Chapter 3: The Alpha's Morning Claiming
Bria woke to cold sheets and the hollow ache of absence.
The bond was a living thing inside her chest—a second heartbeat that stuttered and strained against her ribs. She pressed her palm flat against the mattress beside her, searching for warmth that had long since faded. Nothing. Just the cool whisper of linen and the lingering ghost of his scent.
She sat up slowly. Her body protested. Muscles she'd forgotten she had screamed in quiet rebellion, and the bite on her shoulder throbbed with a dull, persistent heat. She touched it—the skin was raised, scarred already, the imprint of his teeth etched into her flesh like a brand.
Son of a bitch.
The room was enormous in the daylight. Black marble floors gleamed under the pale wash of dawn filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. The forest stretched beyond the glass, an endless sea of green and gray mist, and for a moment Bria just stared at it, trying to reconcile the woman she'd been yesterday with the creature she'd become overnight.
Her clothes were folded on a chair across the room. Not the ruined dress—something else. A black cashmere sweater, soft as sin. Dark jeans that would hug her hips. Expensive lingerie in exactly her size.
He'd gone shopping. While she slept.
The thought should have infuriated her. Instead, it sent a confusing jolt of warmth through her chest—the bond, probably, twisting her emotions into something unrecognizable.
She threw off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was freezing against her bare feet. She was still wearing his t-shirt, the fabric soft and worn, and she hated how much she liked it. Hated how she'd pressed her nose into the collar sometime during the night, breathing him in like a drug.
"Get it together, Sinclair," she muttered.
The bathroom door opened.
Steam curled into the bedroom, thick with the scent of sandalwood and something darker—something animal. Adrian stepped out with a towel slung low on his hips, his chest still dripping, his hair plastered to his forehead. Water traced paths down his abs, disappearing into the V of muscle below his waist.
Bria's mouth went dry.
He stopped in the doorway. His eyes found her immediately—gold flashing through the gray, the wolf rising to the surface at the mere sight of her. The bond surged between them, a raw, electric pulse that made her thighs clench involuntarily.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was rough, still thick with sleep.
"Brilliant observation."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Still angry."
"Still an asshole."
He crossed the room in three strides.
Bria barely had time to breathe before his hands were on her—one fisting in the back of his t-shirt, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. He flipped her onto her stomach with a movement so fast it stole the air from her lungs. The mattress bounced beneath her. She tried to push up, but his palm pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her down.
"You slept in my clothes," he growled against her ear.
"Your clothes? You mean the ones you—"
"Doesn't matter where they came from." His teeth grazed her earlobe. "You still smell like mine underneath."
His hands hooked into the waistband of the sweatpants she'd worn to bed. He yanked them down her legs in one rough motion, taking her underwear with them. The cool air hit her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her thighs.
"Adrian—"
"Shut up."
He spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Bria's face burned. She tried to twist away, but his grip was iron, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
"Don't," she started.
"Don't what?" His breath was hot against her cunt. "Don't do this?"
His tongue dragged through her folds.
The sound that escaped her throat was obscene. A broken, desperate noise that she tried to muffle in the pillow. He licked her again—slow, deliberate, the flat of his tongue pressing against her clit. Then again. Again. Each stroke sent lightning up her spine, and she gripped the headboard with both hands, her knuckles going white.
"You taste like morning," he murmured against her. "Like sleep and sex and mine."
"I hate you."
"You love this." He sucked her clit between his lips and pulled. Hard.
Bria screamed into the pillow. Her hips bucked involuntarily, grinding back against his face, and he groaned—a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through her entire body. His tongue worked her ruthlessly, lapping at her with obscene, slurping sounds that filled the quiet room. Wet. Sloppy. Filthy.
"Fuck," she gasped.
He pushed two fingers inside her without warning. Knuckle-deep, curling up against that spot that made her vision white out. His tongue never stopped moving, never stopped torturing her clit, and the combination was too much—too fast—too good.
"So wet for me," he said. "This cunt knows who it belongs to."
"Shut up—"
"Say it."
"No."
He twisted his fingers. Pressed harder. Sucked harder.
"Say it," he repeated.
"I—" Her voice broke. "I hate you."
"That's not what I asked."
He added a third finger. Stretched her wide. His tongue flicked rapidly over her clit, and Bria felt the orgasm building—a tidal wave cresting in her core, threatening to drag her under.
"Adrian, please—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
"Good girl."
He buried his face between her legs and devoured her.
