Page 25 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter twenty-three

Broken Oaths

SERA

I ’m shackled to a fake rock on a dusty movie set, wrists and ankles bound in silver-laced chains that burn against my skin. The metal hums with dampening magic, its sting ever-present—a cold, buzzing ache that crawls beneath my skin and presses against my magic like a lid on a boiling pot.

Around me, Bode’s wolf paces in tight, agitated circles. His eyes gleam in the afternoon light, ears flicking at every sound. The rest of the pack stands guard nearby, still in human form but coiled tight with tension.

This was always a risk. The revelation spell—of course it could end like this.

With chains, silver, failure clawing down my spine.

I saw the possibility, even as I lit the match.

I had planned for capture. Had invited it, in a way.

But not like this. Not with Noah caught in the middle.

That’s the part I didn’t anticipate. That’s the part I can’t forgive myself for.

My head throbs as I close my eyes and try to focus. I summon a vision—not a spell, just instinct and desperation. I see Noah. His wolf form, sleek and powerful, fighting his way through the woods. Blood on his flank. Teeth bared. Determined.

My chest aches. No. He can’t come. It’s a trap. I reach for the magic still simmering deep inside and cast a warding spell, one last attempt to blur my trail, to shroud myself from his senses.

I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know if I have enough left to overcome the effect of the iron.

For now, I lean in. I have to. Until I can turn the tables. Until I can bring Bode down from the inside—or burn him from the outside. But until then, I act the part he cast me in.

He approaches—massive, monstrous, fur thick with dust and sweat. He steps close, too close, and brushes his snout against my cheek. “How can you take me,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my heart, “when I’ve already imprinted on another?”

Bode’s wolf laughs, a low growl that vibrates through my skeleton. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s been done in the Lunaris line," I hear in my bones.

I flinch on the inside but keep my face passive. “On guard,” I whisper, casting a mental shield to block any probing thoughts.

He lowers himself beside me and rubs his neck against mine, the scent overwhelming—feral, intoxicating, too close to Noah’s. I cling to that overlap, use it as armor to help me deliver the performance of my life.

“I’m glad,” I murmur, forcing softness into my voice. “I’ve wanted you since we met at the grocery store. I just thought… it was too late.”

He wags his tail and bites my neck lightly, a possessive gesture meant to mock a mate’s mark. I let him. I play the role.

He howls, signaling his twisted version of victory.

Later that night after Bode has shifted back into his human form, he carries me—yes, carries me—to a cabin near the edge of the set. It’s surreal. The courtship, the pretense of romance. I keep my body distant but let my words tease just enough to keep him talking.

He dreams of power. Of dominance. Of using me—my magic—to control the pack, to rise as some kind of new alpha king. He speaks in half-truths and veiled threats, but I catch enough between the lines.

He thinks Noah is weak. A throwaway. That thought alone nearly sets me off. My fire stirs, dangerously close to the surface, but I rein it in. I need to keep my cover.

I scan the cabin with every pass—doors, locks, possible weapons

I see jewelry for the shoots, film dailies scattered across a cluttered desk, and a stack of heavily annotated scripts marked with strange glyphs in the margins—wards, I think, or incantations disguised as director’s notes.

There’s a corkboard above the desk with photos pinned to it– people.

Familiar faces. Agent Leighton, Marcus, Captain Green, Noah.

Even me. Red thread connects some of the pictures like a deranged conspiracy web.

A map sits beneath it all, charred at the edges.

I recognize the dots marked in permanent black ink—arson sites. Burn scars across the Bitterroot.

On the table closest to the kitchenette, there’s a half-burned notebook left open. I glance at it when Bode turns to refill his drink. Phrases jump out—“controlled ignition,” “flame response to blood,” and “threshold test complete.”

He’s been experimenting.

And then there’s the camera equipment—dozens of SD cards tossed in a tin, unlabeled. If he’s documenting everything, there might be proof buried in the footage. Evidence. Confessions. Or worse.

This place isn’t just a hideout.

It’s his lab.

His shrine.

His war room—holy, haunted, and humming with the kind of dark ambition that crawls under the skin and makes your blood forget how to behave.

And I’m stuck in the center of it.

