Chapter 2: Claimed Under the Blood Moon
The scent of him lingered on her skin for days. It was a phantom presence, a whisper of dark pine and aggressive musk that no amount of soap seemed to wash away. Gloria went through the motions—tending the garden, minding the pups, smiling at pack mates—but her mind was a frantic, tangled knot. Every rustle in the bushes, every shift in the wind, made her heart leap into her throat. Was he there? Was he watching?
He was.
She felt him. Not always with her eyes, but with something deeper, a newly awakened nerve ending that hummed whenever he was within a hundred yards. In the dining hall, his gaze was a physical weight. On the paths, she’d catch a glimpse of his black wolf form melting into the tree line. He never approached her again in front of others. But the threat, the promise, of it hung between them, thick and unspoken.
It was suffocating.
Four nights after the kiss at her door, the restlessness became too much. Her own wolf was clawing beneath her skin, agitated and eager, responding to a call she didn’t want to answer. She needed to run. Not a playful dash, but a hard, mind-clearing sprint through the deepest part of their territory. Maybe she could outrun the feeling.
At midnight, she slipped from her cottage, a streak of reddish fur under the fat, silver moon. She hit the tree line and pushed her muscles to their limit, flying over fallen logs and through icy streams. The world blurred into a symphony of shadow and scent. For a glorious moment, there was only the burn in her lungs, the flex of power in her legs, the freedom.
It didn’t last.
She sensed the pursuit before she heard it. A heavier presence, a deeper disruption in the forest’s rhythm. A shadow that matched hers stride for stride, then began to gain. He wasn’t running to catch her; he was running to herd her. She tried to veer east, toward the open meadows. A low, warning growl rolled through the pines to her left, cutting off the path. She swerved right, toward the ancient oaks. Another growl, closer. He was steering her, using his size and dominant energy to funnel her exactly where he wanted.
Panic, sharp and electric, spiked through her. This wasn’t a game. This was a hunt.
She burst into a small, moon-drenched clearing she knew well—a circle of soft moss ringed by massive, gnarled oaks. Her paws skidded on the damp earth as she tried to pivot, to find another exit.
He emerged from the trees behind her, blocking the way she’d come.
His black wolf was immense, a creature of legend and shadow, his shoulders nearly as high as her own head. Moonlight gleamed on his sleek pelt and in his intelligent, amber eyes. He took one step forward, then another, his movement liquid and utterly silent. Predatory.
Gloria’s smaller wolf backed up, a submissive whine building in her throat despite her best efforts. Her human mind screamed. This was River. This was Clay’s brother. But the animal facing her saw only a rival predator in his territory, and a female whose scent was driving him to the brink.
He shifted.
The transformation was faster than hers, a violent, beautiful contraction of muscle and bone. One second the huge beast stood there, the next, River was on his feet in the center of the clearing, naked, the cool air doing nothing to disguise the fierce, erect line of his cock. It stood thick and urgent against his lower abdomen, a blatant testament to the hunt, to his intent.
Gloria shifted too, the change pulled from her by the shock of his naked humanity. She stumbled as her own human form solidified, the moss cold and surprisingly rough under her bare feet and knees. She was exposed, vulnerable, the moonlight painting her skin in pale silver and deep shadow.
She looked up at him, her chest heaving.
He was already moving.
He crossed the clearing in three strides. His hands, rough and hot, closed on her upper arms, hauling her upright before she could even think to cover herself. He spun her and pushed her back against the wide, unforgiving trunk of the oldest oak. The bark bit into her skin.
“Running from me,” he growled, his voice ragged. He shoved his body against hers, pinning her. The hard, hot length of his erection pressed insistently between her thighs, not entering, but claiming the space, promising what was to come. Every inch of him was radiating a feverish heat. “Stupid, beautiful girl.”
His mouth went to her throat, to the exact spot he’d kissed days before. This time, he didn’t just press his lips there. He licked, a slow, wet drag of his tongue over her hammering pulse, then sucked the skin into his mouth, biting down just enough to make her gasp. It wasn’t a love bite. It was a branding. A fucking claim.
