Chained By the Alpha, chapter three

• Zayn • I glare at the thrashing bodies on the dance floor, my heart pounding with frustration. After handling the fight, I head upstairs to watch those dancing below and to keep an eye on Cleo. However, when Cleo rises from her seat, I instantly know something is wrong as she stumbles to the bar, and my stomach twists with unease, feeling the flickering of my bond to her.

Zarek nervously presses beneath my skin, urging me to go to her, but she has no idea who I am to her. Cleo, vulnerable and unaware of our bond, struggles to maintain her balance at the bar. Her green eyes are unfocused, and her blonde hair clings to her flushed cheeks.

“Hey!”

I mindlink Courtney, the barmaid. “Don’t serve her. She’s already drunk.”

My finger jabs in Cleo’s direction, and Courtney’s concerned gaze follows. “She wants water, not liquor.”

Courtney mindlinks back a moment later. Where the hell is Deacon? I growl inside my head, my body tense.

He should be taking care of her, yet he’s nowhere to be found. My wolf, Zarek, presses restlessly beneath my skin, urging me to intervene. I resist.

It’s not our place—not yet. “Boss?”

Courtney’s voice penetrates my thoughts again. “Stay with her,”

I order, my eyes fixed on Cleo. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, which eats at me. “Boss?”

Courtney mindlinks, drawing my attention back to the bar. “I don’t think she is drunk. She can barely talk. Is she on something?”

I peer down at her to see her sway, and Courtney reaches over the bar, grabbing her arm to steady her. “No, she’s only been drinking,”

I reply. “She’s only had two drinks all night, and I don’t know, boss, something is off with her; she seems really out of it.”

Cleo shakes Courtney’s hand off her arm and stumbles into the fray of people grinding on each other. “I’ll handle it,”

I mindlink back, moving toward the stairs when another fight breaks out. This time between two men when one glasses the other one. I am shoved backward and turn, grabbing the man who shoved me.

Recognizing me, he freezes and places his hands in the air. “Sorry, Alpha Zayn,” he stammers.

“Get out of my club,”

I snarl before shoving him. He nods, and one of the bouncers comes up the stairs. Meeting him halfway down, I pause.

“Handle them for me.”

The bouncer nods, and I continue down the stairs looking for Cleo. She isn’t on the dance floor or at the bar. Moving toward the bathrooms, I bang on the ladies’ twice before pushing the door slightly open.

“Cover up!”

I order before hearing shrieks. Stepping in, I stalk around. “Any of you seen a girl wearing a black leather jacket, a blue cami, and black leggings?”

The women shake their heads, some looking concerned, others irritated by my intrusion. “Damn it,”

I mutter under my breath. Leaving the restroom, I try to think of where Cleo could have gone. My wolf, Zarek, is growing increasingly restless, picking up on my own mounting anxiety.

I moved to the men’s bathroom when I remembered her phone. Pulling mine out, I find hers, which I linked to mine to keep tabs on her. It takes me a few seconds to realize she is outside somewhere but hasn’t left the parking lot.

I walk to the front, bumping into people as I am too busy watching my screen. The moment I step outside into the cool night air, Zarek is frantically pressing against my skin, and my blood boils when her fear hits me. “Where are you, Cleo?”

I snarl to myself, storming through the crowded parking lot until I spot her car. My heart races as I move toward it, only to hear a whimper from the car beside it, and something flashes in the back. Moving around I get to the car beside it and find Deacon texting when I spot her.

Her leggings are pulled off and discarded, her shirt torn open, and I can see claw marks down her left breast when I notice she hasn’t got any underwear on. Her legs are pulled apart, her knees held flat against the carpet of the trunk and her stitches torn wide open. Blood cascades down her leg onto the carpeted floor.

That is not the most disturbing part; it’s the glazed-over look on her face, and I realize he is taking pictures of her in such a vulnerable state. Cleo whimpers when he leans down to fondle her breast. And she tries to say no, though her words are garbled.

Looking at Deacon, he pockets his phone and shoves his pants down his legs. I rip the back hatch open, and he jumps, startled. Deacon shrieks.

“What the fuck, man,” he snarls.

“She said no!”

I roar, grabbing the back of his shirt and ripping him from the car. “Whoa, calm down, man! You can have a go after me,”

Deacon retorts. A whimper escapes her lips, and I want to comfort her and let her know she is safe. First I need to deal with this prick.