But when I press for too many details, his eyes sharpen. His mood shifts.

I ease off, keep it light. He can’t know I’m FBI, which means my FBI skills must be kept under wraps...for now. I walk the line. Flirtation and caution. Close enough to fool him. Far enough to keep him from triggering the final bond.

He’s growing impatient. As his frustration mounts, so does the danger.

I can feel the storm coming.

And I know I’ll have to weather it alone.

Time passes in slow motion. I feel myself drift in and out of consciousness.

Noah appears like a ghost from the shadows, silent and furious, grabbing me the moment we’re alone in the cabin–rough and real and shaking.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he growls. “I felt you call me.”

We collide, mouths crashing together with desperate heat. His hands roam over me, searching for injuries, reassurance, anything to ground himself. My fingers knot in his shirt. I don’t care about the danger or the cameras or the blood in the air. I need him. Here. Now.

Clothes are shed in frantic pulls. We fall back onto the bed just out of reach of the fire.

Our bodies meet with a hunger born of fear and longing.

Every thrust is a vow. Every gasp, a plea.

I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, anchoring him to this moment before the world burns us both.

“Noah,” I breathe against his lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he whispers.

His lips silence my apology, his kiss fierce and demanding.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me tighter against him, our bodies moving in a rhythm that's both urgent and deliberate.

I feel his need, a burning intensity that matches my own.

He rolls his hips, slow and deliberate, each movement a tantalizing promise.

I arch into him, craving more, my nails digging into his back.

The cabin around us fades into obscurity—the flickering fire, the shadows cast by the cameras, the faint scent of smoke—all of it blurs as Noah’s presence consumes me.

His kiss is a storm, his tongue demanding entry, tasting me like he’s starving and I’m his only sustenance.

I melt into him, my legs trembling as I wrap them around his waist, urging him closer.

His muscular frame presses against me, his wolf tattoo a reminder of the primal force beneath his skin.

He teases, withdrawing slightly, only to thrust deeper, hitting a spot that makes me cry out.

My breath catches, my body arching involuntarily as pleasure spirals through me.

“Close,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, my breath hot against his ear.

His growl vibrates against my skin, a sound that’s both animalistic and tender.

His hands guide me, his pace quickening, urging me higher, closer to the edge.

But just as I’m about to shatter, he slows.

His lips trail down my neck, his breath hot and heavy, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, his control a stark contrast to the desperation in his touch.

I whimper, my body aching, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need.

He pulls back slightly, his gold eyes locking onto mine, dark with desire and something deeper—something I can’t quite name.

His hands roam over me, possessive yet reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every mark our magic has left on my skin.

The glowing sigils on my body pulse faintly, responding to his touch, a silent reminder of the bond we share.

“Please,” I plead, my voice breaking, my body trembling on the edge of release.

He smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes, and I know he’s enjoying my desperation. “Patience, Sera,” he says, his tone teasing yet commanding. He shifts, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider, exposing me fully to his gaze. His breath hitches as he takes in the sight, his hunger palpable.

He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his words a whisper that sends a jolt of anticipation through me. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “But not yet.”

His mouth trails lower, his kisses soft and deliberate, a stark contrast to the urgency of moments before. He nips at my collarbone, his teeth grazing my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his touch, craving more.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against my skin. “Impatient,” he teases, his lips brushing against my throat. “But that’s what I love about you.”

His hands roam lower, his fingers tracing the curves of my body, his touch both gentle and demanding. He teases me, his fingers brushing against my core, his thumb circling the spot that’s aching for his touch. I gasp, my body bucking against his hand, my breath coming in short, desperate pants.

“Please,” I whimper, my voice a plea, my body on the brink.

He chuckles, his breath hot against my skin, his fingers stilling. “Not yet,” he repeats, his voice a low growl. “I want to draw this out, make you beg for it.”

His words send a fresh wave of desire through me, my body trembling with anticipation.

He shifts, his mouth moving lower, his kisses trailing down my body, his tongue teasing, his teeth nipping.

I squirm, my body arching into his touch, my breath catching as he teases me, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from where I need him most.

“I can’t–,” I gasp, my voice a desperate plea.