“River—” she choked out, her hands coming up to push against his chest. It was like pushing a mountainside. He didn’t budge.
“Mine,” he snarled against her damp skin, the word vibrating into her bones. One of his hands slid from her arm, down over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, and clamped onto the bare flesh of her thigh. He hooked it, yanking her leg up around his hip, forcing her to open for him. The new angle brought the head of his cock into direct, shocking contact with her core.
She was wet. The realization flooded her with a shame so hot it felt like panic. Her body had betrayed her, responding to the fear, to the dominance, to the sheer animal magnetism of him. The slick heat between her legs was for him, and he knew it. He groaned, a raw, starving sound, and ground himself against her.
“Feel that?” he rasped in her ear. His other hand left her arm, cupping her breast, his thumb swiping roughly over her nipple. It tightened instantly into a hard, aching peak. “Your body knows what it is. What you are. Mine.”
His mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a conquest. His tongue forced its way past her lips, tasting her, claiming the inside of her mouth with the same brutal ownership. He tasted wild, like the forest and raw need. She made a muffled sound, part protest, part overwhelming sensation. Her hands, still against his chest, clutched at him instead of pushing. Her nails dug into the hard muscle.
He tore his mouth from hers, breathing like he’d run a marathon. “Tell me,” he demanded, his eyes blazing down at her. “Tell me you feel it.”
She could only stare, drowning in the intensity. Her wolf was howling inside her, a chorus of yesyesyes.
His patience, what little he had, shattered. “Fuck it,” he muttered.
He reached between their bodies, his fingers sliding through her wetness with a crude, explicit purpose that made her cry out. He notched the broad head of his cock right at her entrance. He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze captive.
“This is happening,” he said, and it was a vow, a warning, and a plea all in one.
He drove into her.
The invasion was breathtaking, a single, deep, tearing thrust that filled her completely, stretching her almost past bearing. She screamed, a short, sharp sound lost in the blanket of trees. It was pain, bright and searing, but beneath it, immediate and shocking, was a wave of devastating fullness, a rightness that made her inner muscles clench around him instinctively.
“Oh, fuck,” River groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He was shaking. He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, letting her adjust, but the control was tearing at him. She could feel the tremors in his arms where he caged her.
He pulled back, almost all the way out, the friction exquisite and brutal, then slammed back in. Again. And again.
He set a punishing, relentless rhythm, fucking her against the tree with a raw, uncivilized hunger. The sounds were obscene—the wet, rhythmic slap of his flesh against hers, their ragged breaths, the soft grunts he made with each deep plunge. The bark scraped her back with every thrust, a secondary pain that only sharpened the primal pleasure coiling tight in her belly.
“So fucking tight,” he gritted out, his mouth roaming over her throat, her collarbone. “So perfect. Taking me so good, Gloria. God, you’re drenched for me.”
His words were filthy, explicit, and they poured gasoline on the fire inside her. She was unraveling, her mind blank of everything but the sensation of him—his thickness stretching her, the relentless drive of his hips, the smell of sweat and sex and wildness. Her earlier fear was gone, burned away by a consuming need to meet him, to match him. Her other leg came up, wrapping around his waist, locking him deeper inside her. She met his next thrust with a roll of her own hips.
He saw the surrender, the acceptance, in her eyes. A triumphant, feral sound ripped from his throat.
One of his hands slid between them, his thumb finding the swollen nub of her clit. He pressed hard, circling in time with his thrusts.
It was too much. The coil snapped.
Her orgasm ripped through her without warning, a violent, silent convulsion that clamped down on his cock like a vise. Her mouth opened in a soundless cry, her head thrown back against the tree. Lights sparked behind her eyes.
The feeling of her pulsing around him broke River’s last restraint. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself as far as he could go and came, his own release hot and pulsing inside her. He held her there, impaled, his body shuddering through the waves, his teeth scraping against her shoulder.
Slowly, the world crept back in. The cold air on their sweat-slicked skin. The distant hoot of an owl. The heavy sound of their breathing, now syncopated.
The reality of what they’d just done—rough, impersonal, against a tree in the middle of the night—descended upon Gloria like a cold sheet. She was still wrapped around him, still full of him. A sharp, painful ache began to throb between her legs.
