Page 81 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)

Just then, as I reach the top step, the corridor ahead reveals more surprises.

Lydia emerges, clinging to Boyd’s brother with an intimacy that speaks of more than mere acquaintance.

They’re laughing, lost in their private joy until Lydia’s eyes find mine.

Her smile momentarily wavers, then brightens artificially as she approaches.

“Can you believe it, sis?” Lydia exclaims, pulling me into an awkward hug. “I’m so thrilled to be one of your bridesmaids tomorrow!”

I return her hug stiffly. “What are you doing here, Lydia?”

“Oh, silly, your wedding of course,” she laughs, releasing me to gesture at Boyd’s brother, who watches us with a curious tilt of his head. “Besides, I told you the other week about how we could still be sisters… I’m marrying Boyd’s brother, remember!”

Her announcement spins in my head like a carousel too fast to grasp. It makes a grotesque kind of sense now, the pieces slotting together, yet no one mentioned Lydia was also being forced to marry too which by the look on her face she isn’t as excited as her words make her out to be.

Alpha Dane claps his hands, drawing attention as he joins us.

“And with Lydia marrying into the family, we’ll take this city by storm.

Alpha Samuel will make an official announcement tomorrow, right after your wedding,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and satisfaction.

It clicks—a grim realization of how deep Samuel is tied into this plot, too, how entangled everyone is in Dane’s ambitious scheme.

The realization leaves a sour taste in my mouth. As I nod mechanically to Dane’s explanations, my father remains silent beside me, his eyes I can’t quite read.

“Everything is falling into place, Cleo,” Dane murmurs, his voice smooth like oil over water. “Tomorrow will be a day to remember.”

As he leads us further into the depths of the packhouse, my heart pounds. Maya’s presence here isn’t just a coincidence; it can’t be. Something is going on. Alpha Dane leads me to a room at the end of the corridor before shoving me inside.

“Get some sleep. Hair and makeup will be here around 8 AM,” Alpha Dane tells me, and my eyes go to my father behind him.

“Come, Joseph; I have your suit arranged. You finally get to give your little girl away. How exciting.” Alpha Dane tells him as he shuts my door and locks it.

Locked in the room they’ve designated as mine for the night, the silence is oppressive, stifling.

Fatigue battles with adrenaline, urging me to rest, but the storm inside me rages too fiercely.

“Zayn,” I whisper, knowing he won’t answer, feeling the void where our connection should be. I press my palm against the cool windowpane, the moon’s silver glow a spectral caress. Sleep is a distant dream, and I lie down with a heavy heart, praying for a miracle, for Zayn to have a plan.

Because as the lock clicked into place, sealing my fate, I realized the true depth of my entrapment. And yet, beneath the fear and betrayal, a spark of defiance remains—a burning ember that refuses to be extinguished, and I hold onto the hope that Zayn will find a way out of this mess.

The plush comfort of the bed mocks me as I perch on the edge, my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.

I reach out with the mindlink, seeking that familiar tether to Zayn, but it’s like grasping air—nothing but empty space where his presence should be as he blocks me out.

All I’m met with is an echo of silence, a wall around his thoughts.

It’s as if he’s deliberately keeping me out.

A sudden noise snaps me from my head, the sound of the door handle turning. I spring to my feet, expecting a maid or perhaps Alpha Dane with more threats or twisted reassurances. Instead, Boyd steps through, a smug curve to his lips as he closes the door with a definitive click of the lock.

“Are you here to gloat?” The words come out sharper than I intend, my voice hard with suppressed fear and anger.

Boyd smiles, that infuriatingly self-assured grin that makes my skin crawl. “Why would I gloat, Cleo? This is just… necessary arrangements.”

Necessary arrangements. His words are bile in my throat, a reminder of the wedding preparations I saw outside, of the twisted future being forced upon me.

“Arrangements that involve locking me in, apparently,” I snap, folding my arms over my chest, trying to shield myself from the reality of my situation—and from him.

“Precautionary measures,” he clarifies, his eyes scanning me like I’m a prize to be claimed. Panic rises in me, sharp and acrid, as he takes a step closer. Instinctively, I retreat until the small stand by the window juts into my back, sending a vase teetering precariously.

