balcony doors where Alpha Zayn stands, his broad frame outlined against the awakening sky.
His tattooed arms ripple slightly as he heatedly speaks into the phone that is on loudspeaker, his eyes scanning the pack grounds.
A split second later, I notice Vance, his dark hair tousled from sleep or stress, I’m unsure.
He leans against the balcony railing, his hand under his chin as he listens to Zayn speak angrily into the phone.
My ears strain to listen, and I manage to catch my father’s voice, making me pinch my brows in confusion.
“Alpha Greyson’s. Yes, it has to be there,” Zayn’s voice carries faintly, laced with an authority that never fails to send a shiver down my spine.
“I’ve already spoken with him; he has agreed to be observant and not pass judgment, Joseph.
Meet me there or don’t. You’re lucky I am even giving you an out right now; if you weren’t her father, you’d be dead by now. ”
What is going on? My heart tightens, anxiety creeping along my skin like tendrils of morning mist. What is Zayn organizing?
“Fine, I swear, Zayn, any funny business and we’ll come to blows,” comes the gruff reply through the phone, unmistakably my father’s voice. My father – a man whose decisions weigh heavily on my reality. Their alliance, however fragile, has me caught in the middle.
Zayn ends the call, and for a moment, silence follows. It is a heavy, expectant silence. The kind that precedes a storm. Zayn and Vance speak, their words hushed. I strain to listen, to piece together the fragments of their conversation.
“Are you certain?” Zayn’s question slices through the quiet, his gaze fixed on Vance.
“Absolutely, I can do it; I just need to get in there,” Vance responds. They stand close. Heads bowed, discussing matters meant only for their ears. My intuition screams that whatever they are planning bodes a significant change that will ripple through our lives and will affect me.
“And if Greyson is correct?” Vance asks. Zayn is silent for a moment. “This will upset her,” Vance adds.
“And I will deal with it then,” Zayn says, making me certain that whatever they are speaking of, I am going to be caught in the middle.
My mind pieces together bits of overheard phrases, hints of secrecy, and unspoken tensions. It’s clear I’m not privy to their full intentions. And while part of me wants to leap out of bed, to confront them and demand inclusion, another part recoils, fearing the truth behind Vance’s words.
Whatever they’re hiding holds the power to alter the delicate balance of our world.
The thought leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable despite the strength I feel through the bond coming off Zayn.
He seems so certain, and confident in what he is doing that I need to trust whatever it is and that he won’t put our bond at risk.
Yet here I am, surrounded by uncertainty, a watcher to my own life’s unfolding drama.
I blink away the remnants of sleep, pushing myself up on my elbows. The crisp morning air carries their words through the slightly ajar balcony door. Zayn’s voice is low, and a growl is threading under his words, which cuts off the moment he notices movement inside the room.
Their eyes meet mine, and the conversation dies. A charged silence fills the space between us as I search their faces for answers.
“What are you talking about?” My voice is steady despite the thudding of my heart against my ribs. They exchange a glance that tells me everything—I’m not supposed to know.
“Work stuff,” Vance says too quickly, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he avoids my gaze.
Zayn steps back into the room and comes closer, his eyes locking onto mine.
“We’re just sorting out some pack matters.”
I’m not fooled. The tension in his shoulders speaks volumes, betraying the lie. “You’re meeting with Alpha Greyson. And my father,” I press, piecing together the fragments from earlier.
Zayn hesitates before nodding, the ghost of a frown creasing his brow. “Yes, Greyson is going to mediate a discussion between your father and me.”
“Then I should be there.” The words tumble out. He shakes his head, the scar on his flank pulling tight as he crosses his tattooed arms.
“No, Cleo. It’s better if you stay here.”
“Zayn—” He cuts me off with a look, one that sends shivers down my spine and not from desire.
The refusal stings, a bitter taste in my mouth. Excluded, left behind. I’m his mate, yet I’m being pushed to the sidelines and left in the dark. But I know I can trust Zayn.