River was the first to move. He gently lowered her legs, letting her stand, though she winced as her feet took her weight. He softened and slipped from her body, and she felt a hot, embarrassing trickle down her inner thigh.
He didn’t step back. He kept her caged against the tree, his hands planted on the bark on either side of her head. He was still breathing hard, his gaze traveling over her flushed face, her swollen lips, the new red mark blooming on her throat.
The arrogance was gone. In its place was something more complex, more dangerous. A raw, unmasked possessiveness that saw everything—the pain, the pleasure, the confusion.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. His voice was low, graveled with spent passion. “It’s done. You’re mine now. Everyone will know it by morning.”
The words were a final stone dropped into the quiet of the clearing. Gloria stared at him, the chill of the night finally seeping past the heat of their joined bodies. She felt raw, used, and trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. The ache between her legs was a blunt, throbbing reminder.
Before she could form a thought, a protest, he moved again.
He bent and swept her up into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back. It was effortless, a display of pure strength that stole her breath. She was too stunned, too sore, to struggle. She simply lay against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, listening to the slowed, steady beat of his heart. It was a bizarre, intimate counterpoint to the violence of moments before.
He carried her through the forest, a silent, naked procession under the moon. He didn’t take the path to her cottage. He bore her west, toward the alpha house, toward his own rooms in the private wing. No one saw them. The pack was sleeping. But he was right—by morning, every wolf with a functioning nose would know exactly what had transpired in the oak clearing. Their scents were now irrevocably mingled.
He shouldered his way through a heavy wooden door into a spacious, masculine bedroom dominated by a large bed. He didn’t put her down there. He walked straight into the adjoining bathroom, flipping on the light with his elbow.
Steam began to fog the mirrors as he turned on the shower, adjusting the water until it hissed. Only then did he set her on her feet on the cool tile. Her legs threatened to buckle. He held her steady, his hands firm on her hips.
“In,” he said, his voice a low command.
He stepped in with her, pulling the glass door closed. The hot water was a shock, a blissful scalding that sluiced over her shoulders, washing away the dirt, the sweat, the evidence of his possession from her thighs. He reached for a bar of soap, working it into a lather in his palms. His touch, as he began to wash her, was utterly different.
It was meticulous. Almost clinical. He washed the scrapes on her back from the tree bark with a surprising gentleness. He smoothed the suds over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs, cleansing her without a hint of the earlier frenzy. She stood passively, her forehead resting against his chest, as he rinsed her clean. He washed his own body with quick, efficient motions, then turned off the water.
He wrapped her in a large, soft towel, drying her with the same thorough attention before doing the same for himself. Wordlessly, he led her, damp and pliant, to the bed. The sheets were cool and smelled like him—clean cotton and that underlying, immutable scent of dominant wolf. He pulled them back and guided her down, then climbed in after her, pulling the covers over them both.
In the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight from the window, he drew her against him, her back to his front. His arm was a heavy band across her waist, anchoring her to him. His nose was buried in her wet hair.
“You’ll sleep here,” he said into the darkness. His voice had lost its hard edge, but the certainty was absolute. “From now on. You will never spend a night separate from me again.”
Gloria’s breath caught. The finality of it was a cage, beautifully gilded but a cage nonetheless. “River…”
“I know.” The two words were quiet. A concession. His hand splayed flat on her stomach, holding her close. “I was… short with you. Before I left. For years.”
She went still. This was not what she expected. Confession, not command.
“I saw you as Clay’s shadow,” he continued, the words measured, as if pulled from a deep, unfamiliar place. “A buzzing little thing in the garden. Annoying. Unimportant.” His arm tightened slightly. “I was arrogant. And stupid. A fucking idiot.”
He shifted, rolling her onto her back so he could look down at her. His expression in the dim light was severe, etched with a self-directed contempt. “I didn’t see you. Not until I came back and you were kneeling in the dirt, and it felt like being kicked in the throat.” He traced the mark on her neck with a single fingertip, a possessive gesture that now seemed tinged with something like awe. “All those years, Gloria. I wasted them. I spoke maybe ten words to you, and all of them were dismissive.”