“Careful now,” Boyd chides mockingly. “Wouldn’t want to break anything before the big day.”

“My father had to clean up quite the mess you made, Cleo,” he continues, encroaching on what little space I have left between us. “The embarrassment you caused me by running off with that mutt…”

His words are like claws raking down my spine, each one a reminder of the power he believes he holds over me.

“Zayn is not a mutt,” I retort, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and worry of why he is in here in the first place.

“Isn’t he?” Boyd’s tone drips with venom, and I can feel the heat of his breath as he leans in. His proximity is suffocating, his intentions clear as daylight.

“Don’t touch me,” I warn, but my voice lacks conviction, muffled by the rapid drumming of my heart. The vase behind me wobbles again, and I realize it could be the only defense between me and whatever Boyd plans next.

“Or what, Cleo?” he taunts, eyes glinting with malice. “You’ll shatter a vase over my head?”

The thought had crossed my mind, yet the cold look in his eyes tells me he’s not above using force. And right now, drugged and unable to shift, I’m at a disadvantage. It’s a vulnerability that terrifies me—a lamb among wolves.

“Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be,” Boyd murmurs, his voice a silken threat. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to lash out against this injustice, however I’m acutely aware of how alone I am in this room with him.

“Zayn will come for me,” I say, though it sounds more like I’m trying to convince myself. “He won’t let you do this. I won’t marry you.”

“Ah, but he’s not here, is he?” Boyd’s cruel smile widens. “And by the time he could even try to save you, you’ll already be mine.” The word ‘mine’ echoes in the room.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” I quip, attempting to veil my panic with a light tone. It’s a feeble attempt to steer his intentions elsewhere, to delay whatever is brewing behind that predatory smile of his.

“Bad luck?” Boyd scoffs, closing the gap between us until I can feel the oppressive heat of his body. “You believe all that superstitious crap?” His fingers ghost over my arms, and I can’t suppress the shiver of revulsion that courses through me.

“Boyd, don’t,” I rasp out, but my plea seems only to embolden him.

“Come now, Cleo, we’re going to be husband and wife. Might as well get comfortable with each other.” There’s a dark promise in his voice, making my skin crawl.

I bite back a scream when he leans in, his lips puckering for a kiss I’d rather die than receive. At the last moment, he pulls away, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“Please,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice, laced with a fear so potent it tastes like bile.

“Please? Such manners. No need to beg.” His hand moves swiftly, tearing at the fabric of my dress.

Adrenaline spikes through my veins, and instinctively, my hand shoots out to the vase still teetering on the edge of the stand.

With a swift motion, I grasp it and bring it down onto his head.

The porcelain shatters, shards flying like deadly confetti as Boyd staggers back, hissing in pain.

A thin line of blood trickles down from a gash on his face, marring his arrogant features.

“Damn you!” he snarls, fury igniting in his eyes.

In retaliation, he slashes out with his claws, and I’m too slow to evade.

Agony sears across my cheek as his nails rake deep furrows into my flesh.

Blood, warm and wet, slides down my face when his fist connects with the side of my head.

My ears ring loudly, and the ground suddenly rushes toward my face.

“Boyd!” I cry out in pain, clutching at my wounded face, feeling the sticky warmth pooling in my hands and on the floor. “You are a monster! How could you do that?” I snap at him. I press my fingers to my face, the wounds not healing, the gashes deep as blood gets in my eyes and mouth.

“Because I can,” he sneers, the malice in his tone chilling me to the core. “And because soon, you’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of despair. Beneath the fear and the pain, I feel a flicker. I feel Zarek press against the bond, and his rage slivers through me. When Boyd reaches for me again, I fight back, no matter how futile it is.

Boyd slaps me, and I stare dazedly for a second when he slams my head into the floor. I groan, and he tears my clothes further. I scream for my father, and he clamps a hand over my mouth.

I try to scream for my father once more, coughing as my mouth fills with the metallic tang of blood, my own and Boyd’s.

It coats my tongue and my throat, a bitter taste that only adds to the horror of the situation.

The weight of Boyd’s body pressing against mine, his hand suffocating me as I struggle to breathe before my underwear is ripped away.

