Page 46 of Alpha Unbound

I feel the silkiness of her skin under my palms, and her body fits mine perfectly. The water washes away the grime of the day,but not the hunger—it only amplifies it. Her nails rake down my back, sharp and claiming, while I trail my mouth along her throat, my mark there throbbing faintly between kisses.

"Mine," I whisper into her skin, and she moans like it’s the only truth that matters.

I grip her hips, lift her easily, and she wraps her legs around me with practiced ease, breath hitching when I press her against the slick tile. "You need me?" I murmur against her lips.

"Always," she breathes.

I thrust into her in one smooth, claiming stroke, and her cry is raw, reverent. She clings to me, forehead to mine, until we’re moving in a rhythm that’s less about lust and more about anchoring. Every motion, every gasp, every whisper between us sharpens the bond—makes it feel even more real, more permanent.

We fall together in a crescendo of motion and heat.

Her body shudders around mine as she comes apart. I bury my face in her neck, teeth grazing the mark I left there, not breaking skin this time—just reminding her, and myself, of what we are.

Bound. Claimed. Forever.

“I was frightened,” she admits, her voice softer now. “But then I realized something—I wasn’t running like I used to. I was faster. Stronger. The gray wolf… she’s got muscle and instinct the red never had.”

She gasps as I press her harder into the tile, her tone changing from thoughtful to teasing in a heartbeat.

We tangle and twist, steam curling around our feet like the mist of the shift itself. She wraps her legs around my hips, pulls me deeper, harder, every breath a gasp, every movement a plea and a promise. Her body clenches around me, tight and wet and perfect, and I feel her shake.

Her moan rips through the air as she falls apart, nails digging into my back, thighs trembling against my hips. I hold her through it, driving into her with the kind of force that says she’s mine—claimed, cherished, and never alone.

The second wave crashes over her, and she cries out my name again, ragged and breathless.

That’s all it takes.

Pleasure tears through me, hot and primal. I bury myself in her one last time, groaning against her mouth as my release hits, hips jerking, heartbeat pounding through every nerve ending. I stay there, panting, pressed tight to her, forehead to hers, until the only sound is the hiss of water and our uneven breaths.

And for a while, the world disappears.

The water cools, but neither of us moves. She’s draped over me, her head against my chest, our bodies still joined, still trembling. I trail my fingers down her spine, anchoring myself in the reality of her breath, the soft warmth of her skin, the steady pulse beneath her mark.

Eventually, I lift her with ease, and carry her from the shower. She doesn't protest, just sighs and curls closer. We dry off quickly, trading soft kisses and sated glances, and then I lay her down on the bed like she’s something sacred.

We collapse into the sheets, tangled together, breathless and damp, still murmuring each other’s names like prayers neither of us wants to end. I press a last kiss to her shoulder.

Then...

A knock.

Sharp. Urgent.

I’m out of bed in a second, pulling on sweats as adrenaline kicks back into gear. My body still hums with the echo of her, but the urgency in that knock slices through whatever warmth lingered. I crack the door, heart already locking into war mode.

One of my younger tech specialists, Eddie, stands there, eyes wide and breathing heavy like he ran the entire way. He’s holding a laptop.

“We decrypted it,” he says. “The USB. You need to see this.”

Kate sits up in bed, the sheet falling to her waist. I toss a shirt to her, which she puts on, her eyebrows pinching together slightly, eyes narrowing with concern. “Is it about Luke?”

“Worse,” Eddie says. “It’s about everything.”

The data sprawls across the screen like a blueprint for betrayal. Dozens of land records, some dating back decades. Names—pack members, human locals, and out-of-towners with deep pockets and hidden agendas. GPS coordinates tagged with timestamps, some dangerously close to pack territory. And a financial trail littered with bribes—cleverly disguised as 'consulting fees' and 'debt relief payments.'

Layer upon layer of quiet manipulation. These weren’t just property acquisitions—they were surgical strikes. Every document a move in a long game, one designed to bleed the Hollow dry without ever firing a shot.

A corporate syndicate operating under the name Sable Rock Group—backed by old money and even older grudges—has been quietly trying to buy up Hollow land. Using forgotten debts, forged signatures, shell companies. Pulling strings from the shadows.

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