The climax hit her like a freight train. Bria screamed into the pillow, her body convulsing, her cunt clenching around his fingers. She gushed onto his face—wet, messy, uncontrollable—and he drank her down like he was starving for it. He didn't stop. Kept going. Kept licking and sucking and finger-fucking her through the aftershocks until she was sobbing, oversensitive, begging him to stop.
"I can't—"
"You can."
"I can't—"
"You will."
He gave her clit one last, brutal suck. Then he pulled his fingers free and rose behind her, and Bria heard the sound of the towel hitting the floor.
"Don't," she whispered.
"You're going to take my cock." His voice was barely human. "You're going to take every inch of it, and you're going to love it."
He mounted her in one brutal thrust.
Bria's spine arched. The air left her lungs in a rush. Her cunt stretched around him—painful, perfect—and she sobbed into the mattress as he drove deeper, bottoming out with a force that bruised her cervix.
"Fuck," he snarled. "Still so tight."
He fucked her into the mattress.
The force of him drove her into the headboard. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, found the edge of the bed frame, held on. His hips slammed against her ass with a wet, rhythmic slap. Sweat dripped from his chest onto her back. The bed creaked beneath them, dangerously loud, and Bria knew the entire pack could probably hear—could probably smell—but she didn't care. Couldn't care. Couldn't think past the overwhelming pleasure flooding her system.
"This is what mornings are going to be like," he rasped against her ear.
His hand knotted in her hair, pulling her head back.
"Every morning."
Another thrust. Deeper. Harder.
"For the rest of your life."
He pounded into her with the full weight of his body. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing soft. This was claiming. Ownership. He was fucking his name into her bones, and she was letting him.
Bria came again. Harder than before. Her cunt clamped down around him like a fist, milking him, and Adrian roared—a sound that was half-human, half-wolf—as he followed her over the edge.
His cock swelled inside her, locking them together, and then he was flooding her cunt with his seed. Hot. Thick. Endless. He pumped into her until she was overflowing, until she could feel his release dripping down her thighs, and still he didn't stop.
When he finally collapsed on top of her, they were both shaking.
Adrian's weight pressed her into the mattress. His breath was ragged against her neck, his chest heaving against her back. He was still buried inside her—soft now, but locked in place—and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her impossibly closer.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Bria didn't answer. Couldn't. Her throat was raw, her body a ruin, and her mind was spinning in circles.
He kissed the bite on her shoulder. Gentle. Tender. A stark contrast to the brutality of moments before.
"Next time you run," he murmured, "I'll chase you again."
"Wasn't running."
"You were planning to."
She had been. The thought had crossed her mind the second she woke up.
"You can't keep me here," she said.
"I can."
"I'll leave anyway."
"You'll try." His hand slid up her stomach, fingers splaying over her racing heart. "And I'll catch you. Every time."
"That's not healthy."
"Nothing about this is healthy." He pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel the same terror you do?"
"Terror?"
"Every time you pull away—even in your mind—it feels like someone's ripping my chest open." His voice cracked on the last word. "I've spent thirty years building walls so I couldn't be hurt. And then you—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You broke every single one without even trying."
Bria closed her eyes. The bond hummed between them, and through it, she felt it. His fear. His vulnerability. The desperate, clawing need to keep her close.
She felt it, and she hated that she understood.
"I don't know how to be someone's mate," she whispered.
"Me neither."
"You're the Alpha. You're supposed to know everything."
He laughed—a low, broken sound. "I'm making this up as I go. Half the time, I'm terrified I'm going to fuck this up so badly you'll vanish and I'll never find you again."
"That's ridiculous. You could find me anywhere."
"That's not what I mean." His arms tightened. "I mean—what if you wake up one day and decide the bond isn't enough? What if you hate me? What if you leave and never come back?"
"Then you'd follow."
"Until my legs give out."
She turned her head slightly, enough to see his face in profile. The sharp jaw. The lashes resting against his cheeks. He looked younger like this. Softer. Nothing like the ruthless billionaire who'd fucked her in the forest and let her scream.
"I'm not going anywhere today," she said quietly.
His eyes opened. Gold met hazel.
"You mean that?"
"Don't make me regret it."
He kissed her shoulder. Her neck. Her cheek. Tiny, reverent kisses that made something in her chest crack open.
"Breakfast," he said against her skin. "I promised to ruin you before breakfast."
"You already did."
"I'm not done yet."
He withdrew slowly, and she felt every inch of him slide out—the wet, obscene sound of their combined fluids following him. She should have been grossed out. Instead, she felt a pang of loss.
Adrian rolled off the bed. He crossed to the chair where her clothes were folded and picked up the lingerie. A black lace thong. A matching bra.
"We're going to shower," he said. "Then we're going to talk."
"Talk?"