My fingers clench into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms. “Zayn,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t understand why I can’t be there. This involves me, too.” My hands tremble slightly, betraying my attempt at composure.
He stops short, just by the foot of our bed, and turns to face me.
The intensity in his gaze pins me down more effectively than any physical restraint.
“Cleo,” he says, his tone softening as he approaches, “this meeting, I can’t have you there, love.
Old grudges and power plays. I need you safe here. ”
“Safe,” I echo, bitterness seeping through. My thoughts spiral, and I imagine my father and Zayn caught in a snarl of aggression, each word a potential spark for conflict.
“Hey,” Zayn’s voice pulls me back, his strong yet gentle hands capturing mine. He leans down, his breath warm against my cheek. “I promise I won’t let it come to blows with your father. Greyson is neutral ground. We’ll sort this out.”
I search his eyes, looking for the certainty I feel slipping through my fingers.
“Zayn, if anything happens to you or my dad…” The words choke me, fear wrapping around my throat like a vice.
“Nothing will. I’m not going there to fight with your father.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. I want to believe him; every fiber of my being screams to trust in the bond we share. Yet doubt lurks like a shadow, cold and persistent. “What if—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down to capture mine in a searing kiss that stirs the depths of my soul, silencing the turmoil within. His taste, wild and intoxicating, burns my lips before Vance clears his throat awkwardly, reminding me we aren’t alone.
Zayn pulls back, a silly smirk on his face.
“Yeah, I don’t want to see that. Especially now I know she is my half-sister.” Vance states, and I shudder at the reminder.
“I think that may take some time to get used to or wrap my head around,” I admit.
Vance snorts. “Definitely.” I turn my attention back to Zayn.
“Let me handle this,” Zayn says as he pulls away, his breath hitching with the same need that courses through my veins. “Stay here, where I know you’re safe. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay,” I breathe out, the word heavy with the weight of my concession. “I’ll stay.”
His relief is palpable, the tension releases as he nods, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from my face. “Thank you.”
As he stands, I curl up beneath the sheets, intending to sleep until he returns. The door closes behind him, leaving me enclosed in the silence of our bedroom, I find I won’t be getting any sleep with the restless energy coursing through me now.
I must have eventually found enough calm to fall asleep, however, because the next sensation is the harsh light of midday streaming through the windows and the distant sound of yelling.
For a moment, I lie still, tangled in the sheets, my mind clinging to the remnants of a dream where Zayn’s silver eyes held me captive as I writhed beneath him.
It takes seconds for reality to seep in, cold and unwelcome, and I groan at my ruined dreaming, wishing I could jump back into the same place.
“Kids,” I mumble groggily to myself, hearing the yelling of the pack’s children playing outside, their voices piercing through the tranquility of my dream I wish I were still in.
Sweat coats my skin from the sun’s harsh light blaring through the window onto the bed.
I drag a pillow over my head, trying to force myself back to sleep.
Even that does nothing to drown out the noise.
With a huff, I toss the pillow, kick the sheet off, and sit up.
As I rub sleep from my eyes and push back the golden strands of hair from my face, unease settles in my stomach as the yelling gets louder.
Something feels wrong; the air is charged with an energy that doesn’t belong to playful shrieks or innocent games, and it takes me a second to realize those aren’t yells or screams of play.
The yelling intensifies, and I rush to the window, my heart pounding a panicked rhythm against my rib cage. The sight that greets me steals the breath from my lungs – it’s not kids. It’s chaos.
“Rogues?” The question dies on my lips as I press my palm against the cool glass, witnessing the onslaught of violence unraveling across Zayn’s territory.
Members of our pack are scrambling, their forms shifting between human and wolf as they defend against the attackers, while women and children run behind the packhouse toward the bunkers.
“No, no, no,” I gasp under my breath, panic threading through each syllable. My gaze darts frantically, searching for Zayn among the flurry of bodies and snapping jaws, but he’s nowhere to be seen. How could they have caught us off guard? How could his territory be breached like this again?