My fist connects with his face as I fight against my wolf from shifting. If Zarek takes hold, this kid will be dead. He drops to his knees when I grab the hatch, slamming it down on his head repeatedly until he crumples to the ground.

Bending down I fetch his phone from where it fell on the ground. I go through it, deleting the pictures only for a message to come through from Lydia. I glance at Cleo, her stepsister is the only person I know with that name which makes me curious.

I open the text message and see Deacon has sent the photos to her. My stomach sinks, and I try to unsend the images but can’t since she already opened them. Now why would he be sending these to her?

Pocketing the phone, I nudge Deacon with my foot. He is definitely out cold. Lifting the hatch, Cleo has passed out.

Her leg is bleeding everywhere. “Fuck!”

I curse, pulling my jacket off and placing it across her waist to cover her. She whimpers, “Shh, I won’t hurt you, love,”

I whisper while clamping my hand over her leg. After a second, I decided to take her, knowing I can’t leave her here in this state. Opening the mindlink, I search for my brother, and he answers immediately.

“What’s up?”

“Are you still at the club?”

“Yeah, out back. What’s wrong?” he replies, a hint of concern in his tone.

“Bring my car around to the front, look for a blue wagon, and hurry,”

I command. “Okay, give me a sec.”

Using her leggings, I wrap her leg as best I can. “Are you by the doors or the other end,”

Vance responds, and I can sense him moving quickly to follow my orders. “Midway down,”

I answer. As I wait for my brother, I glance down at Cleo, my heart aching at the sight of her battered, vulnerable state. Her golden hair is matted with sweat, and her once beautiful green eyes are tightly shut, as though she’s trying to block out the world around her.

I want nothing more than to hold her close, and to make her feel safe again. When headlights light up the parking lot, I peer over the roof of the car, realizing how packed the place is. Opening the mindlink again, I contact the bouncer, seeing the huge group of people waiting out front.

“Let them all in,”

I mindlink. “Pardon, boss?”

Stuart replies, peering around for me. “Let them in. I need this parking lot cleared now!”

“On it,” he obeys.

I stick my head out, peering over at the entrance doors when Vance pulls up with my car. I grab Cleo from the back. “Open the back door,”

I order, and he does so quickly while he glances around. “We’re kidnapping girls now?” he asks.

“No, just my mate,”

I answer, and he seems startled by this information. Shutting the door, I pop the trunk, and he follows. “What’s going on?”

Vance gasps, spotting a bleeding Deacon on the ground. “Grab his legs,”

I order, and he does, helping me load Deacon into the trunk. I go back and shut the hatch of the wagon only to realize Deacon must have his keys on him. Cursing, I reopen the trunk and fish in his pockets, retrieving his keys and tossing them to Vance when Deacon begins to stir, his eyes fluttering open.

Panic fills them when he sees me looming over him. “Please,” he begs.

“You can have her. Just let me go.”

My anger flares at his words. Grabbing the front of his shirt, I pull him close. “I intend to,”

I say, my eyes never leaving him. “Because she’s my mate.”

With a growl, I headbutt him, sending him straight back into unconsciousness. Slamming the trunk shut, I turn to Vance and point at Deacon’s car. “Burn it, then meet me at the packhouse.”

Vance doesn’t question me, just moves to do as he is told while I slide into the driver’s seat. The drive back to the packhouse is tense, each mile seeming to stretch on forever as I glance at Cleo on the back seat in the rearview mirror. She’s still unconscious, making me worry about her condition.

Zarek paces restlessly inside me, eager to tend to our mate and unleash on Deacon. As we drive back to my packhouse, I glance back often to see her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her scent fills the car with that irresistible honeyjasmine fragrance of hers.

Finally, we pull up to the massive stone mansion nestled deep within our gated community that is surrounded by forest. I carry Cleo inside, cradling her in my arms as I climb the staircase to my room. Using my foot, I push the door open to reveal a spacious primary bedroom decorated in warm, earthy tones.

A fireplace dominates one wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the dark forest. In the center of the room sits my bed, which is where I take her. I lay Cleo down gently, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before she suddenly vomits onto the sheets.

“Shit,”

I mutter, quickly pulling her hair back, so it doesn’t get dirty. “Hang on, love.”

