The Rival’s Claim

The stronghold reeked of blood, ash, and defeat. Smoke coiled through the fractured walls, mingling with the iron tang of spilled life. The once-proud banners bearing Kael's sigil hung tattered, stained crimson, flapping weakly in the cold wind—a silent mockery of what had been lost.

Kael stood in the center of it all, surrounded by broken bodies, both enemy and his own. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, dried blood crusted along his jawline. But none of that mattered. Elara was gone.

His claws dug into the ground, leaving deep gouges in the stone floor as his mind raced—not with strategy, but with fury. The bond screamed inside him, a hollow, gnawing void where her presence should've been. Every heartbeat without her was a curse.

"Alpha," Lira's voice cut through the haze like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. She stood at the edge of the destruction, her posture rigid, eyes flicking between the dead and Kael's blood-streaked face. "We need to secure the perimeter. There could be—"

Kael moved faster than thought, slamming his fist into the nearest stone pillar. It cracked under the force, a web of fractures spidering out. Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

"She's gone," he growled, his voice raw, torn from somewhere deep and feral.

Lira didn't flinch. "Then we get her back. But not if you lose your head first."

The words struck harder than Kael expected. His hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the absence that gnawed at his core. Elara wasn't just missing. She was stolen.

He turned toward the surviving attackers, dragged into the courtyard by his warriors—what was left of them. Bloodied, broken, but alive enough to talk. Enough to scream.

Kael didn't hesitate. He crossed the space in three strides, grabbing one by the throat, lifting him with inhuman ease. The man gasped, clawing at Kael's grip, eyes wide with terror.

"Where is she?" Kael's voice was a snarl, a promise of pain.

The prisoner choked out a garbled response, but it wasn't enough. Kael's grip tightened, claws puncturing skin, blood dripping onto the stone below.

"Where?" he roared, shaking the man like a rag doll.

Lira's hand landed on his arm, firm but not pleading. "Dead men can't talk."

Kael froze. Just for a breath. Then he dropped the man, who crumpled to the ground, gasping. Kneeling, Kael gripped the man's hair, forcing his face up, golden eyes glowing with lethal intent.

"Talk," Kael growled, voice low enough to chill bone.

The man sputtered, coughing blood. "Ronan… he's taking her north. To the Black Pines."

Kael's jaw clenched, the name igniting a fresh surge of rage. Ronan. A rival Alpha with a taste for power—and now, Elara.

Kael stood, his decision already made. "Gather the strongest. We leave at dawn."

Lira stepped closer, her gaze searching his face. "And if the pack refuses?"

Kael's smile was cold, sharp as a blade. "Then they'll learn what happens when they defy me."

As he walked away, the bond pulsed—a faint, distant echo of Elara's presence. Weak. But there.

And that was all the reason he needed.

…

Darkness pressed in from all sides—thick, suffocating, absolute.

Elara's eyes snapped open, but it made no difference. The blackness remained, a void swallowing everything except the sharp ache radiating through her body. Her wrists burned, bound tightly above her head with rough, scratchy rope. The cold bite of iron shackles dug into her ankles, heavy enough to keep her grounded even if she had the strength to stand.

She tried to move, but her muscles screamed in protest. Bruises bloomed beneath her skin, layered with the raw sting of fresh cuts. Dried blood crusted along her temple, sticky and unfamiliar. She swallowed, her throat raw, every breath tasting of damp stone and rust.

Where am I?

The faint sound of footsteps echoed, sharp against the stone floor. Slow. Deliberate. A silhouette emerged from the shadows, faint torchlight flickering to reveal a face she didn't recognize—but didn't need to.

Ronan.

He was nothing like Kael. Where Kael's presence was all sharp edges and contained fury, Ronan's was smooth, deceptive—like a snake coiled just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His dark hair fell messily over piercing eyes, and a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if her very existence amused him.

"Well," he drawled, stopping just out of reach. "The infamous Omega."

Elara said nothing, her jaw clenched tight against the rising tide of fear. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Ronan stepped closer, crouching in front of her, his gaze sharp enough to cut. "I've been curious about you. The girl who managed to crack the unbreakable Alpha. I see the appeal now—there's a fire in you." His fingers brushed her cheek lightly, a mockery of gentleness.

Elara jerked her head away, the movement small but defiant. "Touch me again, and I'll kill you."

Ronan's grin widened, sharp and predatory. "I like a little spirit. It makes breaking you more satisfying."

He stood, circling her slowly like a wolf sizing up prey. "Do you know why you're still alive?"

Elara didn't answer.

