Page 45 of To Carve A Wolf

It belonged toher.

My wolf.

She erupted like a scream in my chest, weak but present, clawing her way up through the void the runes had carved. Her pain was mine. Her rage. Her need.

And then came the bond. Dark. Deep. Absolute.

It snapped into place like a chain forged from gods and instinct and blood—something primal and ancient and unchangeable. No magic could undo it. No witch could burn it away.

My wolf knew him now. And she wanted him.

Even as I screamed in denial, even as my soul shattered under the weight of that mark, she reached for him. Not with fear—but longing. With hunger. With submission, forced or not, wired into her bones.

Andros’s breath was hot against my skin as he lifted his mouth from my neck, lips stained red from the mark, eyes burning down into mine.

“You don’t get to run anymore,” he whispered, deadly andquiet. “You don’t get to hide behind spells and scars.”

He cupped my face, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

“Your wolf is awake now,” he murmured. “And I’ve claimed her. You belong tome, Lexa. And gods help anyone who tries to take you from me now.”

The moment the bite faded into a dull, burning throb, the shock gave way to something else—something violently alive.

Rage. Not anger. Not frustration. No. This was pure, unfiltered, soul-deep rage.

It exploded out of me like a beast unchained, like every scream I’d ever swallowed finally tore through my throat. My body jolted up, and I lunged at him with everything I had left, teeth bared, nails aiming for his face like I could carve that smug look off his skin and rip his mark from my neck with it.

“You bastard! You fucking animal!” I shrieked, the cords in my neck straining as I fought to claw at him, to bite, to kill. “You think this means anything?! You think this makes you my Alpha?! I’ll gut you! I’ll—I will fucking end you!”

He caught my wrists with infuriating ease, his eyes dark with something unreadable. Not amusement. Not anger. Resolve.

“I warned you,” he said, voice low, like thunder rolling in over blackened skies. “Don’t make me tie you down.”

“You think you can control me?!” I spat, struggling against his grip, hatred pouring out of me like blood from an open wound. “You’re nothing! Just another deluded tyrant who gets off on owning what was never his to begin with!”

But he wasn’t playing anymore.

In one swift motion, he threw me back against the bed, and before I could rise again, the restraints were already in his hands—soft, thick leather cords he’d no doubt used for darker purposes. I kicked, cursed, but he was relentless. Efficient. He tied my wrists to the iron posts above my head, pulled tight enough to hold but not bruise.

“You son of a bitch!” I screamed, jerking against the bonds with every ounce of fury I had left. “You can’t leave me like this! You can’t—Andros, you fucking coward! Come back and fight me!”

He didn’t even flinch. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me—sweat-slicked, bare-legged, wrists raw from struggling, neck pulsing with the mark he’d left—and there was something behind his gaze now. Not lust. Not even power.

Possession.

“Try to rip my face off again,” he said coldly. “See what happens when I stop being gentle.”

“Go to hell,” I spat, yanking so hard the iron frame groaned.

“You already brought it here, little stray,” he muttered as he turned for the door.

“I will never forgive you!” I screamed after him, voice hoarse and cracking. “You fucking bastard! You and your gods-damned pack! I hope it all burns!”

He paused at the door.

“I’ll be back when you’re ready to speak like something other than a rabid stray,” he said without turning his head. “Or when your wolf decides to talk in your place. Whichever comes first.”

The door shut behind him.

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