The Feral Alpha's Captive-Chapter 34: Victim Or Villain

🦋 ALTHEA

I had not gotten my bearings before he grabbed me and hoisted me onto my feet with a yank that sent pain shooting through my still-damaged shoulder. I cried out, and his grip only tightened—bruising, unforgiving.

"I asked you a question." His voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely leashed violence. "How did you get into a sealed storage room? Past guards. Past patrols. Past every defense this fortress has."

"I don’t know," I gasped, my feet barely touching the ground as he held me up. "I was asleep. I was—I was in your chambers. And then I woke up and it was dark and I couldn’t—"

"Lies." The word was a snarl. "You expect me to believe you sleepwalked through locked doors? Through stone walls? That you accidentally ended up in the one room holding evidence of my zeta’s torture by your pack?"

"I didn’t!" The desperation in my voice made it crack. "I don’t know how I got here. Please, you have to believe me—"

"Believe you?" He laughed, and the sound was utterly without humor. "You’re covered in his blood. Holding his severed arm." His head tilted down again, to my hand which was still somehow still clutching the parchment.

"And the hell is that?" He growled.

I shook my head again. "I don’t know," My Voice miraculously stable. "I met it here."

Someone stepped forward, my eyes finding herself. Her face Was twisted in a venomous scowl. "Or came for it."

I blinked, my mouth agape. All I could do was stare up at her, my mind reeling, unable to comprehend what she could possibly mean.

A severed hand of Thorne’s subject was kept, now I was found where it was kept.

When her words made sense the world around me blurred,

"No," I whispered, the word barely audible. "No, I didn’t—I wouldn’t—"

"You came for the message," the woman continued, her voice cold and certain. "Came to retrieve it before we could read what your masters sent. To hide the evidence of your collaboration."

"I don’t have masters!" The words burst from me, desperate and raw. "I don’t know these people. I don’t know what any of this means. I was asleep—"

"In the Alpha’s chambers," she interrupted, and something venomous flashed in her eyes. "Where you’ve been since yesterday. Conveniently positioned exactly where you needed to be to access secured areas. To move through the fortress undetected."

"I didn’t move!" I was crying now, couldn’t stop the tears. "Someone moved me. Someone put me here. I woke up in the dark and I couldn’t see and I just—I just wanted out—"

"Read it." Thorne’s voice cut through my protests like a blade. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Was staring at the bloodstained parchment still clutched in my trembling hand. "Read what it says."

"I can’t—I don’t—"

His hand shot out, ripping the parchment from my grip so violently I felt the paper slice my palm. I gasped at the fresh sting of pain, watching as he unfolded it with deliberate, controlled movements.

His entire body went rigid.

The silence stretched—terrible, suffocating. No one moved. No one breathed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. Controlled in a way that was somehow worse than rage.

"’Our dearest Althea,’" he read, and my blood turned to ice. "’We are so proud of your bravery and sacrifice. You have done exactly as we hoped, exactly as your mother trained you.’"

"No," I breathed, the word barely a whisper. "No, that’s not—"

"’The Hell Hound has taken the bait perfectly,’" Thorne continued, his voice never wavering even as the shadows at his back writhed like living things. "’The mate bond activation was brilliant—we could not have planned it better ourselves. Well done.’"

My stomach dropped. The world tilted.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

"’Now comes the delicate part. You must be careful. Patient. Continue to solidify his belief in the bond—make him need you, make him unable to imagine letting you go. The more convinced he is that you are truly his fated mate, the more vulnerable he becomes.’"

"I didn’t—" I said, my voice shaking. "I swear, I didn’t—I don’t even know what—"

"Quiet." The command was absolute, and I flinched back against the wall.

"’Wait for our signal,’" Thorne read on. "’We will attack when the time is right, when he is most distracted by protecting you. When his forces are divided between guarding their territory and keeping you safe. That is when we strike.’"

The gathered wolves shifted, weapons appearing in hands, expressions hardening with fury and betrayal.

"’Zeta Kael’s capture was unfortunate but necessary—a way to apply pressure, to test the Hell Hound’s attachment to you. If he chooses you over his own warrior, we will know the bond is strong enough to exploit. If he doesn’t, we adjust our plans accordingly.’"

