Bound In Blood To The Forbidden Alpha | Night Vow Books

CHAPTER ONE

Opening Chapter

Darius POV

Darius POV

Mud up to my ankles. Blood in it too.

Nightfang moved around me in silence—trained, mean, waiting on my word.

Silverstrike’s border was ahead. Tonight it falls.

Their Alpha thought he could keep selling wolves to vampires and witches and the Council would look away. Selling my wolves once, before I tore his chain apart. He took kin from his own pack, from mine, from whoever he could grab, and sold them like meat. That ends now.

“Beta, left flank,” I barked. Kaelen gave a quick nod and vanished into smoke.

Lightning split the sky. Burned fur hit my nose. I shifted on the move—bones cracking, claws tearing free. Used to hurt. Now it just meant I was home.

The first guard came teeth-first. I caught his throat, slammed him into the wall, kept moving. Another from behind—bad choice. I spun, claws across his chest. He dropped before he hit mud.

Vorren growled in my skull, deep and eager. He’s close.

I know.

We pushed deeper. Silverstrike wolves fought like they still had honor. They didn’t. Not after what their Alpha did. Nightfang came from the ones he sold and the ones who survived it. That’s who we are—the unwanted, the feared, the wolves who bite back.

The Alpha’s den waited at the end of the hall. I kicked the doors open.

He stood there—broad, older, gold eyes, silver blade in hand like that’d help. “Fenwick,” he sneered. “You come to play hero now?”

“I came to finish what you started.”

He lunged. Good.

We hit hard—claws, fists, blood. He was slower, soft from hiding behind the deals he made. I was built on rage. I caught his wrist, twisted till bone snapped, slammed him toward the firepit.

“You sold wolves,” I said. “Our kind. My kind.”

“Better them than the rest of us.”

“Wrong answer.”

I shifted mid-swing. Claws through chest, clean to the heart. He dropped.

Silence. The kind that follows every kill. The kind where the world stops to see what you’ve done. I never stop long.

Then the scent hit.

Not blood. Not smoke. Wildflowers, soft under the storm.

I turned. A little girl stood in the doorway—barefoot, drowning in a nightgown, maybe nine. Silver eyes bright even in the dark. Staring at the body on the floor.

Vorren slammed into me. Mate.

No.

Ours.

The scent clung, pure and wrong in a room full of death.

Kaelen came in behind her, froze. “Alpha?”

“She’s his kid,” I said, voice rough. “Get her out. Feed her. Keep her away from this.”

“She’s—”

“Now, Kaelen.”

He crouched, spoke soft, led her out. She followed, small steps, head down. At the door she turned back—silver eyes steady.

Vorren purred. Strong little thing.

“Not a word,” I muttered.

The wolf went quiet, but the itch stayed under my skin.

I wiped blood from my mouth and looked at the corpse. Silverstrike’s Alpha, the trader of wolves. Dead at last. Nightfang would have its name, and every pack would remember what happens when you sell your own.

So why the hell did I still smell wildflowers?

Outside, rain hammered the trucks. Kaelen waited, the girl wrapped in his cloak, that single white streak bright in her soaked hair. She looked up when I passed. Didn’t flinch.

Vorren whispered, She knows you.

I didn’t answer. Just climbed in, slammed the door, and let the engine drown him out.

But it didn’t kill the scent.

It never would.

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CHAPTER TWO

The Story Continues

Nysa POV

Thirteen years since Nightfang burned through our walls and Darius Fenwick put his claws through my father’s chest.

Thirteen years since Kaelen—his Beta—hauled me out of the smoke and told me to keep my eyes shut.

I didn’t.

Now my brother wears the Alpha mark of a pack everyone calls cursed. Silverstrike rebuilt, but not the same. Half our wolves are gone—sold, killed, or too scared to come back. Ronan acts like the Council respects us again. I let him pretend. Someone has to.

Bonfires eat the sky, smoke rolling so thick it stings my eyes. The Luna Moon Gathering always looks holy in stories—moonlight, drums, the Elders blessing the bloodlines. Up close it’s heat, sweat, and packs pretending to like each other for one night.

Myra elbows me, grinning like this is a party. “You’re supposed to look honored, Nys.”

“I’m honored that it’s almost over.”

She laughs, shaking her head, all bright and untouched. I wish I still had that kind of shine.

Ronan stands a few feet away, back straight, scanning the crowd like he’s guarding a throne instead of a fire pit. He’s only twenty-eight but looks older—too many fights, too many losses. His hand twitches every time the Nightfang wolves move.

“Relax,” I mutter. “It’s neutral ground.”

“Neutral doesn’t mean safe,” he says without looking at me.

He’s right, but I won’t give him that.

Drums shift. The Elders start chanting, old words that taste like iron in the air. Every Luna of age steps forward; I feel Myra’s fingers brush mine as we line up around the fire. Silver dust, ash, ritual—same as every year. Only difference is tonight I’m the last of Silverstrike’s daughters. The one who has to prove the curse didn’t stick.

The Elder drags a line of ash across my palm. The world narrows. The heat hits hard—pulse, breath, everything. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe.

Nysa.

The voice curls through my head, low, calm, ancient.

Who—?

I am Lyssandra, it says. Your wolf.

Light surges under my skin, silver threading through my veins. Around me other girls drop to their knees, crying or laughing. Myra’s shaking beside me. I should feel joy. All I feel is the weight of someone new inside my bones.

Then Lyssandra’s tone changes—rougher, fierce.

Mate.

The word hits like claws to the chest. I nearly stumble. My head turns before I can stop it.

Across the fire, standing with the Nightfang wolves, is Darius Fenwick.

Older now. Broader. Scars up his arm catching the firelight. Same cold green eyes that looked down at my father’s body.

The bond slams into me so hard I taste blood.

Lyssandra growls, low and sure. Ours.

I choke on a breath. No.

His gaze finds mine across the flames. Flat, unreadable. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he already knew.

He did. Somehow, he did.

Myra’s whisper barely reaches me. “Nys? You’re glowing.”

Great. Fantastic. Glowing while my soul ties itself to the man who destroyed my family.