"About your father. About the pack. About everything I should have told you last night."
Bria pushed herself up on her elbows. Her hair was a disaster. Her body ached in places she didn't know she had. But she met his eyes, and for the first time since this nightmare began, she didn't feel entirely lost.
"I'm listening."
He tossed her the bra. "I know."
She caught it. The lace was soft, delicate. Expensive.
"You're really going to explain things?"
"I owe you that." He walked to the window, staring out at the forest. "And I owe you the truth about why your mother kept you from me."
The mention of her mother—her dead mother, who'd lied to her for twenty-eight years—sent a spike of anger through the bond. Adrian flinched.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have—"
"Just tell me."
He turned. The dawn light caught his face, illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the ancient pain in his eyes. He looked at her like she was the only thing holding him together.
"There's a lot to tell," he said. "And most of it isn't pretty."
Bria slid off the bed. Her legs wobbled. Cum dripped down her inner thigh, and she had to steady herself on the nightstand.
"Try me," she said.
Adrian's lips curved. For a moment, he looked almost proud.
"Your father," he said, "was my father's best friend. And your mother…" He paused. "Your mother killed him.
Her mother killed him.
The words landed like a blade between her ribs. Bria stood frozen beside the bed, the black lace bra dangling from her fingers, her mind scrabbling to make sense of what he'd just said.
"My mother," she repeated. "My mother killed my father."
Adrian didn't flinch. He stood at the window, dawn light carving shadows across his naked body, and his silence was answer enough.
"You're lying."
"I don't lie."
"Everyone lies." She threw the bra onto the bed. "You lied about who you were. You lied about what you wanted. You had me followed, manipulated, cornered in your office like—"
"Stop."
"Like I was prey." Her voice cracked. "And now you're telling me my mother—the woman who raised me, who tucked me in at night, who cried at my graduation—is a murderer?"
Adrian crossed the room. He moved fast when he wanted to, that predator's grace never quite leaving him, and before she could retreat, his hands were on her shoulders. Not gripping. Just... there. Grounding.
"Sit down," he said.
"I don't want to—"
"Bria." His thumbs pressed into the tense muscle of her shoulders. "Sit. Down."
She sat.
The edge of the mattress dipped beneath her weight. Adrian knelt in front of her, bringing himself to her level. His eyes were gray now, the gold banked like embers, and there was something in his expression she hadn't seen before. Not dominance. Not hunger.
Grief.
"Your father's name," he said quietly, "was Marcus Sinclair."
"I know my father's name."
"You know the name your mother gave you. Marcus Sinclair, investigative journalist, killed in a car accident when you were three years old." He paused. "That's the story she told you."
"It's the truth."
"It's a fairy tale." His hands slid from her shoulders to her knees. "Marcus Sinclair was a werewolf. He was my father's closest friend, his second-in-command, the man who taught me how to hunt and how to fight and how to lead."
Bria's chest tightened. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Werewolves don't—" She stopped. Swallowed. Because she'd felt it. She'd seen him shift. She'd watched his eyes turn molten gold while his teeth sank into her flesh.
"Werewolves don't what?" Adrian's voice was gentle. "Exist? You know better now."
"That's not—" She pulled her knees up, breaking his hold. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what?"
She couldn't answer. Her brain was a tangle of half-finished thoughts, each one colliding with the next. Werewolf. Mate. Bond. Murder.
"I need you to start from the beginning," she said finally. "And I need you to not leave anything out."
Adrian nodded. He rose, crossed to a dresser, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. The domesticity of the gesture—the way he moved through the space like it was his, like she belonged in it—made her skin prickle.
He returned with a glass of water. Pressed it into her hands.
"Drink."
"I don't need—"
"Drink."
She drank. The water was cold and clean, and it steadied something in her chest.
"Marcus and my father grew up together," Adrian said. He sat on the floor, his back against the bed frame, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "They were more than pack. They were brothers. When my father became Alpha, Marcus was his right hand. His enforcer. His voice when he couldn't speak."
"And my mother?"
"Your mother was human." Adrian's jaw tightened. "She was a journalist, like you. She came to the pack lands investigating rumors of a cult. Something strange in the mountains. She was going to expose us."
Bria's fingers curled around the glass. "But she didn't."
"No." A pause. "Because she met Marcus. And the bond—" He stopped. Rubbed a hand over his face. "The bond hit them both like a freight train. One look. One breath. And Marcus was hers. Completely. Irrevocably."
"That's what you said about us." Her voice was barely a whisper. "That you knew the second you smelled me."
"I did."
"And you think that's the same thing?"