"No," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "No, no, no—"

"’For now, maintain your cover. Play the broken omega. Let him believe you are helpless, traumatized, in need of his protection. Let him want to save you. The more he cares, the easier it will be to destroy him from within.’"

Something in my chest cracked. Shattered.

Because even as he read the words, even as I knew—knew—I had never written them, had never seen them before this moment—

I could see belief settling into the faces around me.

Into Ivanna’s cold satisfaction.

Into the deltas’ expressions of disgust.

Into Thorne’s terrible, absolute stillness.

"’We are coming for you, daughter of Morgana. Hold strong. Your sacrifice will be remembered when the North falls and the Allied Packs reign supreme.’" Thorne’s voice went even quieter, more dangerous. "’Signed, the Allied Packs Council. And your loving mother, Morgana.’"

The parchment crumpled in his fist.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"I didn’t come for that." My voice came out raw, desperate, broken. "I swear on everything—I didn’t write that. I’ve never seen it before. I don’t even know these people’s names. I don’t—"

"Of course you’d say that," Ivanna said, and her voice carried cold vindication. "What else would a caught spy say?"

"I’m not a spy!" I screamed, and the force of it tore something in my throat. "I’m not—someone is framing me. Someone put me here. Wrote that letter. Made it look like—" But even as I said it, I could hear how desperate it sounded. How convenient.

How exactly like what a spy would claim.

"I’m not a spy!" I screamed, and the force of it tore something in my throat. "I’m not—someone is framing me. Someone put me here. Wrote that letter. Made it look like—" But even as I said it, I could hear how desperate it sounded. How convenient.

How exactly like what a spy would claim.

I stumbled forward, reaching for him—desperate, pathetic, but I didn’t care. "Please. Please, you know me. You held me all night. You felt the brand burning. You saved me from jumping." My voice cracked completely. "That wasn’t fake. I wasn’t pretending. I wanted to die. Why would—"

"Stop." The word was ice. Final.

I froze, my hand still outstretched toward him, close enough to touch but not daring to.

"You were in my arms," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "You called another man’s name. Begged him to think of a baby that wasn’t yours. Screamed in your sleep about things you claimed you didn’t remember." The raven at his shoulder tilted its head, and I felt the hell hound amber eyes finally met mine, and what I felt there made something inside me die. "How much of that was real? How much was performance?"

"All of it," I whispered. "All of it was real. I don’t—I can’t control what I dream. What I remember. What—"

"Take her to the cells," he said, turning away. "Silver chains. Full restraints. Doesn’t speak to anyone. And if the brand activates—" he paused, something flickering across his expression too fast to read, "—let it burn."

The words hit me like physical blows.

Let it burn.

Let the High Alpha torture me through the soul-brand, and do nothing. No mate bond activation. No relief. Just agony until I broke or died.

"Alpha—" someone started.

"Now," he snapped, and shadows rippled at his back in emphasis.

A gamma moved toward me, reaching for my arm, and I flinched back instinctively—not from him, but from what was coming. The cells. Silver chains. The brand burning with no one to stop it.

"Wait." Ivanna’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold. "Before she goes—"

She moved fast. Faster than I could track. One moment she was standing near Thorne, the next she was in front of me, her hand drawn back in a fist aimed directly at my face.

I didn’t even have time to raise my hands to defend myself.

But the blow never landed.

Thorne’s hand shot out, catching Ivanna’s wrist mid-strike with bruising force. He yanked her backward, shoving her away from me so hard she stumbled, barely catching herself.

"What do you think you’re doing?" His voice was deadly quiet.

"Dealing with a bitch," Ivanna bit out, rubbing her wrist where his grip had left marks. "A spy who—"

"She is my mate," Thorne interrupted, and the words carried absolute authority. "Feigned or not. Manipulation or not. That bond exists, and until I sever it, no one touches her without my explicit permission. Do you understand me?"

Ivanna’s face went white, then red. "She’s a threat—"

"She’s mine to deal with," he corrected, and something dark and possessive colored his tone despite the coldness in his eyes. "You want to strike someone, Ivanna? You want to draw blood? Do it to an enemy who isn’t bound to me through fate. But her?" He stepped between us, a physical barrier. "You have no right. None."