I hurry to the bathroom to grab some towels and wet some washcloths in the sink. As I enter the bedroom again, I find her slumped over, laying in her vomit. “Shower it is then,”

I mutter, moving toward her. Scooping her up, I take her into the bathroom attached. I turn on the shower, and Cleo is a dead weight in my arms, a rag doll, making me feel sick knowing he could have done anything he wanted to her, and she would have been none the wiser.

Keeping an arm around her waist, I carefully remove her ripped top and unclip her bra, doing my best to be gentle and not let my gaze linger too long on her naked form. Her body is petite strong, her curves enticing even in her current state. Checking the water, I step in, pulling her with me.

My clothes become soaked as I tip her head back under the water, rinsing her hair. She stirs, pulling faces, but not fully waking. Eventually, I am forced to sit with her, and I pull my shirt off, which is sticking to me.

Cleo leans heavily against me as I pull her closer, so she isn’t drowning under the stream of water, letting it wash over us both. Her eyes are closed, and she takes deep breaths of the steamy air as I pour shampoo into my hand and massage it into her scalp. I take my time cleaning every inch of Cleo’s body, rinsing away dirt and dried blood, when I notice her leg is still bleeding badly.

Cleo shivers, her skin prickling with goosebumps, and she mumbles incoherently as I sit up. Her face moves as she sniffs the air. “You smell nice… like vanilla and…” she trails off, mumbling incoherently.

“Thanks,”

I chuckle while she continues sniffing me despite being out of it. “Ow!”

I exclaim when she suddenly bites me, her teeth sinking into my chest. I look down at her, surprised by the sudden act of aggression. Her eyes are glazed over, and I realize whatever she was given is strong; I don’t even think she realizes I am not her vile boyfriend.

“I’m hungry, but you don’t taste how you smell,” she pouts.

“Alright, alright,”

I laugh, a hint of relief washing over me. “I’ll feed you, just don’t eat me.”

She buries her face in my chest, leaning against me for support as the water cascades over both of us. Within seconds, she is completely passed out again. As I carefully support Cleo in the shower, the sight of her leaves me momentarily breathless.

Even in this vulnerable state, there’s an undeniable beauty about her that’s impossible to ignore. Her blonde hair, damp from the water, clings to her fair skin, framing her delicate features. Stray strands stick to her cheeks and forehead, and I find myself gently brushing them away.

Her glazed-over eyes, a striking shade of green that reminds me of the forests surrounding our territory, are closed now, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Despite the heat stirring within me, I remind myself of the circumstances. She’s hurt, and vulnerable.

The thought of taking advantage of her in any way repulses me. She deserves respect, care, and consent – things I’m determined to give her, regardless of how much my body aches to claim her as mine. Holding her like this, feeling her body against mine, is both a torment and a privilege.

Every nerve in my body is acutely aware of her, of the softness of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. My role right now is to protect her, not to give in to the primal urges her presence evokes. Once she’s clean, I wrap her in a towel and carry her back to the bedroom, taking care to avoid the soiled sheets.

Not having any clothes for her, I slip one of my shirts over her head and place her on the chaise when I spot a fresh trail of blood cascading down her leg. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I pull her legs apart and kneel between her thighs. This might be the worst time for her to wake.

Leaning down, I trace my tongue along the wound before watching my saliva heal the jagged gash cutting across her thigh. I’m going to have fun explaining that tomorrow. It’s taboo, and she may see it as a direct violation or assault.

Werewolf saliva heals, and it can make the healed wolf sire them, our DNA mingling, which is why it is supposed to be something reserved for mates. Even then, it is rare, and I learn why quickly when my leg starts throbbing painfully. I suck in a breath at the pain she’s been walking around with.

Luckily, it fades quickly. Though now I understand more clearly why, a more serious injury may kill the healer. I don’t think I would be able to help myself, not when it comes to her.

Now her thigh is healed, I quickly strip the bed and remake it before laying her on the fresh linen. Tucking her into bed, I admire how peaceful she looks now, her breathing steady and even. “Rest now, Cleo,”

I murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’ll take care of everything.”

I press my lips to her cheek and want nothing more than to climb in with her, but I have to take care of the parasite in my trunk. I make my way downstairs, my thoughts a whirlwind of concern and anger as I consider the events of the night. As soon as I reach the first floor, Vance appears in front of me.

“Took care of the car,” he says, his expression dark and unreadable.

“It’s gone.”

“Good,”

I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I left her keys out in the kitchen for you. Retrieve her car and bring it back here.”