"It is the same thing." He looked up at her. "That's what mates are, Bria. It's not a choice. It's not a romance novel or a fairy tale. It's biology. Fate. The universe deciding that two souls belong together and ripping apart anyone who gets in the way."
The words settled over her like a shroud.
"So my mother..."
"Your mother was Marcus's mate. She loved him. She gave up her life, her career, her entire human world to be with him. She joined the pack. Learned our ways. And for four years, they were happy."
Bria set the glass on the nightstand. Her hands were shaking.
"What happened?"
Adrian's eyes darkened. "You were born."
"I don't—"
"A child between a wolf and his mate isn't just a baby." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It's a miracle. A gift from the moon. The first hybrid born to our pack in three generations. You were special, Bria. You are special."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she was nothing special, just a woman with a sharp tongue and a sharper pen. But the bond hummed between them, and she knew he believed every word.
"Marcus loved you," Adrian said. "From the moment you took your first breath, you were his world. He would have burned down the entire world for you."
"Then why—"
"Because your mother went mad."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
"Not human mad. Not depression or anxiety or anything a therapist could fix. Something else. Something worse." Adrian's voice roughened. "She'd been human when the bond took her. Her body wasn't built for it. For the intensity. The possessiveness. The way our kind love—it's not gentle, Bria. It's consuming. It eats you alive."
Bria's stomach turned. "You're saying she snapped."
"I'm saying she broke." He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "She became convinced that you weren't hers. That Marcus had somehow stolen you. That you were a demon. A changeling. Something that needed to be destroyed."
"No."
"She tried to drown you in the river behind the pack house. You were eight months old."
The room tilted. Bria grabbed the edge of the mattress, steadying herself, and bile rose in her throat.
"Marcus stopped her," Adrian continued. "He saved you. But in the struggle—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "She had a knife. Pack rules are clear: human threats are handled by human means. But you don't bring a knife to a fight with a wolf."
"My father killed her."
"No." Adrian's voice was hard. "She killed him. She drove that knife into his throat while he was holding you. His last act was to shield you from the fall."
Bria couldn't breathe. The air was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on her chest like a physical weight. Her father—a man she'd never met, a man she'd only known through photographs and her mother's carefully edited stories—had died protecting her. From her own mother.
"What happened to her?" she managed.
"She ran. Took you. Vanished." Adrian's jaw flexed. "The pack searched for years, but she'd covered her tracks well. By the time we found records of a woman matching her description in a small town outside Boston, you were already grown. Already in college. Already too deep in your human life for us to pull you out without destroying everything you'd built."
"You watched me."
"We watched you." He didn't look away. "I watched you. For seven years, I watched you from a distance. Made sure you were safe. Made sure she was still alive, still with you, still—"
"Still what?"
A long pause. "Still lucid."
Bria's mouth went dry. "She was sick. All those years. The headaches, the forgetfulness, the way she'd look at me sometimes like she didn't recognize me—"
"She was fighting it." Adrian's voice softened. "The madness. The wolf's blood in her system, poisoning her slowly. She loved you, Bria. As much as she was capable of love after what happened. She kept you safe. She kept you hidden. And when she died last year—"
"I was alone."
"You were alone." He reached for her hand. She let him take it. "And then you started investigating Kane Industries. Started poking around in places you shouldn't. Started getting closer to me, to the pack, to the truth. And I couldn't stay away anymore."
"Because of the bond."
"Because of the bond." His thumb traced circles on her palm. "Because the second I saw your name on that newspaper article, I knew. I knew you were mine. I knew I'd wait fifteen years for you. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would never let you go."
Bria pulled her hand free. She stood, paced to the window, stared out at the endless green. Her reflection in the glass looked like a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, her hair a tangled mess.
"So what happens now?" she asked. "You've told me the story. You've explained the bond. What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stay."
"I don't want to stay."
The words came out sharper than she intended. Adrian flinched, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, and the bond pulsed with his hurt. She felt it like a wound.
"I don't want a mate," she said. "I don't want a pack. I don't want any of this."
"Too bad."
She spun. "Excuse me?"
Adrian rose. He was taller than her by half a foot, broader in the shoulders, and when he looked at her like that—gray eyes burning, jaw set—he was every inch the Alpha the pack called him.
"You heard me." He stepped closer. "You don't get to choose this."
"I don't get to choose?"
"No." Another step. "You don't get to choose whether the sun rises. You don't get to choose whether the moon pulls the tide. And you don't get to choose whether you're mine."
"That's not—"
"Fair?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to spend fifteen years waiting for a woman who might never come? You think I wanted to feel every heartbeat of yours, every breath, every brush of skin against fabric, knowing you were miles away and I couldn't touch you?"