"Because Kael will come for you," Ronan continued, voice soft but laced with venom. "And when he does, I'll tear him apart. Piece by piece. But you?" He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "You'll watch."

A flicker of fear slithered down her spine, but she buried it beneath layers of stubborn defiance. "You think I'm afraid of you?" she rasped, her voice raw but steady.

Ronan's smile faded, replaced by something colder. Cruelty.

Without warning, he backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded along her cheekbone, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Stars danced behind her eyes, but she didn't cry out.

"Fear isn't something you choose," he whispered, crouching again to meet her dazed gaze. "It's something that finds you when there's nothing left."

Elara's breathing was ragged, but her glare burned with unspoken words. She spat blood at his feet. "Then keep looking. You won't find it here."

For a moment, silence hung between them—thick, suffocating. Then Ronan laughed, low and genuine, as if she'd entertained him more than angered him.

"Good," he murmured, standing. "I prefer it when they fight."

He turned to leave, his footsteps fading into the darkness. The heavy door slammed shut, leaving her alone again, with only the echo of her heartbeat and the distant, faint pulse of the bond.

It was still there.

Kael's coming.

She just had to survive long enough for him to get here.

…

…

The scent of blood still clung to Kael's skin, thick and metallic, as if it had seeped into his very pores. He didn't bother washing it off.

The map was spread across the long war table, its edges curled from years of use, stained with marks of battles long past. But Kael wasn't looking at history—he was hunting. His golden eyes flicked over the markings, tracing the path northward where the prisoner's words had led him. The Black Pines.

Lira stood across from him, arms crossed, her sharp gaze cutting through the room's dim glow. "We don't have enough men to launch a full-scale attack."

Kael didn't look up. "I don't need an army."

She exhaled sharply, frustration simmering beneath her cool exterior. "This isn't just about her, Kael. The pack—"

"The pack," he snapped, his voice low and dangerous, "can fall in line or be left behind."

Silence settled between them, heavy and brittle. Lira's jaw tensed, but she didn't argue. She knew better. She'd seen that look in his eyes before—a storm brewing, unstoppable once it hit.

Kael straightened, shoving the map aside. "I want only the strongest. No dead weight."

Moments later, the chosen warriors gathered—hardened, loyal, or too afraid to question him. Their faces were a blur of scars and sharp edges, but Kael didn't care about their names. Only their purpose.

"We move fast," he growled, pacing before them like a caged predator. "Ronan thinks he's clever, hiding behind his territory lines. But he's made one mistake—" Kael's fists clenched, knuckles white with restrained fury. "He took what's mine."

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, even as the pack exchanged uneasy glances.

Lira's voice broke the tension. "And if this is a trap?"

Kael's lips curled into a feral grin. "Then we spring it."

The march began before dawn, the cold biting but ignored.

They moved like shadows, swift and silent through the dense forest, every heartbeat syncing with Kael's singular focus. The bond pulsed faintly in the back of his mind—a thread pulling him north, closer with every step.

But beneath that pull was something darker, something he wouldn't name.

Not yet.

…

As they approached the jagged cliffs that marked the edge of Ronan's territory, Kael's pace slowed, his senses sharp. The wind shifted, carrying a scent that made his blood run hot—fear, blood… and Elara.

His jaw clenched.

I'm coming.

And nothing would stop him.

…

…

The metallic sting of blood lingered on Elara's tongue, her breath ragged, shallow, echoing in the cavernous room like it was the only sound left. But it wasn't.

Footsteps.

Ronan returned, his silhouette sharp against the torchlight flickering behind him. He carried no weapon. He didn't need one. His confidence was sharper than any blade, his grin carved from arrogance and cruelty.

"Still awake?" he mocked, dragging a chair across the stone floor. The screech of wood against rock scraped down Elara's spine, but she didn't flinch. She refused.

Ronan sat, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes sharp and hungry. "I thought by now you'd be screaming. Begging." He tilted his head, studying her battered face. "But you're not. That's… interesting."

Elara's voice was little more than a whisper, but the venom in it was clear. "Maybe you're just not that good at what you do."

His smile faltered, just for a second, then snapped back into place, wider, meaner. "Oh, darling. I'm just getting started."

He stood abruptly, grabbing her by the hair, yanking her head back. Pain flared along her scalp, but she ground her teeth, refusing to give him what he wanted.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he hissed. "Not Kael's mate. Not some precious little Omega." His grip tightened, fingers digging into her bruised skin. "I see power. Untouched. Untrained. Wasted."

The words slithered into her mind, dark and invasive. He wasn't wrong—not completely. She felt it too, that burning, uncontrollable force coiled inside her, waiting. Starving.