She searched his face, this arrogant heir who had just taken her against a tree, who was now telling her he regretted ignoring her. The contradiction was dizzying. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you should know,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. “The man who claimed you tonight… he’s a jealous, possessive bastard. He’s not patient. He saw what he wanted and he took it. But he sees you now. Every single part of you. And he will spend every night for the rest of our very long lives making up for being so blind.”
He lowered his head, and this time his kiss was different. It was slow. Deep. A claiming of a different kind, one that seeped into her marrow rather than branding her skin. When he finally pulled away, his breath was warm on her lips.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “You’re home.”
He gathered her back against him, his body a fortress of heat around her. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, pulled her under. As she drifted off, the last thing she felt was the steady, unwavering rhythm of his heart against her spine, and the heavy, inescapable weight of his promise in the dark.
As she drifted off, the last thing she felt was the steady, unwavering rhythm of his heart against her spine, and the heavy, inescapable weight of his promise in the dark.
Gloria woke to the gray light of dawn and the solid, immovable heat of River’s body wrapped around hers. His arm was still a steel band across her waist, his face buried in her hair. For a suspended moment, there was only the unfamiliar comfort of it, the sheer animal security of being surrounded by him. Then memory returned, brutal and vivid—the tree bark scraping her back, the searing fullness, his growled declaration. She stirred, a faint ache pulsing between her legs.
He was awake instantly. She felt the change in his breathing, the slight tightening of his muscles. His hand slid from her waist up to her breast, his palm rough and warm as it covered her. He said nothing. He simply turned her onto her stomach with a gentle, inexorable pressure.
“River,” she mumbled into the pillow, her voice thick with sleep.
“Shhh.” The word was a soft command against her shoulder blade. He kissed the skin there, then lower, following the line of her spine. His touch was different from the night before—no less possessive, but laced with a deliberate, aching slowness. He was relearning her in the thin morning light, his mouth and hands mapping the territory he’d already claimed.
He hooked his hands under her hips, lifting her onto her knees. She felt exposed, vulnerable, the cool air hitting her damp skin where his mouth had been. He positioned himself behind her, his erection, already hard and insistent, nudging against the back of her thigh. A shudder ran through her. He leaned over her, blanketing her body with his, his mouth at her ear.
“Need to be inside you again,” he breathed, the words ragged. “Need to feel you full of me when the sun is up.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He guided himself to her entrance, still tender and swollen from his earlier use. He pushed in with a single, deep, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Gloria cried out, a muffled sound swallowed by the pillow. It was a stretch, a burn that quickly melted into a devastating, deep fullness. He didn’t move for a long moment, just let her feel the complete invasion, his body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice choked. “Still so fucking tight. Like you’re made for me.”
Then he began to move. This wasn’t the frantic, driving pace of the forest. This was a slow, deep, deliberate claiming. Each withdrawal was agonizingly gradual, each thrust a measured, penetrating reunion. He set a rhythm that was less about friction and more about possession, about imprinting himself on her at a cellular level. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady for his deep, rolling drives.
“You take it so well,” he muttered, his breath hot on her neck. “Taking every fucking inch. Your perfect little cunt is mine now. You understand? It belongs to me.”
His filthy words, spoken in that low, graveled morning voice, sent a new kind of heat spiraling through her. Her own body began to answer, softening, welcoming, clenching around him in a slow, rhythmic pulse. She pushed back against him, meeting his deep strokes, a soft moan escaping her. The sound seemed to unravel him.
His thrusts lost their measured control, gaining speed and force. The bed began to rock, the headboard tapping a soft, frantic rhythm against the wall. One of his hands snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard, circular patterns that made her vision blur.
“That’s it,” he growled, pounding into her now, his body slapping against hers. “Come for me. Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
The coil snapped. Her orgasm washed over her, a deep, internal quaking that made her muscles seize around him, milking his length. The sensation tipped him over the edge.
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go. His release was a hot, pulsing flood inside her. As he came, a raw, guttural sound was torn from his chest. “Mate,” he snarled into the skin of her shoulder. “My mate.”