"I didn't ask you to—"
"I didn't ask for any of it." His voice broke. "But I accepted it. I accepted the bond, and I accepted you, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that I deserve this. But I will not—I will not—let you walk away from me because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified." He caught her face in his hands. "I can feel it. The bond, remember? I feel everything you feel. And underneath the anger and the confusion and the desperate need to run—there's fear. Pure, primal terror."
"Because you're a monster."
"Because I'm your mate." His forehead pressed against hers. "And you don't know how to be anyone's anything."
Bria's eyes burned. She wanted to push him away. Wanted to scream. Wanted to claw at his chest until he let her go, until the bond snapped, until she could breathe again without tasting him on her tongue.
But she didn't move.
"You're right," she whispered. "I don't know how to be someone's anything. I've spent my whole life being no one's. Being alone. Being—"
"Mine."
"I'm not yours."
"You are." His voice was soft, but uncompromising. "You have been since the moment you were born. Every step you've taken, every article you've written, every choice you've made—it was all leading you here. To me."
"I don't want a mate."
"I know."
"I don't want to be owned."
"I know."
"I don't want to be some Alpha's pretty little plaything, popping out puppies and—"
"Bria." He caught her chin, tilting her face up. "You think I want that? You think I want a woman who sits in the corner and smiles? I want your fire. I want your anger. I want the woman who slapped me across the face and told me to go to hell while my fingers were inside her."
She flushed.
"I want you," he continued. "Not a version of you that fits into some box. Not a version of you who obeys. You. The woman who runs into forests at night. The woman who asks too many questions. The woman who will fight me every step of the way."
"And I'm not giving you the choice."
The words hung between them, heavy and final.
Bria's chest heaved. She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that he didn't own her, that she was free, that she could leave whenever she wanted.
But the bond hummed between them, steady and warm, and she knew the truth.
She couldn't leave. Not now. Maybe not ever.
"What if I hate you?" she asked.
"Then hate me." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "But do it here. With me. Where I can see you."
"That's not—"
"That's how it works." He kissed her forehead. Soft. Lingering. "Mates are forever. Through hatred and love and everything in between. We fight. We scream. We tear each other apart and put each other back together. But we don't leave."
Bria closed her eyes.
She thought about her mother—a woman so broken by love that she'd tried to kill her own child. She thought about her father—a man who'd died protecting her from the one person who should have loved her most. And she thought about Adrian—the monster who'd claimed her in a forest, who'd marked her, who'd just told her, with absolute certainty, that she was never leaving.
"This isn't fair," she said.
"I know."
"I don't deserve this."
"Neither do I."
"You're an asshole."
"Absolutely."
She opened her eyes. He was watching her with a patience that didn't match his words, a stillness that felt like waiting.
"I'm not going to make this easy," she said.
"I never expected you to."
"I'm going to fight you on everything."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
"And if I try to leave?"
His jaw tightened. "Then I'll bring you back."
"Every time?"
"Every time."
Bria stared at him. There was no give in his expression, no room for negotiation. He meant it. He would chase her to the ends of the earth, drag her back kicking and screaming with nothing but the power of his will.
And somehow, that should have terrified her. Instead, it fixed something—some broken, jagged part of her that had been bleeding for years without knowing why.
"Fine," she said.
Adrian blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine. I'll stay." She pulled back, crossing her arms over her chest. "For now. But I reserve the right to change my mind."
"Irrevocably."
"Shut up."
He smiled. It was a real smile, the first she'd seen from him—warm and young and stupidly handsome. It made her stomach do something inconvenient.
"Shower," he said. "Then breakfast. Then the rest of the story."
"There's more?"
"There's always more." He took her hand, pulling her toward the bathroom. "The pack. The territory. The enemies who'd love to get their hands on the Alpha's mate. Your mother's past. My past. Everything."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He stopped in the doorway, turned, and kissed her. Hard. Deep. His tongue swept through her mouth, tasting her thoroughly.
When he pulled back, Bria was breathless.
"You're the Alpha's mate," he said against her lips. "And the first thing you're going to learn is that I don't let go."
She swallowed. Hard.
"And if I run again?"
"Then I'll chase you." He grinned, all teeth and wolf. "And I'll catch you. And then—" He backed her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. "Then I'll remind you exactly why you belong here."
The shower turned on. Steam billowed. Adrian's hands found her waist, fingers hooking into his t-shirt—the only thing she was wearing—and dragging her forward.
"Now," he murmured against her ear. "Let's get you clean."
Bria opened her mouth to protest.
He pushed her under the spray and kissed her instead.