As the world begins to spin, my senses dull beneath the terrifying reality that Boyd is about to violate me, I grasp desperately for Zarek at the other end of our bond. It’s more a sensation than anything else, a reach into the darkness for a familiar presence.

I bite down hard on Boyd’s hand and taste his filthy blood flood my mouth.

He howls in pain, giving me a moment’s reprieve.

He is larger and stronger. His eyes glow with a sickening intent that churns my stomach when I notice his wolf is forward when he slaps me.

I try to scream, and his hand quickly retakes position over my mouth when I hear a creak.

At first, I think it is the door, but I can’t turn my head to see.

That is forgotten when his hand covers my nose too, cutting my air off.

With his free hand, he reaches to undo his pants, and I can feel his sickening desire creeping over my skin, even through his rough touch. His fingers dance on the edge of my core as I scream internally for Zayn, for anyone to save me from this monstrosity.

All of a sudden, there is a growl so low and guttural it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Boyd stiffens on top of me, and his claws retract – an involuntary response echoed as he turns to see who’s in the room with us.

The pressure on me disappears in an instant as Boyd’s body lurches sideways, crashing onto the floor with a thud that shakes the wooden panels beneath us. Gasping for breath, it takes me a moment to fully realize what has happened.

A silhouette stands above us. Lydia, her chest heaving and her eyes wild with fear and anger.

Her hand grips a brass lamp; its base is now dented from the impact against Boyd’s skull.

Her lips pull back into a snarl as she swings again at Boyd, who is slowly regaining consciousness. This time, she knocks him out cold.

Lydia stands, breathing heavily, the lamp clutched like a lifeline in her shaking hands. I push myself up on trembling arms, my mind racing as I try to make sense of her actions. She’s the last person I expected to come to my rescue, and confusion clouds my gratitude.

“Why?” I choke out, my voice raspy from fear. “Why would you help me?”

Lydia’s eyes flick over to me. She tosses the lamp aside with a clatter that echoes ominously in the room. “Keep your friends close, Cleo, and your enemies closer, right?”

I frown, still wary. “I don’t believe that’s all there is to it. Why did you really help me, Lydia?” My voice hardens, pressing for the truth I’m sure she’s withholding.

She smirks, a cold, humorless twist of her lips. “I know Zayn will come for you. When he does, make sure he takes out Boyd’s brother, too. I’m not marrying that bastard.” Her voice is laced with venom, and her eyes glint with a mix of anger and desperation.

Her admission sends a chill down my spine, revealing a web of plots and counterplots even I hadn’t fully grasped. “You’d risk everything, just to avoid marriage, too?” I ask, my voice a whisper of disbelief.

Lydia steps closer, her eyes flashing with an intensity that pins me in place.

“You think you’re the only one being married off to cement some damn alliance?

” Her voice is a hiss. “When my father told me I had to marry that prick to secure my own pack instead of letting me marry my mate and claim my birthright, I told him to get fucked. I was planning on stealing yours, but your father had to make his own deal with the devil, didn’t he? Now we’re both stuck.”

“So Deacon?”

“Yes, Deacon. We had it all planned until I learned of your marriage to Boyd,” she spits.

She kicks at Boyd’s unconscious body with a look of disgust. “I’m not going to be some Claymore bitch.” Lydia’s gaze meets mine, fierce and unyielding. “So when Zayn comes for you—and he will come—remember this moment.”

Her words hang heavy in the air between us, a stark reminder of our shared plight under the manipulations of our fathers.

“Deal?” Lydia extends her hand, not as a friend, but as a co-conspirator in a game neither of us wanted to play.

I hesitate, the gravity of her proposal settling in. Then, with a slow nod, I take her hand. “Deal.”

Her grip is firm as she rips me to my feet. We may not be allies in the truest sense, but in this twisted dance of power at the moment, we have found a common ground for now. That doesn’t mean I have forgotten everything else she has done.

“Now, help me toss his ass off the balcony; they’ll think he’s drunk,” she tells me, and I glance at the door leading to the balcony. I am about to ask how, since it’s locked, when she jingles the keys. “Don’t even ask what I had to do to get these,” she growls.

“Wasn’t gonna,” I say as she unlocks the door, and I grab his feet.