He chuckles, his breath hot against my skin, his fingers tracing patterns on my thighs. “You can,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “And you will. But not yet.”

His words are a promise, a threat, a tantalizing tease that leaves me trembling on the edge, my body aching, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need. I’m suspended in a state of exquisite tension, my breath coming in short, desperate pants, my body crying out for release.

“Not yet,” he whispers, his voice a low growl, his control a stark contrast to the desperation in my touch.

I’m left teetering on the edge, my body trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate pants. The air between us crackles with tension, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls, the world outside forgotten.

Until the door explodes open.

Wood splinters. The protective wards fizzle.

And there he is.

Bode stands in the threshold, mid-shift, claws out, his body twisted between man and beast. Saliva drips from his snarling jaw. Eyes black as pitch. Rage incarnate.

“Noah!” I cry, heart lurching.

Noah moves fast—off the floor, body coiled, ready to defend.

But Bode is faster.

They collide with a thunderous crack, claws against skin, fangs flashing. They’re a blur of muscle and fury, primal forces locked in a deadly dance. The air thickens with violence and power, a storm of snarls and grunts and breaking wood.

Bode rakes his claws across Noah’s chest. Blood arcs through the air. Noah counters with a solid punch to Bode’s ribs, then drives his elbow into the wolf’s jaw. Bode staggers—just for a second.

But it’s enough.

Noah shifts mid-strike, half-wolf now, and tackles Bode into the wall. The cabin shakes. They grapple, claws tearing flesh, jaws snapping for throats.

I scream and grab for the on the mantel, channeling every ounce of will into it. My magic flares as I hurl it at Bode’s shoulder.

It hits.

Hard.

But he barely flinches.

Bode lets out a guttural growl, then slams Noah into the stone hearth with brutal force.

Crack.

“No!”

Blood gushes from his temple. His knees buckle.

His eyes find mine—sharp, knowing, impossibly soft for what’s happening.

“I love you,” he mouths.

Then the light drains from them.

“No!”

My scream rips through the cabin, shattering the warded windows in a storm of glass and wind.

And the fire inside me—wild, ancient, unholy— breaks free.

It seems like forever has passed when I finally open my eyes. Yet it’s only been two hours. Apparently, werewolves like Bode never sleep. This witch does…and dreams…nightmares.

I am grateful to see that I am still sitting by the hearth. I stare into the fire, pretending it soothes me. It doesn’t. It only reminds me what I am. What I could do if these damn chains were off.

Bode lounges across from me, sipping a dark beer with the smug satisfaction of someone who believes he’s already won.

“Bad dreams?” he taunts.

“Terrible,” I sigh, praying I haven’t revealed anything in my sleep. “You and Noah were fighting over me.”

He grins like the cheshire cat’s evil twin. “Quite prophetic. And? How did it end?”

“He killed you,” I lied, feigning devastation.

“Ah, that’s what the scream was about.”

I nod, hanging my head. I hope it’s not too much, but he’s tough to read.

“There, there.” He comes over to comfort me.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Noah Benson is no match for this Alpha.

” I can’t tell whether he is playing with his food or whether he’s really that naive.

Nothing I can do either way. I play along.

Because the truth is…he’s not wrong. As a lone wolf, Noah would be no match for Bode and his pack.

Bode stands and opens another Dark Horse stout.

“You’ll see,” he says. “The old ways—those are the only ones that work. Power isn’t meant to be hidden. It’s meant to be wielded.”

I nod slowly, head tilted just enough to keep his ego fed. “You’ve clearly been planning this for a long time.”

He smiles. “Decades. The Lunaris bloodline deserves more than scraps. You’ll help me take what we’re owed.”

My stomach knots, but I match his smile. “And after that?”

He stands and walks to the window, silhouetted in the moonlight. “Then the curse is gone—freed from blood and bone—and we reshape the world anew.”

I fake a laugh. Light, soft, rehearsed.

"I like the sound of that."

He turns his back.

I shimmy a small crystal from one of the zippered pockets in my pants.

I’m running out of time.

Because Noah is out there. And he’s either coming for me himself or sending the troops.

Either way, for all of their sakes, I have to stop him.