My brother nods. There’s a question in his eyes I know won’t go unanswered. “Zayn, why didn’t you tell me? And are you going to tell her?”

Vance asks. “She deserves to know.”

“Because firstly, she can’t recognize me,”

I admit quietly, my chest tightening with unease. “And I would rather not put her in danger. Not now, with all the drama going on between the packs, they could use her against me.”

My resolve hardens as I consider the lengths I’m willing to go to in order to protect Cleo. “Alright,”

Vance concedes, though I can tell he doesn’t fully agree with my decision. “Just… be careful.”

With that, he turns and leaves the room, his footsteps echoing through the corridor. I step outside, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. Popping the trunk, I find Deacon still passed out, the sight of him igniting a fresh surge of fury within me.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I stare down at him before I drag him out of the car and down to the basement. His unconscious form is limp and heavy, forcing me to grit my teeth with the effort it takes to move him. “Damn it,”

I curse under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. The basement door creaks open, revealing an unfinished space filled with equipment and boxes. I haul Deacon’s body over the threshold and let him drop unceremoniously down the stairs and onto the cold concrete floor.

“Let’s see how you like being vulnerable,”

I growl, my voice low and menacing as I tower over him. My body aches with the need for retribution, and I know simply hurting him won’t be enough. He needs to understand the gravity of his actions.

“Please,”

Deacon moans weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he starts to regain consciousness. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“Save it,”

I snap, cutting him off before he can finish his pathetic excuse. “You’re going to pay for what you did.”

I grab him by the shirt and drag him to the center of the basement where the pulley is. He tries to scramble away when my order rushes over him. Pathetic, he’s weaker than an Omega.

He freezes, and I grab a rope, tying his hands before pulling them above his head and attaching them to the pulley. Hitting the button on the wall, he is hoisted until his feet no longer touch the floor. However, I need to figure out what I am going to tell Cleo.

No doubt she will question how she got here, also her boyfriend’s whereabouts when he is suddenly missing, vanished without a trace. Walking over to the table where the tools are, I find a dirty rag one of the painters left last time they were here. I turn back to him, and he whimpers, begging and pleading.

I stuff the rag in his mouth and secure it with duct tape. “Can’t have your screams waking my girl now, can I?”

His eyes widen, and I crack my neck, and Deacon starts sobbing. “I wasn’t planning on going to the gym today. You’ve changed my mind,”

I tell him right before my fist connects with his sternum. As I stand in front of Deacon, a sense of cold fury washes over me. The memory of finding him attempting to violate my mate, in her vulnerable state, fuels the rage within me.

My clenched fist collides with his sternum again, the sound of the impact echoing in the basement. His body jerks with the force, a muffled cry escaping through the gag. Each punch I land is a release, a physical manifestation of the anger boiling in my veins.

My knuckles meet his flesh with brutal precision, leaving behind a blossoming map of bruises and swelling. Deacon’s eyes, wide with fear and pain, flicker with the dawning realization of his grave mistake. He struggles weakly against the restraints, his futile attempts only adding fuel to my rage.

I pause for a moment, my chest heaving, as I watch his battered form swing slightly from the pulley. I lost control, and he is no longer breathing. I look down at my hand where his heart now rests, the satisfaction of seeing him helpless, paying for his heinous act, courses through me.

Glancing around the basement, my eyes land on the chest freezer tucked in the corner. It’s large enough, a temporary solution to hide Deacon’s body until I can deal with it properly. With a grunt, I lower him to the ground and untie his hands.

His body is limp, a dead weight, as I drag him across the floor. The scrape of his body against the concrete floor fills the room as I haul him to the freezer. Lifting him is a task, his body an unwieldy burden in my arms.

With a heave, I hoist him up and over the rim of the freezer, his body landing with a dull thud against the icy interior. I slam the lid shut, the sound a final note in this dark, quiet room. The freezer will preserve him until I can dispose of him permanently, ensuring no trace of him is left to be found.

Turning away from the freezer, my thoughts immediately return to Cleo. My heart aches at the thought of her in pain, her trust violated in the worst way possible. I need to be with her, to ensure her safety and comfort.

With one last look at the sealed freezer, I make my way back upstairs, my mind already focusing on Cleo. As I ascend the stairs, each step brings me closer to her, to the woman who has unwittingly become the center of my world. My mate.

My responsibility. My priority. And no one will dare touch her once I make her mine.