The word was a key turning in a lock she hadn’t known existed. Something deep within her, her wolf, a creature of instinct and scent, heard it. Felt it. Recognized it. A silent, seismic click echoed in her soul. A bond, primal and irrevocable, snapped into place. Her own wolf, which had been agitated and confused, suddenly stilled. It sighed, content, and laid down its head. Yes, it seemed to whisper. Ours.
They collapsed together onto the damp sheets, a tangled mess of limbs and spent breath. He stayed inside her, softening, his weight a comforting press. For a long time, the only sound was their slowing heartbeats. Finally, he shifted, pulling out of her with a soft, wet sound. He immediately rolled her onto her side, facing him, and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. He kissed her forehead, a gesture so tender it made her throat tighten.
“Stay here,” he murmured after a while. He slid from the bed, his naked body pale and powerful in the morning light. He returned from his wardrobe with a simple gray t-shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants. He handed them to her. “Put these on.”
The clothes smelled overwhelmingly of him—clean cotton, cedar, and his unique, dominant scent. She pulled them on, the fabric swallowing her smaller frame, the pants pooling at her ankles. Dressed in his scent, she felt marked in a new, profound way. He pulled on his own clothes—dark jeans, a black henley—and watched her, his eyes dark and satisfied.
“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand.
The main hall was already bustling with the pack’s morning activity. The scent of frying bacon, coffee, and warm bread filled the air. Conversation hummed. As River led her in, hand firmly around hers, the noise didn’t stop. It stuttered. It fractured into whispers and pointed silences.
Every eye tracked their progress. Every nose in the room flared. The message was as clear as a shouted declaration: her scent was layered with his, his with hers. The mark on her neck was visible above the collar of his shirt. The slight, possessive limp in her walk spoke volumes. She was draped in his clothes, bathed in his smell, walking at his side.
He led her directly to the alpha’s table. He didn’t pull out a chair for her. He sat in his usual place at his father’s right, and then he pulled her down onto his lap. It was a move of breathtaking, unapologetic ownership. A gasp, quickly stifled, rippled through the room.
Gloria froze, her face flooding with heat. She tried to stand up, but his arm banded around her waist, locking her in place. “River,” she hissed.
“Eat,” he said quietly, his lips brushing her temple. He snagged a piece of bacon from a platter and held it to her lips. His amber eyes held hers, daring her to refuse.
Across the table, Alpha Brendan watched with a neutral, assessing expression. Luna Sasha offered a small, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her worried eyes. The pack looked on, their faces a mixture of surprise, approval, and in some of the younger males, stark disappointment.
Gloria, trapped in the circle of his arms and the spotlight of the entire pack, took a small bite. The bacon tasted like ash. She was a spectacle. A prize displayed. The warmth she’d felt in his room curdled into a cold knot of humiliation. This wasn’t being claimed. This was being branded.
The main door to the hall banged open. Clay stumbled in, his hair tousled, yawning. “Sorry, sorry! Overslept,” he called to no one in particular, heading for the food line. He grabbed a plate, piled it high, and turned, scanning for a seat. His cheerful, sleepy gaze landed on the alpha’s table. On his brother. On Gloria, sitting in River’s lap, wearing River’s clothes.
The plate slipped from his hands. It hit the stone floor with a deafening crash, shattering, sending food skittering. The entire hall fell utterly silent.
Clay stood amidst the wreckage, staring. His face, usually so open and friendly, went through a violent transformation: confusion, dawning comprehension, then a devastation so raw it looked like physical pain. His eyes, wide and hurt, locked with Gloria’s for one endless, horrible second.
Then his expression shut down, going blank and cold. He looked from her to River, whose arm tightened possessively around her waist. Without a word, Clay turned on his heel and walked stiffly out of the hall, leaving the broken pieces at his feet.
The silence he left behind was heavier than any noise. River’s hand smoothed over Gloria’s hip, a gesture of comfort that felt like a shackle. The message had been received, loud and clear, by everyone.
Especially by the one person whose understanding she suddenly, desperately wished she could undo.