"I could teach you," Ronan whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a chill down her spine. "Kael wants to chain you. I'd set you free."

Elara's laugh was ragged, bitter. "You couldn't set fire to dry wood."

Ronan's fist collided with her ribs, stealing the breath from her lungs. The pain was sharp, but it did something else—it woke something.

The power surged before she could stop it.

A burst of heat exploded from her chest, violent and wild. Ronan was thrown across the room, hitting the stone wall with a sickening crack. The chains around Elara's wrists snapped like brittle glass, metal clattering to the ground.

She collapsed, her body trembling, muscles spasming from the force she couldn't contain. Her skin felt too tight, veins pulsing with light that didn't belong. It burned.

Ronan coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, but he was laughing. Again.

"Beautiful," he rasped, pushing himself up. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid of that."

Elara tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey. The power was gone as fast as it came, leaving her empty, hollow.

Ronan knelt beside her, his hand gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You'll break," he whispered. "Not because of me. But because of you."

Her vision blurred, darkness creeping in, but something—a thread, faint and distant—pulled her back.

The bond.

Kael.

Elara's lips curled into a weak, defiant smile. "I'd rather die whole… than live broken like you."

Ronan's grin faded.

And for the first time—he looked afraid.

…

…

The night smelled of blood before any was spilled.

Kael crouched low in the shadows, his pulse a slow, relentless drumbeat in his ears. The stronghold loomed ahead, crumbling stone walls swallowed by thick vines and the faint glow of torchlight flickering against the cold night air. But none of it mattered.

She was inside.

Lira's breath was steady beside him, her blade glinting faintly. "We hit fast and hard. No mistakes."

Kael didn't answer. His claws had already unsheathed, sharp and glinting like the fury in his chest. He didn't want fast. He wanted bloody.

The signal came—a single sharp howl that cut through the dark like a blade.

Kael moved.

The first guard didn't have time to scream. Kael's claws tore through flesh with ease, hot blood splattering across his face. He didn't flinch. Another guard lunged; Kael caught him mid-strike, snapping his neck like dry kindling.

The courtyard erupted into chaos—howls, screams, the sickening crunch of bone breaking under raw force. Lycans shifted mid-fight, muscles bulging, jaws snapping, their eyes wild with bloodlust.

But Kael didn't feel any of it. His mind was singular, his body a weapon carved from rage.

Elara.

He burst into the stronghold, his boots slick with blood. The narrow hallways were a maze of death—bodies crumpled where they'd fallen, blood smeared like dark brushstrokes along stone walls. But the pull of the bond was stronger than any trail.

It led him straight to her.

Elara was chained to the wall, her body limp, bruises painting her skin in shades of purple and black. Dried blood streaked her face, but her chest rose—barely.

Kael's breath hitched. She was alive.

"Elara," he whispered, falling to his knees beside her. His hands shook as they found her face, cradling it gently, like she might shatter under his touch.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then narrowing on him with a faint, crooked smile. "Took you long enough," she rasped, voice raw and broken.

Something inside him cracked.

With a roar, Kael tore through the chains with his bare hands, metal groaning before it snapped. Elara collapsed into him, her body fragile, too light, but warm. Warm was enough.

Until the voice came.

"Well, isn't this touching?"

Kael's head snapped up. Ronan.

He stood in the doorway, bloodied but grinning, the bastard's teeth stained red like it was a badge of honor.

Kael shifted partially, fangs bared, his voice a snarl. "I'll rip your fucking throat out."

Ronan chuckled, casual as if they weren't standing in the middle of a blood-soaked hell. "Temper, temper. She's not yours, Kael. Not anymore."

Kael lunged, teeth gnashing, claws outstretched—ready to end him.

But Ronan was gone before Kael's rage could land. Coward.

Kael turned back to Elara, but something was wrong.

Her body convulsed, arching unnaturally, a strangled scream ripping from her throat. Her skin burned hot under his hands, veins glowing faintly with a light that had no place in this world.

"No," Kael whispered, cradling her tighter. "Stay with me. Elara, stay the fuck with me!"

She gasped once—sharp, desperate—then went limp.

Kael's roar filled the stone walls, shaking dust from the ceiling. It wasn't the roar of victory.

It was the sound of a man losing everything.

He held her tighter, his forehead pressed against hers, as if he could will her back. But her breath was grief, her pulse faint and fading.

And for the first time, Kael felt something worse than rage.

Fear.

Because saving her was just the beginning.

Keeping her?

That was the war he wasn't sure he could win.